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214
THE ISLE OF SEVEN MOONS
"They have taken it, the scoundrels!"
He tried to rise—
"I must start today!"
"Where, Monsieur?"
"For the island."
"You are too weak. Lie still," she said, lowering him gently as a mother a child. "You must be good. Maybe in three weeks, maybe two, you can go."
"And then," she said, remembering the words the Old Padre had once repeated in the Confirmation Class, in that very pretty story,—"Whither thou goest I will go!"
The wounded man, too weak to protest, closed his eyes.
"Whither thou goest, I will go," the girl softly repeated.
