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Updated: May 2, 2025
The Cure had told his brother the story, and had been met by a keen, astonished interest in the unknown man on Vadrome Mountain. A slight pressure on the brain from accident had before now produced loss of memory the great man's professional curiosity was aroused: he saw a nice piece of surgical work ready to his hand; he asked to be taken to Vadrome Mountain.
A dreadful memory that haunted him, carried him out of the village, which clustered round the parish church, into Vadrome Mountain, three miles away, where he lived apart from all his kind.
She had seen Charley take the path to Vadrome Mountain, and to the Rest of the Flax-beaters she betook herself, in the blind hope that, returning, he might pass that way. Under the influence of the fresh air and the quiet of the woods her spirits rose, her pulse beat faster, though a sense of foreboding and sorrow hovered round her.
A dreadful memory that haunted him, carried him out of the village, which clustered round the parish church, into Vadrome Mountain, three miles away, where he lived apart from all his kind.
As he sat beside Narcisse Dauphin's bedside, one evening, the sick man on his way to recovery, there came to him the text of a sermon he had once heard John Brown preach: "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friend." He had been thinking of Rosalie and that day at Vadrome Mountain.
Looking to where Jo Portugais' house was set among the pines, Charley remembered the day he saw the scene in his mind's eye when Rosalie entered with the letter addressed "To the sick man at the house of Jo Portugais, at Vadrome Mountain," and he saw again her clear, unsoiled soul in the deep inquiring eyes.
"For a few days," he answered. "Far?" "At Vadrome Mountain." "You have missed these last days of the Passion Play," she said, a shadow in her eyes. "I was present to-day," he answered. She turned away her head quickly, for the look in his eyes told her more than any words could have done, and Mrs. Flynn said: "'Tis a day for everlastin' mimory, sir.
As Jo Portugais had confessed to the Abbe that notable day in the woods at Vadrome Mountain, so she had confessed to the Cure after so many years of agony and the one confession fitted into the other: Jo had once loved her, she had treated him vilely, then a man had wronged her, and Jo had avenged her this was the tale in brief.
It had come from old France with Mary, had been merged into English words and English music, and had voyaged to New France. In the walk back from Vadrome Mountain, a change a fleeting change had passed over Charley's mind and mood.
"For a few days," he answered. "Far?" "At Vadrome Mountain." "You have missed these last days of the Passion Play," she said, a shadow in her eyes. "I was present to-day," he answered. She turned away her head quickly, for the look in his eyes told her more than any words could have done, and Mrs. Flynn said: "'Tis a day for everlastin' mimory, sir.
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