If I'm not mistaken, he's no less a person than the Reverend James Earle." "What!" exclaimed Rudolph, in dull bewilderment.
"Yes," grunted his friend.

"The padre.

We must find him to-night, and report." He strode forward, with no more comment.

At his side, Rudolph moved as a soldier, carried onward by pressure and automatic rhythm, moves in the apathy of a forced march.

The day had been so real, so wholesome, full of careless talk and of sunlight.