{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_14501/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_14501","id":"gutenberg_14501","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14501","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Historical Novels","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Legends -- Channel Islands -- Guernsey"],"text":"THE FOREST OF VAZON\n\n_A GUERNSEY LEGEND OF THE EIGHTH CENTURY_.\n\nLondon:\nHARRISON & SONS, 59, PALL MALL\nBooksellers to the Queen and H.R.H the Prince of Wales\n1889.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nNothing authentic is known of the history of Guernsey previously to its\nannexation to the Duchy of Normandy in the tenth century. The only\nsources of information as to events which may have occurred before that\ndate are references in monkish chronicles of the usual semi-mythical\ntype, and indications conveyed by cromlechs and menhirs, fragments of\nCeltic instruments and pottery, and a few Roman relics. It is\nunfortunate that we are thus precluded from acquiring any knowledge of\nthe development of a people as to whom the soundest among conflicting\nconjectures seems to be that, coming originally from Brittany, they\npreserved the purity of the Celtic race through periods when in other\noffshoots of the same stock its characteristics were being obliterated\nby the processes of crossing and absorption.\n\nIf early local records had existed they would hardly have failed to\nhave given minute details of the convulsion of nature which resulted in\nthe destruction by the sea of the forest lands on the northern and\nwestern sides of the island, and in the separation of tracts of\nconsiderable magnitude from the mainland. Geologists are agreed in\nassigning to this event the date of March, 709, when great inundations\noccurred in the Bay of Avranches on the French coast; they are not\nequally unanimous as to the cause, but science now rejects the theory of\na raising of the sea-level and that of a general subsidence of the\nisland. The most reasonable explanation appears to be that the\noverpowering force of a tidal wave suddenly swept away barriers whose\nresistance had been for ages surely though imperceptibly diminishing,\nand that the districts thus left unprotected proved to be below the\nsea-level--owing, as regards the forests, to gradual subsidence easily\nexplicable in the case of undrained, swampy soil; and, as regards the\nrocks, to the fact that the newly exposed surface consisted of\naccumulations of already disintegrated deposits.\n\nIt is unquestionable that before the inroad of the sea the inlet in the\nsouth-west of the island known as Rocquaine Bay was enclosed by two\narms, the northern of which terminated in the point of Lihou; on which\nstill stand the ruins of an old priory, while the southern ended in the\nHanois rocks, on which a lighthouse has been erected. Lihou is at\npresent an island, accessible only at low water by a narrow causeway;\nthe Hanois is entirely cut off from the shore, but it is a noteworthy\nfact that the signs of old cart-ruts are visible at spring tides, and\nthat an iron hook was recently discovered attached to a submerged rock\nwhich had apparently served as a gatepost; besides these proofs of the\nexistence of roads now lying under the waves, it is said that an old\norder for the repair of Hanois roads is still extant. That Vazon and the\nBraye du Valle were the sites of forests is indisputable, though the\nformer is now a sandy bay into which the Atlantic flows without\nhindrance, and the latter, reclaimed within the present century by an\nenterprising governor, formed for centuries a channel of the sea by\nwhich the Clos du Valle, on which the Vale Church stands, was separated\nfrom the mainland. A stratum of peat extends over the whole arm of the\nBraye, while as regards Vazon there is the remarkable evidence of an\noccurrence which took place in December, 1847. A strong westerly gale,\nblowing into the bay concurrently with a low spring tide, broke up the\nbed of peat and wood underlying the sand and gravel, and lifted it up\nlike an ice-floe; it was then carried landwards by the force of the\nwaves. The inhabitants flocked to the spot, and the phenomenon was\ncarefully inspected by scientific observers. Trunks of full-sized trees\nwere seen, accompanied by meadow plants and roots of rushes and weeds,\nsurrounded by those of grasses and mosses; the perfect state of the\ntrees showed that they had been long buried under the sand. Some of the\ntrees and boughs were at first mistaken for wreckage, but the fishermen\nsoon discovered their error and loaded their carts with the treasure\nlocally known as \"gorban.\" Subsequent researches have shown that acorns\nand hazel-nuts, teeth of horses and hogs, also pottery and instruments\nof the same character as those found in the cromlechs, exist among the\nVazon peat deposits. There is therefore abundant evidence that the\nlegends relating to the former inhabitants of the forest are based on\ntraditions resting on an historical foundation.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n    CHAPTER   I.--TRADITION\n\n    CHAPTER  II.--SUPERSTITION\n\n    CHAPTER III.--DEVOTION\n\n    CHAPTER  IV.--REVELATION\n\n    CHAPTER   V.--AFFLICTION\n\n    CHAPTER  VI.--CONSOLATION\n\n    CHAPTER VII.--ANNIHILATION\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTRADITION.\n\n    \"What can he tell that treads thy shore?\n    No legend of thine olden time,\n    No theme on which the mind might soar\n    High as thine own in days of yore.\"\n\n    _The Giaour_.--BYRON\n\n\nIn the beginning of the eighth century Guernsey was a favoured spot.\nAround, over the Continent and the British Isles, had swept successive\nconquests with their grim train of sufferings for the conquered; but\nthese storm-clouds had not burst over the island. The shocks which\npreceded the fall of the Roman Empire had not been felt, nor had the\nthroes which inaugurated the birth of Frankish rule in Gaul and Saxon\nsupremacy in Britain, disturbed the prevailing tranquillity. Occasional\ndescents of pirates, Northmen from Scandinavian homes or Southmen from\nthe Iberian peninsula, had hitherto had a beneficial effect by keeping\nalive the martial spirit and the vigilance necessary for self-defence.\nIn the third century three Roman ships had been driven on shore and\nlost; the legionaries who escaped had established themselves in the\nisland, having indeed for the moment no alternative. When their\ncommander succeeded in communicating with Gaul he suggested a permanent\noccupation, being secretly influenced by tales of mineral wealth to\nwhich he had lent an ear. Disillusioned and recalled, he was followed by\na sybarite, whose palate was tickled by banquets of fish of which he\nwrote in raptures to his friends at Capri and Brindisi. This excellent\nman, dying of apoplexy in his bath, was replaced by a rough soldier, who\nlost no time in procuring the evacuation of a post where he saw with a\nglance that troops were uselessly locked up. From this time nothing had\nbeen heard of the Romans; their occupation had lasted forty years, and\nin another forty the only physical traces of it remaining were a camp at\nJerbourg, the nearly obliterated tessellated pavement and fragments of\nwall belonging to the sybarite's villa, which occupied the site in the\nKing's Mills Valley where the Moulin de Haut now stands, the pond in\nthe Grand Mare in which the voluptuary had reared the carp over which,\ndressed with sauces the secret of which died with him, he dwelt lovingly\nwhen stretched on his triclinium, and the basins at Port Grat in which\nhe stored his treasured mullet and succulent oysters. The islanders were\nof one mind in speeding the parting guests, but the generation which saw\nthem go were better men than their fathers who had trembled at the\nlanding of the iron-thewed demi-gods. Compelled to work as slaves, they\nhad learnt much from their masters; a knowledge of agriculture and of\nthe cultivation of the grape, the substitution of good weapons and\nimplements of husbandry for those of their Celtic ancestors, improved\ndwellings, and some insight into military discipline,--these were\nsubstantial benefits which raised them in some respects above their\nContinental and British neighbours, among whom patriotism had, on the\ndisappearance of the civilization of the Romans, revived the more\ncongenial barbarism. Arrivals among them of Christian monks, scanty at\nfirst, more frequent since the landing of S. Augustine in Britain, had\nalso had a certain effect. The progress of conversion was, however,\nslow; the people were bigoted, and the good fathers were compelled, as\nin Brittany, to content themselves with a few genuine converts, wisely\nendeavouring rather to leaven the mass by grafting Christian truths on\nthe old superstitions than to court certain defeat, possible expulsion\nor massacre, by striving to overthrow at once all the symbols of\nheathenism.\n\nThe island was larger in extent than it is at present, as, in addition\nto the Vale district, the islet of Lihou, Vazon Bay, and the rock group\nknown as the Hanois formed part of it. It is with the events that\naltered this configuration that the following legend deals.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nSUPERSTITION.\n\n    \"Awestruck, the much-admiring crowd\n    Before the virgin vision bowed,\n    Gaz'd with an ever-new delight,\n    And caught fresh virtues at the sight.\"\n\n    EDWARD MOOR\u00c9'S _Fables_.\n\n\nOn the 24th of June, in the year 708, merry crowds were thronging to\nVazon Forest. It was a lovely spot. The other portions of the island\nwere bare and somewhat rugged; here the humidity of the soil favoured\nthe growth of fine, vigorous timber. On the low ground flourished oak\nand sycamore, torn and bent near the shore where the trees met the force\nof the Atlantic gales, growing freely and with rich verdure where better\nprotected. On the higher slopes were massed beech, birch, and the sweet\nchestnut which was even then domesticated in the island. Glades,\nbursting with a wealth of flowers nurtured by the mildness of the\nclimate, penetrated the wood in every direction; streams bubbling up\nfrom springs, and forming little cascades where their course was checked\nby granite boulders, lent an additional charm. Towards the centre of the\nforest these streams united to form a lake, or rather a natural moat,\nsurrounding an island in the midst of which stood a gigantic oak. This\nwas the only tree on the island; round it, at even distances, were\nplaced twelve stones, beyond which a meadow glittering with varied hues\nextended to the surrounding water.\n\nIt was to this island that the holiday-makers were wending their way:\nyoung men and maidens, and such elders as had vigour enough to traverse\nthe rough tracks leading from the interior. They were a small race,\nlithe and active, with strong black hair and dark eyes now twinkling\nwith merriment They poured over the wooden bridges into the precincts of\nthe towering oak, under which the elders seated themselves with the\nmusicians, the younger people streaming off to the clear ground between\nthe stones and the water.\n\nWhen all were assembled the music struck up at a signal from an elder.\nThe instruments were akin to the goat-skin pipes of Lower Brittany; the\nmusic wild, weird, appealing to the passion if not melodious to the ear.\nAt any rate the effect was inspiriting. First, the men danced, the\nmaidens seating themselves round the dancers and chanting the following\nwords, to the rhythm of which they swayed their bodies gracefully:--\n\n    \"Mille Sarrazins, mille Sarmates,\n    Un jour nous avons tu\u00e9s.\n    Mille, mille, mille, mille, mille Perses,\n    Nous cherchons \u00e0 present.\"\n\nThe dance, footed to this truculent chant, had no warlike features;\nbeginning with a march, or rather a tripping walk, it ended with feats\nin which each dancer defied his neighbour to out-spring him; nor did the\nvocalists appear to expect representations of strife and doughty deeds.\nThe words, Roman by origin, as is clear from the allusion to the\nPersians, had been adapted to a native air by the conquerors, and had\nbeen left by them as a legacy to the islanders. Next, the maidens trod a\nmeasure, the men standing round and applauding; the dance was quiet and\nsoft, consisting principally of graceful movements of the body as if the\ndancers were getting themselves into training for greater efforts; in\nthis case the dancers themselves chanted words suitable to the music.\nThis ended, there was a pause before the principal business of the day\nbegan, the dance in which both sexes joined, to be followed by the\nbestowal of a wreath on the loveliest of the maidens.\n\nDuring the pause it was evident that an unusual incident had occurred.\nThe best-looking of the girls were pouting, the attention of the youths\nwas distracted. During the latter part of the dance the applause had\nbeen intermittent; towards the close it had almost ceased. The elders,\nlooking about under their shaggy eyebrows, had not been long in\ndiscovering the cause, and when they had found it allowed their\nattention to wander also.\n\nThe disturbing element was, indeed, not far to seek. Close to one of the\nbridges was seated a maiden, unknown to all of them, but lovely enough\nto hold the glance of old and young. Unlike the natives she was tall and\nfair; masses of golden hair encircled her oval face and clustered over\nher blue eyes. Who was she? Whence came she? None could answer. By\ndegrees some of the boldest of the youths approached, but their bluff\nmanners seemed to displease her; though unaccustomed to rebuffs they\nretired. One, however, among them fared differently. Jean Letocq, a\nmember of the family to which the hero belonged who near this very spot\ndiscovered the sleeping troops of the Grand Sarrazin, was admired and\nbeloved both by youths and maidens. First in every sport, having shown\ncourage and resource in times of peril both by sea and land, tender of\nglance and gentle of tongue, he held a pre-eminence which none disputed,\nand which was above the reach of envy. The fair stranger, from his first\nglance at her, had fascinated, enthralled him: his eyes fastened\ngreedily on her every movement; he noted well her reception of those who\nhad addressed her, and when he approached he came, bare-headed, with a\nlow obeisance and a deferential air. He seated himself by her in\nsilence, after murmuring a few words of welcome to the feast, to which\nshe made no answer. Presently he spoke again, softly and courteously;\nshe replied without constraint, speaking his own language fluently,\nthough with a foreign accent. The ice once broken their talk rippled on,\nas is the wont of light words, brightly uttered. Jean drank in each\ngentle phrase, watched every graceful gesture; his heart bounded when\nshe carelessly smiled. But he lost not his daring: when the musicians\nagain struck up he boldly asked her to join in the dance.\n\nShe was not offended, her look showed no displeasure, but she refused;\nhe renewed his request; suddenly a change came over her face, she looked\nrapidly round as though searching for some one who was not present, a\nflash came into her eyes, she sprang to her feet. \"Why should I not\ndance!\" she said; \"they are merry, why should I alone be sad!\" She let\nhim lead her into the ring. If she had been enchanting when seated, what\nwas her power when she moved! She was a model of grace and loveliness;\nthe contrast of her colouring to that of her neighbours inspired the\nsuperstitious with some terror, but made the braver spirits gaze more\ncuriously, indifferent to the half-concealed anger and affected disdain\nof their partners. Every moment she gained more hearts, though she let\nher eyes rest only on those of Jean. After the dance was over she seated\nherself in her former position; the women then, according to custom,\nretired outside the stone circle, while the men clustered round the oak\nto award the prize. The ceremony had up to this day been looked on as a\npure formality: for the last two summers the wreath had been by common\nconsent placed on the brows of Suzanne Falla, and none who woke that\nmorning had doubted that it would rest there again before night. But now\nthe men's heads were turned; there was commotion both outside and inside\nthe circle; then a hush, as the old men rose in their places and the\nyoung men formed a lane to the tree. Jean stepped out, and taking the\nstranger by the hand, led her to where a white-haired veteran stood with\nthe wreath in his hand. The next moment it was placed on her brows, and\nthen all voices burst into a song of triumph, which rang to the remotest\nglades of the forest. Suzanne did not join in the song; her little heart\nwas breaking; all the passion of her hot nature was roused; she felt\nherself unfairly, unjustly, treated; insulted on the very day that was\nto have crowned her pride. She could not control herself, nor could she\naccept her defeat: she stamped her foot on the ground, and poured out a\ntorrent of objurgation, accusing Jean of treachery, demanding to know\nwhence he had produced her rival, appealing to the elders to revise the\njudgment. Then, suddenly ceasing, as she saw by the looks of those\naround her that while in some her fate created pity, in others it gave\nrise to amusement, in many to the pleasure which poor human nature felt\nthen as now in a friend's misfortune, her mood altered: she turned and,\nrapidly leaving the crowd, crossed one of the bridges. Hastening her\nsteps, but not watching them, she tripped over the straggling root of a\nyew, and fell, her temple striking a sharp boulder, one of many cropping\nup in the forest. Poor girl! in one moment passion and pride had flown;\nshe lay senseless, blood streaming from the wound.\n\nA quick revulsion of feeling swept through the impressionable people.\nHer departure had been watched, the fall observed, and the serious\nnature of the accident was soon known; all hurried to the spot where she\nlay, full of sympathy and distress. Jean, perhaps not altogether\nunremorseful, was among the first to proffer aid; the stranger, left\nalone, took off the wreath and placed it on one of the stones of the\ncircle, by which she stood contemplating the scene.\n\nThe blow, struck deep into the temple, was beyond any ordinary means of\ncure; life indeed seemed to be ebbing away. \"Send for Marie!\" the cry\nsprang from many mouths: \"send for Marie the wise woman! she alone can\nsave her!\" Three or four youths ran hastily off.\n\n\"Wish ye for Marie Torode's body or her spirit?\" said a harsh female\nvoice; \"her body ye can have! but what avail closed eyes and rigid\nlimbs? Her spirit, tossed by the whirling death-blast, is beyond your\nreach!\"\n\nThe speaker, on whom all eyes turned, was an aged woman of unusual\nheight; her snow-white hair was confined by a metal circlet, her eyes\nwere keen and searching, her gestures imperious; her dress was simple\nand would have been rude but for the quaintly ornamented silver girdle\nthat bound her waist, and the massive bracelets on her arms. Like the\ngirl she was seen for the first time; her almost supernatural appearance\ninspired wonder and awe. She bent over the prostrate form: \"Marie said\nwith her last breath,\" she muttered to herself, \"that ere the oaks were\ngreen again the sweetest maidens in the island would be in her embrace,\nbut she cannot summon this one now! her vext spirit has not yet the\npower!\"\n\nShe examined the wound, and raising herself said, \"No human hand can\nsave her. The Spirits alone have power: those Spirits who prolong human\nlife regardless of human ills; but they must be besought, and who will\ncare to beseech them?\"\n\n\"Prayers may save her,\" answered a stern voice, \"but not prayers to\ndevils! The Holy Virgin should we beseech, by whom all pure maidens are\nbeloved. She will save her if it be God's will, or receive her into her\nbosom if it be decreed that she should die.\"\n\nThe words were those of Father Austin, one of the monks of Lihou,\ndistinguished by his sanctity and the austerity of his habits. He was\nspare, as one who lived hardly; his grey eyes had a dreamy look\nbetokening much inward contemplation, though they could be keen enough\nwhen, as now, the man was roused; there was a gentleness about his mouth\nwhich showed a nature filled with love and sympathy.\n\nThe woman drew herself to her full stature, and turned on him a defiant\nlook.\n\n\"Gods or devils!\" she said in a ringing tone--\"which you will! What can\nan immured anchorite know of the vast mysteries of the wind-borne\nspirits? Is this child to live or die? My gods can save her; if yours\ncan, let them take her! She is nought to me.\"\n\n\"When Elijah wrestled with the prophets of Baal, where did victory\nrest?\" said the priest, and he too stooped down and inspected the wound.\n\"She is past cure,\" he said, rising sadly; \"it remains but to pray for\nher soul.\"\n\nAt this critical moment an agonizing shriek rang through the forest. The\nsame runners who had sped to Marie Torode's cottage and had learnt there\nthat the wise woman had in truth passed away, had brought back with\nthem Suzanne's mother, who threw herself on her child's body\nendeavouring to staunch the blood, and to restore animation. Finding her\nefforts vain, she had listened anxiously to the words that had passed,\nand on hearing the priest's sentence of doom she burst into frantic\ngrief and supplication. Turning to each disputant she cried--\"Save her!\nsave her young life! I suckled her, I reared her, I love her!--oh, how I\nlove her!--do not let her die!\"\n\n\"She can be saved!\" curtly responded the stranger. The priest was\nsilent. A murmur arose. Austin, who had trained himself to study those\namong whom he laboured, saw that the feeling was rising strongly against\nhim. His antagonist saw it also, and pressed her victory.\n\n\"Yes!\" she said scornfully, \"it is a small matter for my Gods to save\nher, but they will not be besought while this bald-pate obtrudes his\npresence. Let him leave us!\"\n\nThe priest was much perplexed. He knew the skill of these lonely women;\nsecretly he had faith in their power of witchcraft, though attributing\nit to the direct agency of Satan. He thought it not impossible that\nthere was truth in the boast; and his heart was wrung with the mother's\ngrief. On the other hand, the public defeat was a sore trial; but it was\nclear to him that for the present at least the analogy of Elijah's\nstruggle was imperfect: he must wait, and meanwhile bear his\ndiscomfiture with meekness. He prepared to retire. The victor was not,\nhowever, even now satisfied. \"Take with you,\" she said, \"yon idol that\ndefaces the sacred oak!\"\n\nThe good fathers, following their usual practice of associating emblems\nof heathen with those of Christian worship, in the hope of gradually\ndiverting the reverence to the latter without giving to the former a\nruder shock than could be endured, had suspended a small cross on the\noak, hoping eventually to carve the tree itself into a sacred emblem; it\nwas to this that the woman was pointing with a sneer.\n\nBut this time she had made a blunder. Father Austin turned to the\ncrucifix and his strength and fire returned. Taking it from the tree,\nreverently kissing it and holding it aloft, he said solemnly--\"Let my\nbrothers and sisters come with me! We will pray apart, where no profane\nwords can reach us. Perchance our prayers may be granted!\" Not a few of\nthe hearers followed him; sufficient indeed to make an imposing\nprocession: the triumph of the Evil One was at least dimmed.\n\nBut his adversary did not appear to notice their departure. She gave a\nsharp glance in the direction of the oak, and the now discrowned girl\nwas quickly at her side. Receiving some rapid instructions, the latter\ndisappeared into the wood, and shortly returned with some herbs, which\nshe passed to her companion; she then resumed her position by the stone.\nThe old woman placed some leaves, which she selected, on the wound: the\nbleeding at once ceased; squeezing juice from the herbs, she applied an\nointment made from it; then, opening a phial attached to her waist-belt,\nshe poured some drops of liquid into the girl's mouth, gently parting\nher lips. This done, she stood erect and began an incantation, or rather\na supplication, in an unknown tongue. As she proceeded her form became\nrigid, her eye gleamed, her arms, the hands clenched, were raised above\nher head. The sun flashed on the circlet, glittered on the embossed\ngirdle: on the right arm was a heavy bracelet, composed of a golden\nserpent winding in weird folds round a human bone; the head was towards\nthe wearer's wrist, and the jewelled eyes which, being of large size,\nmust have been formed of rare stones, glowed and shot fire as the red\nbeams struck on them through the branches. It seemed that a forked\ntongue darted in and out, but this may have been imagined by the heated\nfancies of the bystanders. The prayer ended; the stillness of death\nrested a moment on man and nature; then a wild gust of wind, striking\nthe oak without any preliminary warning, bent and snapped the upper\nbranches, and crashed inland through the swaying forest. The watchers\nsaw the colour return to the cheeks of the wounded girl, who opened her\neyes and sate up. \"Take her home,\" said the sorceress, now quite\ncomposed, to the mother; \"she is yours again!--till Marie calls her!\"\nshe added in a low voice to herself. The happy mother, shedding tears of\njoy, but in vain attempting to get her thanks accepted, obeyed the\ninjunction.\n\nAs she and her friends disappeared, the old woman, turning to the awed\npeople who seemed more than ever disposed to look on her as a\nsupernatural being, said sternly--\"Why linger you here? Are you\nunmindful of your duties? See you not how the shadows lengthen?\" These\nwords produced a magical effect: the deep emotions by which the mass had\nbeen recently swayed were swiftly replaced by equally profound feelings\nof a different nature, as cloud succeeds cloud in a storm-swept sky.\n\nAnd now a singular scene was enacted. A procession was formed, headed by\nthe old men, bare-headed; the musicians followed, behind whom walked\nwith solemn step the younger members of the community. This procession,\nemerging from the western border of the forest, slowly climbed the\nslopes of the Rocque du Guet, and arriving at the summit bent its way\nseaward, halting at the edge of the precipitous cliff.\n\nThe sun was nearing the horizon. The scene was one of unsurpassed\nloveliness. Behind lay the central and southern portions of the island,\nhushed as if their primaeval rocks were still tenantless. The outlines\nof the isles of Herm and Jethou were visible, but already sinking into\nthe shades of evening. On the left the bold bluffs of L'Er\u00e9e and Lihou,\non the right the rugged masses of the Grandes and the Grosses Rocques,\nthe Gros Commet, the Grande and Petite Fourque, lay in sharpened\noutline, the lapping waves already assuming a grey tint. These masses\nformed the framework of a picture which embraced a boundless wealth of\ncolour, an infinite depth of softness. Straight from the sun shot out\nacross Cobo Bay a joyous river of gold, so bright that eye could ill\nbear to face its glow; here and there in its course stood out\nquaintly-shaped rocks, some drenched with the fulness of the glorious\nbath, others catching now and again a sprinkling shower. On each side of\nthe river the sea, clear to its depths where alternate sand and rock\nmade a tangle of capriciously mingled light and shade; its surface, here\nblue as the still waters of the Grotta Azzurra, there green as the\nolive, here again red-brown as Carthaginian marble, lay waveless, as\nwith a sense that the beauty was too perfect to be disturbed. Suddenly\nthe scene was changed; the lustrous outflow was swiftly drawn in and\nabsorbed; a grey hue swept over the darkening surface; in the distance\nthe round, blood-coloured, orb hung above the expectant ocean.\n\nThen all assembled fell on their knees. The music gave out sharp\nplaintive notes which were answered by the voices of men and women in\nshort, wailing, as it were inquiring, rhythm; this continued till the\nsun was on the point of disappearance, when music and voices together\nburst into a sad chant, seemingly of farewell; the kneeling people\nextending their hands seaward with an appealing gesture. One figure only\nwas erect; on the projecting boulder, which is still so conspicuous a\nfeature of the Rocque du Guet, stood the sorceress, her arms also\noutstretched, her figure, firm, erect, sharply outlined, such as\nTurner's mind conceived when he sketched the Last Man.\n\nFather Austin contemplated the scene from a distance. By his side was\nhis favourite convert, Jean Letocq.\n\n\"Strange!\" he said, placing his hand on his companion's shoulder. \"Your\nrace are not sun-worshippers. Never, except on this day of the year, do\nthey show this feeling; but who that saw them to-day would doubt that\nthey are so! Is it that from old times their intense love of nature has\nled them to show in this way their sadness at its decay? or do they by\nmourning over the close of the sun's longest day symbolize their\nrecognition of the inevitable end of the longest life of man? I cannot\ntell. But, blind as this worship is, it is better than that of the work\nof man's hands. By God's will your countrymen may be led from kneeling\nto the created to mount the ladder till they bend the knee only to the\nCreator. It may be well, too, that their chosen object of veneration is\nthe only object in nature which dies but to rise again. Thus may they be\nled to the comprehension of the great truth of the resurrection. But\nSatan,\" he added with warmth, \"must be wrestled with and cast down,\nspecially when he takes the forms of temptation which he has assumed\nto-day: those of power and beauty. Prayer and fasting are sorely\nneeded.\"\n\nFor once his pupil was not altogether docile. \"Thou hast taught me,\nfather,\" he replied, \"the lesson of charity. This old woman is sinful,\nher error is deep, but may she not be converted and saved?\"\n\n\"The devils can never regain Paradise,\" replied the priest sternly. \"Arm\nthyself, Jean, against their wiles, in which I fear thou art already\nentangled. The two forms we have to-day seen are but human in seeming:\ndemons surely lurked beneath.\"\n\nJean was now in open rebellion. \"Nay, good father,\" he said decisively,\n\"the maiden was no fiend; if her companion be an imp of darkness, as\nwell she may, be it my task to rescue her from the evil snare into which\nshe has fallen!\" He had indeed a vivid recollection of the soft, human\nhand to which he had ventured to give a gentle pressure when he had\nassisted in placing the wreath on the fair, marble, brow, and had no\ndoubt of the girl's womanhood. As he spoke he vanished from the side of\nthe priest, who, seeing the two objects of his pious aversion entering\nthe darkening glades of the wood, was at no loss to divine the cause of\nhis disappearance. The holy father shook his head, and sighed deeply. He\nwas accustomed to disappointments, but this day his path had to an\nunusual extent been beset with thorns. His faith was unshaken, and he\nhumbly laid the fault on his own shoulders, promising further privations\nto his already sorely afflicted body. Meanwhile he descended the hill,\ndirecting his course to Lihou. Pausing on his way through the forest to\nreplace the cross on the oak, he saw Jean, walking slowly homewards, his\nlistless step showing that his quest had failed. The Evil One had, he\nthought, for the time at least, forborne to press his advantage. Further\noff he heard the scattered voices of the dispersing throng.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nDEVOTION.\n\n    \"There glides a step through the foliage thick,\n    And her cheek grows pale and her heart beats quick,\n    There whispers a voice through the rustling leaves,\n    And her blush returns, and her bosom heaves;\n    A moment more--and they shall meet.\n    'Tis past--her lover's at her feet.\"\n\n    _Parasina_.--BYRON.\n\n\nAfter visiting all the accessible parts of the island Jean satisfied\nhimself that it was useless to search further in them for traces of the\nstrangers. Persons so remarkable could not, it was clear, conceal\nthemselves from the knowledge of the inhabitants. He must therefore\neither admit that the monk's surmise was correct, or must search in\nquarters hitherto unexplored. Though his rejection of the former\nalternative was a foregone conclusion, his adoption of the latter was a\nremarkable proof of the strength of his passion. There was only one\ndistrict unexplored, and that was practically unapproachable.\n\nEarly in the sixth century some piratical vessels had entered Rocquaine\nBay in a shattered condition; the crews succeeded in landing, but the\nships, for seagoing purposes, were beyond repair. The pirates penetrated\ninland, driving out the inhabitants from Torteval and some of the\nadjoining valleys. Here they settled; and being skilled in hunting and\nfishing, having a fair knowledge of husbandry, and finding the position\npeculiarly adapted for their marauding pursuits, throve and prospered:\nso much so that when, some years afterwards, they had an opportunity of\nleaving, the majority elected to remain. Their descendants had continued\nto occupy the same district. Who they were, whether pure Northmen or of\nsome mixed race, it would be idle to conjecture: they were originally\nput down by the islanders as Sarrazins, that being the name under which\nthe simple people classed all pirates; the strangers, however, resented\nthis description, and had consequently come to be spoken of as Les\nVoizins, a definition to which no exception could be taken. Hardy and\nwarlike, quick of temper and rough of speech, they had an undisputed\nascendancy over the natives, to whom, though dangerous if provoked, they\nhad often given powerful aid in times of peril. On the whole they made\nnot bad neighbours, but a condition was imposed by them the violation\nof which was never forgiven: no native was permitted, under any pretext,\nto enter their territory; death was the sure fate of an intruder found\nin Rocquaine Bay or setting foot in the Voizin hills or valleys.\nWhatever may have been the cause of this regulation the result had been\nto keep the race as pure as it was on the day of the first landing.\n\nNow it was in the Terre des Voizins that Jean had resolved to seek his\nbeloved, and his resolution was unalterable. He knew the danger; he\nwished to avoid death if possible; he meant to employ to the full the\nresources at his command; foolhardy as his enterprise seemed it was long\nand carefully planned. He knew that in the summer evenings it was the\ncustom of the Voizin women to visit the sunny shores of the bay: this he\nhad seen from Lihou; could he then succeed in landing unperceived, and\nin concealing himself in one of the many clefts of the rocks, he felt\nsure that if the well-known form were there he would descry it; what\nwould follow afterwards was a question which had taken many fantastic\nshapes in his imagination, none of which had assumed a definite form.\n\nTowards the close of July the conditions were favourable for his\nattempt. In the night a strong tide would be running into the bay; the\nwind was south-westerly, the moon set early. He prepared to start. He\nhad selected a small and light boat, which would travel fast under his\npowerful strokes, and might be so handled as not to attract attention;\nin it he had stored provisions which would last for a few days and a\nsmall cask of fresh water. Towards evening he shaped his course for\nLihou.\n\nHe had seen but little of the monk since the day of the feast, but he\nwas yearning to see him now. His love for the man, his reverence for the\ntruths he taught, his thought of his own future if he lost his life in\nhis rash expedition, all urged him to seek a parting interview.\n\nThe brothers received him affectionately and bade him join their frugal\nmeal. The monks were five in number: they had been six, but one had\nrecently been drowned while returning from a pious mission to Herm. Jean\nknew them all; they were honest, God-fearing men, trustful and truthful.\nIf their reasoning powers were not great, their faith was unswerving.\nTheir life was a prolonged asceticism, and they had fair reason to\nexpect that martyrdom would be their earthly crown.\n\nThe only exceptional feature of the repast was the appearance of one who\nhad never yet been seated there in Jean's presence; this guest was the\nhermit who dwelt on the extreme point, against which the Atlantic waves\ndashed in their fiercest fury. The recluse did not seem to cultivate the\nduty of abstemiousness, but he maintained silence. Jean could not\nforbear furtively scanning his appearance, which was indeed remarkable.\nHe would have been of large stature in any country; compared with the\nnatives his proportions were gigantic. His broad shoulders and muscular\narms betokened enormous strength; his hair and beard were fair; his blue\neyes had a clear, frank, expression; there was firmness of purpose in\nhis massive jaw; he seemed between forty and fifty, and would have been\nstrikingly handsome but for three deep scars which totally marred the\nexpression of his features. As Jean eyed him he returned the compliment,\nbut the meal was soon over and the youth accompanied Father Austin to\nhis cell.\n\nThere a long and sleepless night was passed by both. The monk in vain\nendeavoured to combat Jean's resolution; he argued, prayed, indeed\nthreatened, but without effect. Finding his efforts hopeless he\nabandoned them, and endeavoured to fortify his charge against the\ninfluence of the spell under which he believed him to have fallen. Then\nthe young man was again the pupil; he listened humbly and reverently to\nthe repetition of the great truths which the father strove to rivet on\nhis mind, and joined earnestly in the prayers for truth and constancy.\nAs daylight broke, and he at length laid himself down to rest, his\nlatest vision was that of the good man kneeling by him with that rapt\nlook of contemplation which seemed to foreshadow his immortality.\n\nJean slept profoundly for some hours. When night began to fall he\nreceived Austin's blessing, no further reference being made to his\nexpedition, and when the moon was on the eve of disappearance he\nlaunched his boat. As he rounded Lihou point another boat shot out, the\noccupant of which hailed him. Recognizing the hermit, Jean paused. \"You\nsteer wrong,\" said the giant, speaking with an accent which at once\nreminded his hearer of that of the maiden; \"your course is to the rising\nsun.\" \"I go where I will,\" replied Jean, nettled at this unlooked-for\ninterruption. \"Youth,\" answered the other, \"I have watched thee and wish\nthee well! rush not heedlessly to certain death!\" \"Stay me not!\"\nresolutely answered Jean, wondering at the interest taken in him by this\nstrange being. \"Thou knowest not!\" said the hermit sternly; \"it is not\nonly from death I wish to save thee, but from worse than death; I tell\nthee I--\" He checked himself, as if fearful of saying too much, and bent\nhis eyes searchingly into those of Jean, who murmured simply, \"I am\nresolved.\" \"Then God help thee and speed thee!\" said the giant. Glancing\ninto the boat he saw one of the curved and pierced shells then, as now,\nused by Guernsey seamen as signal-horns: pointing to it he said, \"If in\nperil, where a blast may be heard on Lihou, sound the horn twice: it is\na poor hope but may serve thee!\" He was gone.\n\nJean paddled into the dreaded bay; the moon had now sunk and he was\nfurther favoured by a slight mist. Knowing the tides from infancy, he\nworked his way noiselessly till he approached where the Voizin fleet\nlay, then laid himself down and let the current take him. He passed\nseveral boats in safety; as far as he could judge, from the observations\nhe had taken from Lihou, he was nearly past the anchorage when a crash,\nsucceeded by a grating sound, warned him of danger. A curse, followed by\nan ejaculation of surprise and pleasure, enlightened him as to the\nnature of the collision: he was in contact with one of the anchored\nvessels. \"Odin is good!\" cried a voice; \"ha! a skiff drifted from a\nwrecked vessel! and all eyes but mine sleeping!\" The speaker threw over\na small anchor and grappled the boat. Jean was prepared; without a\nmoment's hesitation he cut the anchor-rope: his craft drifted onwards,\nleaving the fisherman grumbling at the rottenness of his tackle. He\noffered a short prayer of gratitude, and in a few minutes ventured\ncautiously to resume his oars. He heard the breaking of the waves, but\nseamanship on the unknown and indistinct coast was useless. Two sharp\nblows, striking the boat in rapid succession, told him that he had\ntouched a submerged rock; the strong tide carried him off it, but the\nwater poured in through a gaping rent. He was now, however, on a sandy\nbottom: he sprang out, pulled the boat up as far as possible, and sat\ndown to wait for light.\n\nThe first break of dawn showed him his position: he was facing\nnorthward; he was therefore on the Hanois arm of the bay. Fortune had\nindeed been kind to him, for he had drifted into a small cleft sheltered\nby precipitous rocks, a place where concealment was fairly possible, as\nit was accessible only by land at the lowest tides. He examined his\nstore of provisions, which was uninjured; storing it among the rocks he\nrested till the sun sank. He then cautiously climbed the cliff, and\nlooked on the scene revealed by the moonlight. Seawards stood a rough\nround tower; no other building was visible on the point, which seemed\ndeserted. The loneliness gave him courage; when the moon set, the night\nbeing clear, he explored further and satisfied himself that there were\nno human beings, except the occupants of the tower, living on these\nrocks. He retired to his hiding-place to rest; before dawn he again\nascended and concealed himself among the bracken and brambles which\nformed the only available shelter. During the whole day he saw but one\nperson, an elderly woman, whose dark features and bright kerchief showed\nher to be of southern or gipsy origin, and who passed backwards and\nforwards carrying water to the tower. His examination increased his\nconfidence; he calculated, by measuring the time occupied by the old\nwoman in passing with an empty and returning with a full pitcher, that\nthe spring frequented by her could not be far distant; at night he\nfound it just beyond the junction of the rocks with the mainland. The\nwater was cool and fresh, and considerably revived him; he noticed too\nthat the luxuriant brushwood, nourished by the moisture, offered a good\nplace for concealment; he returned, removed thither what remained of his\nprovisions, and ensconced himself in his new retreat.\n\nIn the morning he saw two figures approaching from the tower; one was\nthe same servant he had seen before, but the other!--his heart throbbed\nand leaped, his brain reeled, his eyes gazed hungrily; he could not be,\nhe was not, mistaken!--the second figure was the heroine of his dreams!\nShe walked silently. Jean saw that memory had not played him false: her\nbeauty, her grace, were no freak of his imagination; would the holy\nfather now say that she was a devil, while thus she moved in her\nloveliness, a woman to be loved and worshipped!--a very woman, too! not\nabove the cares of life! Seating herself by the spring she despatched\nher companion on an errand to supply domestic wants, promising to await\nher return.\n\nJean's principal characteristic was rapid resolution: he reasoned that a\nsmall alarm might make the girl fly; that his chance of retaining her\nwas an overpowering shock. He stepped boldly out and stood before her.\nThe maiden sprang quickly to her feet; there was no terror in her face;\nshe was of true blood; if she was afraid she did not show it; it was\nclear she recognized the apparition, but intense surprise, overpowering\nother emotions, kept her dumb. Jean had thus the chance of speaking\nfirst, and deftly he used his opportunity. In a few rapid sentences he\ntold the tale of his search, of his adventures, of his selection of his\nhiding-place; then he paused. The maiden was not long in finding words.\nThere was a flush on her cheek and a tear hanging on her eyelash which\nmade Jean very happy. \"You must go,\" she said, \"but where? Your life is\nforfeit! forfeit to the Gods!\" She shuddered as she said this. \"In\nyonder tower lives my mother, on the shore are my people; there is no\nescape on either hand! A chance has saved you hitherto; none dare\napproach our home without my mother's permission, which is rarely given;\nbut on this spot they may find you, may seize you, may--!\" She stopped,\nwith an expression of horror, and covered her face with her hands.\n\nBut Jean was not anxious; he was radiant with happiness. He seated\nhimself and spoke of love, deep passionate love; so gentle was he, so\nsoft, so courteous, and yet so ardent, that the maiden trembled; when he\ndared to take her hand she did not withdraw it. The moment of bliss was\nbrief; a step was heard. \"Hide yourself quickly,\" she whispered, \"Tita\nis returning.\" Jean promptly obeyed the injunction. The old woman\narrived with a well-filled wallet, and looked fondly at her young\nmistress. The signs of recent agitation struck her. \"What has befallen\nthee, Hilda?\" she cried anxiously. The girl took her arm and led her\nseawards. Jean, watching, could see the start and angry expression of\nthe older, the coaxing, pleading attitude of the younger woman; he could\nsatisfy himself that the resistance of the former was gradually being\novercome, and as they returned he saw that the maiden's victory was\nindisputable. She summoned Jean, who was inspected by Tita at first with\ndistrust, then with modified approval. \"You must stay here,\" said the\nmaiden earnestly, \"closely hidden till nightfall; my absence has been\nalready sufficiently long, and nothing can be done while daylight\nlasts.\" Bidding him farewell she sped with her guardian towards the\ntower, while Jean retired to his bushes a prey to fond thoughts and\nfeverish hopes.\n\nBefore sundown he saw the tall figure of the sorceress wending\nlandwards. She did not approach the spring. Hilda quickly followed with\nher former companion. \"We have a long journey,\" she said, \"and short\ntime: we must start at once.\" Removing all traces of his lair he obeyed\nwithout hesitation. They ascended the steep cliff. The night was clear,\nthe moon at this hour was bright and lustrous. \"We have three hours,\"\nsaid the maiden, \"ere we leave our guest!\"--she looked archly at Jean as\nshe thus described him--\"it should suffice!\" They were now on the\nheights of Pleinmont; no one was moving, though voices of men and beasts\ncould be plainly heard in the distance. \"They feast to-night to the\nGods,\" said Hilda; \"we need fear only some belated laggard!\" The heather\nwas not yet springing, but Jean could see that gorse was on the bloom,\nwhich he considered a favourable omen: they stepped out bravely on the\nshort springy turf. Tita's steps were slower than those of the young\npair, who were deaf to her calls for delay. Never to his dying day did\nJean forget that happy night-walk. His soul was poured out in love, and\nhe knew that his love was returned. He was steeped to the full in joy;\nno thought of future cares or perils crossed his mind. They had passed\nthree or four headlands before the girl halted and waited for her\nattendant, who came up muttering to herself and grumbling; compliments\nfrom Jean and caresses from Hilda restored her good humour, and the work\nof the evening commenced. \"Follow me closely,\" said the girl; \"let your\neye be keen and your step firm: the descent is no child's sport.\" Jean\nlooked at the cliff, fitted for the flight of gull or cormorant rather\nthan the foot of man, still less of gentle maiden: Hilda was already\nover the brink: Jean, following, saw that she was on a path no broader\nthan a goat's track; the difficulties of the descent need not be\ndescribed; it was possible for a clear head and practised foot, to the\nnervous or the unsteady the attempt must have been fatal. Arrived at\nthe bottom the climbers found themselves in a small cleft strewn with\nhuge boulders; the rocks towered high above them. Hilda glanced at the\nmoon. \"We must be quick,\" said she, showing him some deep caverns in the\nrock; \"there,\" she said, \"is your home. Here you are safe; my mother\nalone knows the secret of these caves. I must mount again; you must\nclimb with me to mark the path more closely.\" She sprang to the rock and\ncommenced to ascend as nimbly as she had come down. Jean saw the\nnecessity of taking every precaution; he noted carefully each feature of\nthe track. Arrived at the summit she bade him farewell. She pointed out\na place where Tita would from time to time leave him provisions, and\nsaid that he would find water in the caves; she then tripped quickly\noff. Jean did not linger, seeing that if he did so light would fail him\nfor his return. He crossed the track for the third time, reached the\ncaves, and slept soundly till dawn.\n\nWhen he awoke he inspected his strange retreat. He was in a large hall,\ntwo hundred feet long, and some fifty feet high and broad; this chamber\nwas entered by a small orifice of no great length, through which he had\npassed on the preceding night; it was warm, and dry except where the\nstream of which Hilda had spoken trickled through to the sea. It was the\nfissure now known as the Creux Mahie, and to which an easy access has\nbeen arranged for the benefit of the curious. Here Jean passed three\nmonths. Hilda frequently visited him, and always kept him supplied with\nfood; she warned him also when he might safely roam on the cliffs above.\nThere was no obstacle to her visits, even when they extended to a\nconsiderable length, as the mother seemed always to be satisfied as to\nher absences when Tita accompanied her; and the latter, whose\ninfirmities prevented her from descending, had no means of shortening\nthe interviews.\n\nThus the lovers had opportunity to study each other's characters. The\nmaiden's pure heart knew no distrust, and Jean was faithful and\nchivalrous as Sir Galahad. They spoke not always of love: words were\nunnecessary to explain what every look betokened. Jean found her skilled\nin strange, mystical, lore, but ignorant of all that sways and rules\nmankind. The history of the selfish struggles of human interests and\npassions was to her a sealed book. She had been carefully shrouded from\nthe knowledge of evil; but, in order to protect her in the rough\nturbulent little world in which she lived, it had been necessary to keep\nher from association with her countrymen, and so she had never mingled\nwith them except under the charge of her mother, in whose presence the\nfiercest were submissive. Jean, therefore, in speaking to her of family\nintercourse, of the intermingling of members of the household, of\nbright chat with friends, opened up to her views of life of which she\nhad formed no conception. Then he told her of his own people; described\nthe three generations living under one roof; depicted the daily round,\nthe care of the old and the young, the work, the return of the workers\nto their wives, sisters, and children, the love of the mothers for their\ninfants, the reverence for age, the strong mutual affection of husband\nand wife, brother and sister. To these descriptions she listened with a\nhappy smile, the mission of woman dawning on her; and many were the\nquestions she asked, till she seemed to have mastered the pictures\npainted for her. Above all, Jean strained to bring her to the knowledge\nof the God of the Christian, for he himself was an earnest, intelligent\ndisciple. He found her mind clearer than he had expected. Judith (this\nhe now knew was the mother's name) was a remarkable woman; her mind was\nlofty, if darkened. While others were satisfied with the grossness of a\nmaterial creed her spirit soared aloft. Her Gods commanded her implicit\nfaith, her unswerving allegiance. Seated on the storm-clouds, sweeping\nthrough space, they represented to her infinite force. She attributed to\nthem no love for mankind, which was in her creed rather their plaything,\nbut she credited them with the will and the power to scatter good and\nill before they claimed the soul of the hero to their fellowship, or\ncast into a lower abyss that of the coward or the traitor. She believed\nthat she saw their giant forms half bending from their vapoury thrones,\nand she thought that she read their decrees. Sorceress she may have\nbeen; in those days sorcery was attributed to many who had obtained a\nknowledge of laws of nature, then considered occult, now recognized\namong the guiding principles from which scientific deductions are drawn.\nShe believed in the power of magic, which she was universally understood\nto possess; but she was no vulgar witch: rather was she a worthy\npriestess of her not ignoble deities. The effect upon Hilda's mind of\nthe teachings of such a woman is easy to conceive. She had been allowed\nto know little of the wild orgies of the barbaric feasts offered to the\nGods by her countrymen, of their brutal excesses, of their human\nsacrifices: from this knowledge she had been as far as possible\nshielded: she knew only of the dim mystic beings, half men, half Gods,\nfrom whose wrath she shrank with terror. To a mind so constituted and\ntrained the revelation of the story of the infant Christ was a\npassionate pleasure. She never tired of listening to the tale of the\nbirth in the stable of Bethlehem; but she loved not to dwell on the\nhistory of the passion and death, which was at that time beyond her\nunderstanding. She drank in with parted lips all that concerned the Holy\nMother, of whom she was never weary of hearing. Jean had a rude drawing\nof the Madonna and Child, given him by Father Austin: the figures had\nthe angularity and rigidity of Byzantine art, but the artist had\nrepresented his subject with reverence, and no lack of skill, and she\nloved to dwell on the pure mother's face, and on the longing look in the\neyes of the Child. She accepted wholly the idea of a God who loved\nmankind, of infinite goodness and mercy: if she could not as yet enter\ninto the subtlety of doctrine she could give that childlike faith which\nis the envy of doctrinarians.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nREVELATION.\n\n    \"I curse the hand that did the deid,\n      The heart that thocht the ill,\n    The feet that bore him wi' sik speid,\n      The comely youth to kill.\"\n\n    _Gil Morrice_.--OLD BALLAD.\n\n\nJean had often expressed his curiosity to see the interior of the tower,\nand Hilda had promised to gratify it. On the 25th of October an\nopportunity occurred. She informed her lover that on that day a feast of\nunusual importance would be held from which none would be absent, and\nthat her mother would be engaged at it from noon to midnight. On that\nday, therefore, he walked freely along the cliffs, and was admitted to\nthe dwelling. He had unconsciously based his idea of its contents upon\nhis recollections of the squalid abode of Marie Torode, where human\nskulls, skeletons, bones of birds and beasts, dried skins, and other\nghastly objects had been so grouped as to add to the superstitious\nfeeling inspired by the repulsive appearance of the crone herself. His\nastonishment was therefore proportionate when he saw what to his eyes\nappeared exceptional luxury. A wooden partition divided the room on the\nlower story into two chambers of unequal size: the larger, in which he\nstood, was the common dwelling apartment, the other was given over to\nHilda. The upper story, approached by a ladder and also by an external\nstaircase, was sacred to Judith; Tita occupied some outbuildings. The\nsitting-room was hung with rich stuffs of warm and glowing colours; here\nand there fitful rays of the sun flickered upon gold brocade and\nOriental embroidery; rugs and mats, which must have been offered for\nsale in the bazaars of Egypt and Morocco, were littered about in strange\ncontrast with the bracken-strewed floor. On the walls were inlaid\nbreastplates and helmets, pieces of chain armour, swords and daggers of\nexquisite workmanship. On shelves stood drinking vessels of rougher\nmake, but the best that northern craftsmen could produce. The seats were\nrude and massive: one of them, placed by a window fronting the setting\nsun, was evidently the favourite resting-place of Judith. Above this\nseat was a shelf on which lay some of the mysterious scrolls of which\nJean had seen specimens in the possession of the fathers. Instruments of\nwitchcraft, if such existed, must have been in the upper story: none\nwere visible. All this splendour was manifestly inconsistent with the\nhomely taste and abstracted mode of thought of the sorceress. In point\nof fact she was hardly aware of its existence. The decorator was Tita,\nin whom was the instinct of the connoisseur, supported by no\ninconsiderable knowledge to which she had attained in those early years\nof which she never could be induced to speak. When a rich prize was\nbrought into the bay, freighted with a cargo from Asia, Africa, or the\nEuropean shores of the Mediterranean, she never failed to attend the\nunloading, during which, by the help of cajolery, judicious\ndepreciation, and other ingenious devices still dear to the virtuoso,\nshe succeeded in obtaining possession of articles which would have\nenraptured a modern collector. Judith was apparently indifferent to a\nhabit which she looked upon as a caprice of her faithful servant, and\nthe only evidence of her noticing it was her concentration in her own\napartments of all that related to her personal studies and pursuits.\n\nIt was now Jean's turn to listen and learn, and Hilda's to explain and\ninstruct. Towards nine o'clock he was preparing to return. He was\nindifferent to the darkness, as by this time he knew the track so well\nthat he crossed it fearlessly at all hours. His hand was on the bolt\nwhen Tita announced in alarm that Judith was returning and was on the\npoint of entering. Hardly was there time to conceal him behind the\nhangings before she appeared. Her countenance was pale and worn, her\ntone, as Hilda took off her outer garments was weary and sad. \"The\nportents were hostile and dangerous,\" she said; \"they foretold woe,\ndisaster, ruin. Will the mighty ones reveal to me the future? I cannot\ntell! But my spirit must commune with them till dawn breaks. Dost hear\nthem? They call me now!\" She held up her finger as a sudden blast rocked\nthe tower to its foundations. \"Aye,\" she continued more firmly after a\npause, \"they will not forget those who are true to them. But this\npeople! this people!\" She hid her face with her hands as if to cover a\npainful vision. After a time she rose to her feet and took the girl by\nthe hand. Leading her to the seat by the window on which she placed\nherself, and making her kneel by her side, she said--\n\n\"Hilda! the chill mist closes round! my life draws to its end! Nay, weep\nnot, child! were it not for thee I would long ere this have prayed the\ngods my masters to remove me from my sojourn among the degenerate sons\nof our noble fathers; but I trembled for thy fate, sweet one!\" These\nlast words were almost inexpressibly tender. \"I dared not trust thy\nslight frame to battle unsheltered with the storm. Now the blast\nsummoning me is sounded. I cannot much longer disobey, though I may\ncrave for brief respite. But I have found thee refuge! thou wilt be in\na safe haven. Stay! I must speak while the spirit is on me!\"\n\n\"Mother!\" sobbed the girl, clasping the old woman's knees.\n\n\"Hilda!\" said Judith slowly, \"call me no longer by that name! I am not\nthy mother; before men only do I call thee daughter. Silence!\" she\nexclaimed imperatively, as Hilda looked quickly up, doubting whether she\nheard aright. \"Silence! and listen!\"\n\n\"I have loved thee truly, child, and have nurtured thee as a mother\nwould! and thou art no stranger! the same blood runs in our veins! Yes!\nthou art mine! for thy father was my brother. Does not that give thee to\nme? Hush! thou shalt hear the tale.\"\n\nHilda's were not the only ears that drank in every word of the following\nstory.\n\n\"Twenty years ago what a demi-god was Haco! He was a giant, but even men\nwho feared him loved him. Though brave and strong as Odin himself, his\nmind was gentle and kind as a maiden's; first in council, in war, in\nmanly sports, he ever had an open ear and a helping hand for the\ntroubled and distressed. He was adored, nay, worshipped, by all. What\nwonder then that when he and the proud chief Algar courted the same\nmaiden, he was preferred! Thou knowest not, Hilda, the mysteries of a\ntender heart; may it be long indeed before thy heart is seared by human\npassion!\" It was fortunate that darkness hid the burning blush which\nsuffused Hilda's face and neck at this pious wish. Judith\nproceeded:--\"Thy father wedded and thou wast born. He poured on thy\ninfant form all the wealth of his great generous heart. Algar nursed his\nrevenge: he dared not act openly, for our house was as noble as his\nown--nay, nobler!\" she added haughtily, \"but he bided his time. Haco's\ntower was near the shore, a pleasant, lovely, spot. One night the news\nwas borne to me that enemies had landed, and that his dwelling was in\nflames; I hurried towards it; I was stopped by armed warriors; Algar's\nmen, they said, had hastened to the rescue; the chief had ordered that\nno women should leave their homes. It was in vain that I urged and\nprotested. When at last I reached the spot the struggle was said to be\nover, and the assailants, beaten off, were declared to have sailed away.\nAlgar himself came to me with well-assumed grief. He had arrived, he\nswore, too late to save. The tower had been fired whilst the inmates\nslept, the wife and child had perished; Haco, after performing\nincredible feats of valour, had fallen before the strokes of numerous\nfoes; when he himself had come with a chosen band, while sending the\nrest of his forces to other posts which the unforeseen danger might\nthreaten, nothing remained but to avenge the murder. Why recount the\ncaitiffs lies? Where were the signs of landing, of hasty re-embarkation?\nWhere were the dead of the strangers? Thrown into the sea! he said; it\nwas foul falsehood, and fouler treachery. I found your father's body; he\nwas smitten and gashed, but nobler than the living. I touched him and\nwas silent. I knew what none others guessed. I arose. The spirits of the\nGods came over me, and I cursed his slayer. Never had I spoken so\nfiercely; men stood and wondered. I prayed the Gods to make the wretch\nwho had caused my darling's death miserable by land and by sea, by day\nand by night, in the field and at the board, loathed by his friends, and\nscorned by his foes. The Gods heard my imprecations; as I turned my eyes\nskywards they looked from their clouds, wrath kindling on their brows,\nand Algar's face was white with fear, his hand trembled and his knee\nshook.\n\n\"'We must bury him,' he faltered.\n\n\"'Yea,' said I, 'but in a hero's grave, and after the custom of our\nfathers.'\n\n\"There was a murmur of applause. Algar could not refuse.\n\n\"They brought the choicest of the boats, they made the sails bright and\ngay, they put in it the dead man's arms, and food to accompany him to\nthe land of spirits. Then they bound him before the mast, his face\nturned seaward. At sundown they towed the boat to deep water, so pierced\nher that she might sink slowly under the waves, and then they left the\nhero to his rest. I had gone out with them: alone I said to him my last\nfarewell. But they did not know my secret. They did not guess that I had\nascertained by my art that life was yet in him, that I had poured\nbetween his lips subtle drops which would maintain animation for many\ndays and nights, during which consciousness might be restored; nor did\nthey imagine that when I kneeled before him I had stopped the leak by\nwhich the water was to flow into the doomed boat. Algar was now the\ndeceived; it was a living man, not a corpse, who started on that voyage.\nHaco lives still, though where my art cannot tell. I thought that Marie\nTorode knew, and sought her on her death-bed to question her, but either\nshe could not or she would not tell.\" Hilda's mind was in such confusion\nthat she could not speak. The old woman continued. \"Algar lived on--yes,\nlived that he might suffer all the evils with which my curse loaded him,\nand died that he might be hurled into the abyss where traitors and\ncravens writhe and groan. Enough of him!\n\n\"When I returned to my tower, a figure was crouching before the hearth:\nit was Tita, and you were in her arms. The faithful creature, whom your\nfather had chosen from a band of captives to be your nurse, had,\nunperceived, saved your life from the flames. Thenceforward you were my\ncare. I took your mother's place as best I could. Others knew not your\nparentage, nor did they dare to question me. None suspected the truth.\"\n\nWhen she reached this point she bent over the kneeling girl and gave her\na kiss, tender as a mother's if not a mother's kiss; her fingers\ncaressed the head bowed upon her knees; for a time the silence was only\nbroken by Hilda's sobs. She then spoke again, this time quickly,\nsternly, as if to prevent interruption.\n\n\"I cannot leave thee alone, and I will not! Listen, child, and be\nsilent! What I now tell thee is beyond thy young understanding: thou\nhast but to shape thy will to my bidding: it is for me to launch thy\nvessel on its voyage, the Gods will help thy riper judgment to steer its\ncourse! The time has come when thou must wed! I have chosen for thee a\nsuitor, the chief to whom all thy countrymen bend the knee. Garthmund\nclaims thee as his bride; ere eight days expire the marriage feast will\nbe held. He is of noble birth, there is none nobler; he is young and\nstrong, and should be favoured by the Gods if he prove worthy of them.\nHe is a fitting bridegroom for Haco's daughter.\"\n\nThe girl was dazed and trembling. She knew this chief: he answered\nJudith's description, but was rough and coarse. Had she not met Jean\nshe might not have dared to refuse, but now she felt that death would be\nmore welcome than this marriage. \"Spare me, mother!\" she said, as if she\nhad not heard the disclaimer of maternity. \"I am too young, too weak.\"\nThe old woman pressed her hand on the girl's lips. \"We will not speak\nfurther to-night,\" she said; \"thou canst not see Garthmund for three\ndays, for so long the feast will last. May the Gods protect thee!\" She\nrose: the fitful moonlight streamed on her gaunt form; she turned and\nslowly ascended to her chamber.\n\nThe terrified girl quickly released Jean, who led her from the tower. If\nshe was broken and trembling he was erect and resolute; no longer the\nsoft lover, but the prompt man of action. She felt the bracing\ninfluence. \"We have three days,\" he said. \"Within that time we must\nflee. I will not return to the cave; my task must be to repair the\nboat.\" He mentioned certain articles which he begged her to provide,\npressed her to his breast, and disappeared in the darkness.\n\nAt daylight he examined the little vessel. She was no worse than she had\nbeen, as each incoming tide, reaching the place where she was secured,\nhad floated her, but the rock had opened a large jagged fissure. Hilda\nbrought him such materials as she could procure, a log of wood, bark\nwhich she stitched with her own hands, a hatchet and nails. Jean\nutilized also the vraick with which the sand was strewn. He worked\nwithout fear of detection, knowing that the whole population was inland;\nbut the lovers had to rely on themselves alone, for, when there was a\nquestion of flight, Tita was no longer to be trusted.\n\nOn the third day Jean found the boat fairly seaworthy. Hilda felt a\nsevere pang at leaving Judith, who had not reverted to the subject of\nher marriage. Whether her parent or not, she loved her dearly; she felt\nalso the pain of parting with Tita, but her resolution never swerved.\nShe had given her heart to Jean; she felt also a presentiment that she\nwould discover her father; while it was her belief that the parting from\nher old associates was but temporary.\n\nWhen the sun went down Jean set his sail, meaning to make a rapid dash\nacross the bay, and seeing no cause for concealing his movements. There\nwas more swell than he liked for so frail a craft, but wind and tide\nwere favourable to the enterprise, and the night was exceptionally\nbright, the moon being full; this brightness would have been fatal had\nthe inhabitants been on the alert, but under present circumstances the\npale beams were welcome. Hilda took the helm; she knew every passage in\nthe labyrinth of submerged rocks, and they were soon in comparatively\nopen water. Jean then assumed control, wrapping the maiden in his\ncloak, for the waves were tossing their spray over the boat as she\nheeled over to the breeze.\n\nThey had traversed in safety three-fourths of their course when Jean,\nlooking seaward, saw a dark sail bearing down on them. One of the pirate\nships, delayed by contrary winds, was hurrying homeward, the crew of\nfive men hoping to arrive ere the feast was over. Jean's hope that the\nboat might not be discovered was soon dispelled: the vessel altered her\ncourse slightly and hailed. Jean made no answer. The pirate was\nevidently in no mood to parley; the crew were in a fierce temper, angry\nand discontented at the postponement of their arrival. She made a\ndeliberate attempt to run the boat down. Jean divined her object and,\nputting up his helm sharply at the right moment, let her shoot by him\nastern; he then resumed his course. A second attempt was clumsier, and\nwas easily evaded; the assailants were hurried and impatient; nor did\nthey know the seamanlike qualities of the man with whom they were\ndealing. But Jean saw that ultimate escape was hopeless, and this was\nequally apparent to Hilda who, however, though pale as death, gave a\nfirm pressure of the hand in response to his grasp. At this moment an\nobject glimmered under the youth's feet: stooping down he touched the\nshell. The hermit's parting words flashed on his mind: he seized on the\nhope of rescue, and sounded two loud and clear blasts.\n\nThe pirates now altered their tactics. Handling their vessel with more\ncare they succeeded, after two or three unsuccessful attempts, in\nranging alongside and grappling the boat. A man sprung on board and\nseized Hilda. \"A rare booty!\" he cried,--\"the Gods repent of their\nwaywardness.\" Jean was engaged with those of the crew who had seized the\nboat; the man laughingly gave the girl a rough embrace: it was the last\nact he had to record before entering the spirit world. Hilda drew from\nher bosom one of the daggers which Jean had noticed on the tower walls,\nwhose blade, still sharp and keen, might have been forged by a Damascus\nsmith; it struck deep to the heart of the ruffian, who fell lifeless\ninto the waves. Jean had now freed the craft, but the respite was short:\nbefore she had made much progress she was again captured. The pirates,\nfurious at the death of their comrade, made a determined onslaught.\nJean, fighting desperately, received from behind a terrific blow which\nlaid him senseless. But a superstitious feeling made them hesitate\nbefore committing further outrage; they had recognized Hilda, and feared\nthe consequence of Judith's vengeance if she were injured. There was no\ntime, however, for delay; the, rude repairs, torn by the trampling feet,\nhad given way, and the leak had re-opened: the boat was fast sinking.\nThe pirates cared not for Jean's lifeless body; that might sink or swim;\nbut they felt they must save the girl whatever might be her future\ndoom. Even their hearts softened somewhat as they watched her erect in\nthe sinking boat, her face pallid, her fair hair shining in the\nmoonlight, but her lips set, her lovely eyes bent tearless on her\nprostrate lover, her right hand, holding the blood-stained dagger,\nhanging listlessly by her side.\n\nWatching an opportunity, a stalwart youth seized her from behind and\npinned her arms. The next moment he himself was seized as if he were a\ndog, and hurled into the water. The new combatant, whose arrival had so\neffectually changed the aspect of affairs, was the hermit, who followed\nup his first stroke by another still more decisive. Springing into the\npirate craft, wrenching a weapon from the grasp of the chief of the\nassailants, he drove before him the three remaining men, terror-struck\nat his sudden and inexplicable appearance, his superhuman size and\nstrength. One by one he swept them overboard; then grasping a huge\nstone, which formed part of the ballast, he dashed it with the full\nforce of his gigantic strength through the planks of the boat, which at\nonce began to fill. All this was the work of a few moments. He then\nleaped into the skiff, which sank as he swiftly transferred to his own\nvessel its two occupants.\n\nBefore another hour was over, Jean, stretched on a pallet, was receiving\nthe attention of loving hands in a cell of the Lihou monastery.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nAFFLICTION.\n\n    \"The race of Thor and Odin\n    Held their battles by my side,\n    And the blood of man was mingling\n    Warmly with my chilly tide.\"\n\n    _Danube and the Euxine_.--AYTOUN.\n\n\nFather Austin received his pupil's companion with the courtesy due to\nher distress, but with much misgiving. After tending his patient, whose\nsituation was critical, he paced thoughtfully towards the cell in which\nhe had placed her, revolving in his mind the difficulties of the case.\nHis amazement was intense when he slowly opened the door. The maiden was\nkneeling, her back towards him; before her was the little picture of the\nMadonna; she was praying aloud; her words were simple but passionately\npathetic; she threw herself and her lover upon the mercy of the Holy\nMother with a trust so absolute, a confidence so infinite, that the monk\ncould hardly refrain from tears. How had he been blinded! as he looked\nand listened the scales fell from his eyes: he humbly owned his error.\n\nThe noise of his step startled her; she rose and looked at him\ninquiringly. \"Maiden,\" he said, answering her appealing look, \"his fate\nis in the hands of God, whose ears are ever open to the prayers of those\nthat fear Him.\"\n\nOften and often had Jean spoken to her of Father Austin; she loved him\nalready, but she had yet to fathom the nobleness of his soul. His\nsingle-heartedness and abnegation of self, his tenderness and quick\nsympathy (virtues tempering his fierce abhorrence of Paganism), his\nstern reprobation of the evil, and his yearning for the good, in the\nuntutored barbarians among whom he laboured, were gradually revealed in\nthe discourses which they held daily while Jean lay between life and\ndeath. Reaping and garnering what Jean had sown, he scattered fresh\nseed, opening out to her the great history of God in man. Qualities\nhitherto unsuspected in her developed; if an apt pupil, she was an\ninstructive teacher of the wealth of charity and purity that dwells in\nan untainted woman's heart. And she had another friend: the hermit\nwatched over her with touching care and assiduity. He appeared strangely\nattracted to her; the holy fathers marvelled to see this rough being,\nwho had seemed to them an animal to be feared while pitied, caring for\nthe maiden's comfort with a woman's gentleness: he seemed never weary of\ncontemplating her, sometimes murmuring to himself as he did so. Any\nlittle delicacy that the island could afford, game, fish, shellfish, was\nprovided for her by him. Once, thinking her couch hard, he disappeared\nand returned bearing, whence none knew, soft stuffs better fitted for\nher tender form; on this occasion the whole man seemed transformed, when\nhe stepped in with a smile in his big frank eyes, and a ruddy glow on\nhis bronzed scarred cheeks, placed his offering at her feet, and strode\naway. Strange, too, to say, Hilda seemed to return the feeling: happy in\nthe presence of Austin, she was yet with him as the pupil with the\nmaster; but with the recluse she was gentle, affectionate, and even\nplayful. The monks attempted not to solve the puzzle of the bond that\nknitted together the two strange beings; analysis of character troubled\nlittle their saintly minds.\n\nAt length consciousness returned; Jean opened his eyes and recognised\nAustin. This was a joyful moment. Quiet was all that was now necessary\nto complete the restoration of his health, which could not, however, be\nanticipated for a considerable time. The first inquiry of the patient\nwas for Hilda, and he was allowed to see her; on the next day they were\npermitted to interchange a few words, after which Austin explained what\nhe had already decided. Hilda, he pointed out, could not fitly remain\nin Lihou, where she had been allowed to reside only until her lover was\nout of danger; the laws of the establishment, which forbade the presence\nof women, must now be put in force, but a fitting home had been provided\nfor her; she would be placed with the Sisters at the Vale; the hermit\nwould conduct her thither on the following day. The girl bowed to this\ndecision, sorely as she grieved to leave him she loved; the next morning\nthey parted, and she embarked with her guardian who, shielding her\nlovingly from all harm, placed her, ere nightfall, in her new abode.\n\nJudith had not discovered the girl's departure till the sun was well up,\nwhen she heard of her absence from the frantic Tita. The old woman's\nforce of character was colossal; pettinesses, small passions, were\nunknown to her. Had her sphere been larger her promptitude of resource,\nkeenness of perception, resolute look onwards and upwards, solidity of\npurpose, and incisive action might have graven her name on the tables of\nhistory. Stagnating in the shallow pools of the unstoried rocks in which\nshe passed her life, these grand qualities were wasted and perverted.\nShe lost no time now in recrimination; a few sharp questions enabled her\nto judge how far the weakness of affection had played the traitor with\nthe old woman, whom she left to settle matters with her own conscience.\nShe saw Garthmund, and told him that, in consequence of the\nunsatisfactory augury of the last sacrifice, she had decided to postpone\nthe marriage. Nor did she appear to notice the indifference with which\nthe chief, who could not pretend that he ardently loved a bride who was\npractically a stranger to him, received the decision. It took her some\ntime to discover where Hilda had taken refuge; it speaks ill for female\nreticence that she discovered it shortly after the girl's removal to the\nsisterhood. She satisfied herself that her own people had no suspicion\nof the flight, as none of the crew of the belated boat had reached the\nshore; and she gathered, from the transfer of the maiden to the convent,\nthat Father Austin was, on his side, resolved not to make known the\nelopement of Garthmund's intended wife. Her paramount wish was to\nrecover her niece, but she perceived that she must act warily, and must\nbe ready to deal with the many contingencies which would inevitably\narise during the development of her schemes. Hilda's position under the\nimmediate protection of the religious communities was a serious\nobstacle. Judith believed that against them her magic arts would be of\nno avail; she was therefore driven to confine herself to earthly\ncombinations; but she was in no wise daunted by this difficulty, which\nin point of fact cleared her judgment, and assisted her by inducing her\nto make the best of the materials at her disposal. The obvious plan for\nthe recovery of the girl was to induce Garthmund to attack the nunnery,\nand drag his bride from it; but to this there were many objections.\nAcknowledgment of Hilda's flight would be in itself a confession of\nfailure. She had promised to produce the girl when she was required; to\nseek the chief's assistance to enable her to fulfil the promise would be\na diminution of her prestige, and consequently of her power. Again, it\nwas by no means certain that the chief who, it has been said, was no\nlove-sick bridegroom, would consent to undertake the enterprise; nor, if\nhe did undertake it, was his prospect of success unquestionable, for the\nislanders, though not ready listeners to the Christian teaching, would\nhave united to repel a heathen attack on their teachers whom they\nhonoured and respected. Judith therefore rejected this expedient,\narranging her plan of operations with remarkable ingenuity.\n\nHer first aim was to promote ill-feeling between the Voizins and their\nneighbours; this part of the campaign was prosecuted with vigour. Cattle\nwere lost on either side of the boundary; houses were burnt; old wells\nran dry; rumours, mysteriously circulated, spoke of these as no\naccidental mishaps; suspicions were whispered; instances of retaliation\nfollowed. At the time when a dangerous feeling was thus growing up a\nfamine broke out in the Voizin country while the islanders were well\nsupplied. The hungry Voizin men heard voices in the darkness scoffing\nat them, laughter and sneers. When their carts were sent to fetch the\nnecessaries of life, lynch-pins were loosened; in more than one case the\ndraught oxen were houghed; the provisions, when received, were mouldy\nand unwholesome. At last sickness broke out, with stories of poison;\nthen the tension became insupportable. The Voizin chief, too proud to go\nto his neighbours, summoned them to him; the messenger was murdered.\nThis assassination, of which the natives denied all knowledge, was met\nby prompt reprisals; three Perelle fishermen were hung on the spot where\nthe body was found. From this date the outbreak of hostilities was but a\nquestion of time. A sternness of purpose ruled in the councils of the\nVoizins which frustrated all attempts at conciliation. A little before\nChristmas a trivial incident kindled the smouldering flames, and the\nhordes, pouring from the Torteval valleys, swept over the districts now\nknown as the parishes of St. Saviour's and the C\u00e2tel; the resistance was\ntame and ineffectual, sufficient only to give occasion for considerable\nslaughter and plunder. The invaders, seeing no reason for returning to\ntheir famine-stricken fastnesses, settled themselves in the enjoyment of\nthe abundance of the vanquished, who, in their turn, with their\naccustomed versatility, submitted patiently, and even cheerfully, to a\nyoke which, after the first onslaught was over, pressed lightly; the\nVoizins, to whom fighting was a pastime, bearing no malice, and passing\nimperceptibly into a genial mood.\n\nJudith now prepared to develop the next move, the object of which was to\nundermine the authority of the monks, and make them vulnerable by\nisolation. Derisive hints were dropped respecting the failure of the new\nreligion to help its votaries in the hour of peril; the victory of the\nVoizins was attributed to the superiority of their Gods rather than to\ndeficiency in courage on the part of their foes: this theory, which was\nnot unpalatable to those who had been half-hearted in defence of their\nhomes, was also utilized by the more sober spirits as an argument\nwherewith to restrain the more ardent from attempting to renew the\nstruggle under similar conditions. The observances of the religion of\nThor and Odin, or rather of that debased form of it which prevailed\namong this singular people, were celebrated under their more alluring\naspects: frequent feasts and dances captivated the laughter-loving\nislanders, who had been tried somewhat severely by the severity of the\n_r\u00e9gime_ which Austin had endeavoured to impose since he had seen danger\nin his damaging encounter with Judith. After a time it was proclaimed\nthat none would be permitted to join in the revelries who were enemies\nto the Gods who presided at them. This stroke was successful: the\nmajority openly embraced the creed of their conquerors, and showed the\nusual spirit of perverts in exceeding the latter in their zeal to sweep\naway all traces of the religion which they had abandoned. The minority\nwho held true to their faith drew together, a grim and resolute band,\nprepared for a bold defence and, if Christ so willed it, for martyrdom.\n\nIt was not Judith's purpose, now that the disruption of the islanders\nwas effected, to leave time for the Christians to mature plans for\nresistance. Garthmund, at her instigation, delivered simultaneous\nattacks on Lihou and the Vale; he himself superintending the latter\noperation in order that he might see that the sorceress's instructions,\nthat all in the nunnery were to be made prisoners uninjured, and brought\nto her closely veiled, were implicitly obeyed. To the surprise of the\nislanders, however, both assaults, though made with spirit and absolute\nconfidence of success, were completely repulsed; the same result\nattended a renewed attack, made two days subsequently with fresh and\nincreased forces supported by native levies. Garthmund found that in\nboth places he had before him not only resolute troops, but skilled and\nenterprising commanders.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nCONSOLATION.\n\n    \"Mother! list a suppliant child!\n                            Ave Maria!\n    Ave Maria! Stainless styled.\n    Foul demons of the earth and air,\n    From this their wonted haunt exiled,\n    Shall flee before thy presence fair.\"\n\n    _Lady of the Lake_.--WALTER SCOTT.\n\n\nJean's recovery after Hilda's departure had been slow and lingering; but\nfor the unwearied care of the good fathers and of the recluse, aided by\na constitution of no ordinary strength, he must have succumbed to the\nterrible injuries which he had received. As, however, the days began to\nlengthen, and signs of spring to appear even on the wild rock where he\nhad taken refuge, his vigour gradually returned. It had been necessary\nthat he should be protected from excitement; consequently, while\nreceiving from the hermit regular reports from the Vale, and many a\nsweet message from his love which made his heart leap with happiness,\nhe knew nothing till the beginning of February of the incursion of the\nVoizins, and the accompanying events. Since he had been alone, however,\nhe had dwelt for hours together on the strange story which he had\noverheard in the tower, the principal figure of which, while his brain\nhad been still confused, had been always mingled in his delirium with\nthe massive form of the hermit. Father Austin, watching him with\nanxiety, at length suggested that he should relieve his mind by\nrepeating the tale to the recluse himself. He readily adopted the\nsuggestion. His listener, who had been too delicate to question Hilda as\nto her antecedents, but who had been burning to learn the explanation of\nthe striking resemblance of her features to a face which, whether he\nwaked or slept, ever haunted him, though more often contorted in agony\nthan wreathed in smiles, heard with impatience the history of Algar's\ntreachery; but when Jean detailed the escape of Tita and her charge, and\nidentified the latter with the maiden whom he had rescued, he sprang to\nhis feet at the risk of plunging his patient into a fresh crisis of\nfever, and exclaimed, \"May the choicest gifts of heaven be showered on\nthee, brave youth! the blessed angels and saints will love thee for this\ndeed!\" He reflected a moment, then turned his eyes full on Jean's face,\n\"Why should I leave it to Austin to tell thee what he has long known\nunder the solemn secrecy which binds priest and sinner? Thou shalt know\nit from my own lips: I am Haco! Drifted hitherward on that lonely\nvoyage, I was released by holy men, now saints above, who healed my\nwounds and taught me to bury my pride, and to kneel humbly before the\nCross. I never doubted that I was childless as well as wifeless; had I\ndone so, I should have returned at all risks to claim my own. But she!\nHilda! 'twas her mother's name! this maiden, towards whom my soul went\nout in yearning, is my own! yes! my child! If a wild feeling rose when I\nwatched her I crushed it out, for I thought that I had stifled all human\npassions; but now--\" He fell on his knees, and hid his face in his\nhands, his giant frame convulsed with sobs; but it was evident that he\nwas controlling himself, and when he rose his rugged face was full of\nhumanity: youth seemed to have returned to it; under the disfiguring\nscars Jean could trace without difficulty the fearless, generous\nfeatures of which Judith had spoken with such enthusiasm. Haco warmly\ngrasped the sick man's hand, and left the cell.\n\nFather Austin had, it appeared, learnt Judith's story from Hilda, but\nthis confidence also had been made under the seal of confession. He had\nbeen confirmed in his impression of its accuracy by the tale he had\nalready heard from Haco, whose strange arrival was still a favourite\ntopic among the monks, though none of those now in the monastery had\nwitnessed it. The three men were now able openly to discuss the subject\nin its various bearings, but they agreed that the mystery should not be\nrevealed till peace was restored.\n\nHaco had from the first foreseen the danger to be apprehended from the\nVoizin incursion. The monks were still further surprised to see the\nbeing, whose gentleness had amazed them on Hilda's arrival, now a leader\nof men, active, vigorous, inspiring others with the love of life with\nwhich he himself seemed to be animated. Before the attack came Jean was\nsufficiently recovered to be able to render efficient assistance; he had\nably seconded Haco in the two encounters, after which he was specially\nentrusted with the defence of the Vale.\n\nJudith was in no degree daunted by temporary failure: her nature\nrevelled in overcoming opposition; her spirit rose to the occasion.\nGarthmund was inclined to be sulky after his second defeat, and might\nhave abandoned the enterprise had he dared to do so; but fear of the\nsorceress kept him firm. For a month the system of blockade was tried,\nvaried by occasional assaults which, being made with less spirit than\nthe earlier ones, were easily repulsed. The blockade was not more\nsuccessful. Haco had provided ample stores for the small garrison which\nhe had considered sufficient to protect the promontory of Lihou,\nnaturally almost impregnable; and the force defending the Vale, camped\nchiefly on Lancresse Common, was only nominally blockaded. The sallies,\nmade from time to time, were ordered more with a view of keeping up the\nmartial spirit of the men than with that of providing for wants, for the\nfriendly inhabitants of the eastern side of the island, emboldened by\nrecent proofs that the dreaded Voizins were not invincible, ran their\nboats almost with impunity into the little creeks into which the heavier\ncraft of the enemy could not follow them.\n\nJudith hardly noticed these details. Her attention was fixed upon the\nkey of the position. She knew that a resistance of this description was\naltogether contrary to the unwarlike character of the natives; she was\nconvinced that they were actuated by some abnormal spirit, and that if\nthe motive power were removed the machine would collapse. She made it\nher business to ascertain what the spring was that guided them. All her\nart failed in detecting the presence of Haco, perhaps because her\nengines were powerless when directed against one of her own blood; but\nshe easily ascertained that the warriors in the opposing camp looked to\nJean as their leader, that his spirit pervaded all, and that his ardour\nto protect his sacred charge filled him with a wondrous power which\nastonished even those who from childhood had bent to his unchallenged\nprimacy.\n\nHaving satisfied herself as to the character of the opposing force, her\nnext step was to secure Jean's person. This presented no difficulty to\nher. A scroll was delivered to the young leader by an unknown messenger,\nwho at once disappeared. Jean, seeing that the characters were those\nwhich, as he believed, Austin alone was able to trace, took the scroll\nto the sister who alone was able to interpret them. What Sister Theresa\nread was alarming:--\"Hasten! I am grievously sick; my strength fails! I\nmust see thee without delay.\" Jean was distressed beyond measure, but\nHilda, whom he hurried to consult, agreed with him that no time must be\nlost in obeying the summons; the fact that Haco was at Lihou convinced\nthem that the father would not have sent for Jean if his case had not\nbeen one of extreme danger. After a hasty farewell and a promise of\nspeedy return, for his presence with the forces was imperative and he\ngrudged every hour of absence from his beloved, he set out alone in his\nboat. Before an hour had passed he was captured by a flotilla which had\nbeen lying in ambuscade behind the Grandes Rocques, and was a prisoner\nin the enemy's camp.\n\nIf Judith had been an ordinary woman she would have been content with\nthis result, would have executed the prisoner, and have awaited the\nsubmission of his disheartened followers; and she would have failed,\ndefeated by the indomitable courage and resource of Haco. But it was not\nin this clumsy fashion that her genius moulded the materials at her\ncommand. She now controlled, as she believed, the mainspring of the\nresistance, which would probably cease with the death of Jean. But her\naim went far beyond the mere submission of her antagonists; she wished\nthat the blow should be struck in such a manner as to stamp out the\nfalse creed which had held the islanders in thrall, to prove to all\nsceptics the powers of her own Gods and the impotence of those of her\nopponents, and to commit the recently reconverted islanders so\nirretrievably that they could not afterwards backslide. She wished also,\nby making an example that would inspire terror, to establish the\nundisputed supremacy of her people in the whole island. But, side by\nside with these political considerations, were the religious influences\nhonestly and steadfastly working in her powerful intellect. When she\ncommuned with her Gods she thought of no earthly good or ill: she loved\nthese strange conceptions, and fixed her whole soul on conciliating\nthem. It was now her conviction that they were displeased: their\ndispleasure, awful as she believed it to be, did not terrify her, but it\nvexed her to the inmost heart: she feared that they had not been rightly\npropitiated, and resolved that the shortcoming must be remedied.\n\nAll her reflections pointed with unerring force to the same conclusion.\nShe held in her hands the strong frame, the stout heart, the ruling\nmind. All were concentrated in Jean Letocq. He, then, must be offered up\nas a fitting sacrifice. By such an offering the deities could not fail\nto be appeased, and by the death of this man in this fashion all the\nnatural exigencies of the situation would be satisfied. She never\nallowed herself to dwell for one moment on the fact that the victim was\nbeloved by Hilda. On this point she had armed herself with bars of brass\nand triple steel. He might have fooled the girl, but at the thought of\nlove her heart was ice.\n\nThe sorceress communicated her resolution to Garthmund. The chieftain\nexhibited no surprise: he expressed a grim approval of the proposal,\nwhich seemed likely to give an excuse for revelry and to bring the\ncampaign to a prompt conclusion, and proceeded to make the requisite\narrangements.\n\nThe 30th of March was the day chosen. The forces investing the two\nbeleaguered positions were ordered to assemble, that on the western side\non the low ground between L'Er\u00e9e and Lihou, that on the northern under\nshelter of the woods of the Braye du Valle, facing the fortifications\nthrown up by the defenders. At a given signal, the kindling of a beacon\non the Rocque du Guet, the two hosts were to make simultaneously a\ndetermined assault. The islanders not engaged in these operations, with\nthe exception of those openly or secretly sympathizing with the\nChristians, poured into Vazon Forest, none remaining behind but those\nabsolutely incapable of conveying themselves or of being conveyed.\n\nBy this time the consternation in the enemy's camp was all that the\nsorceress could desire. Jean's capture had been ascertained, and all the\nparticulars respecting his coming fate were known by means of spies.\nHaco shook his head at the proposals of rescue made by spirited youths.\n\"Success would be hopeless,\" he said; \"failure would be fatal to those\nwhose lives are precious to us. If he dies we will brace every nerve to\navenge him, but we must be patient, and await their onslaught. Then will\ncome our turn! then will we spring at their dastard throats! then shall\nthey drink freely of their own gore!\" If the man of the sword thought\nthe case hopeless, what could the men of the cloister do? They did all\nin their power--prayed ceaselessly, fasted, did penance under the\nguidance of Father Austin; but nevertheless the fatal morning arrived.\n\nHilda knew her lover's danger. When he failed to return, and when Haco,\narriving from Lihou, admitted that he had not been seen at the\nmonastery, her heart sank; she, better than any of those around her,\nknew the stern, implacable patriotism and fanaticism of Judith's\nnature; she fully realized the savage dispositions of her countrymen,\ntheir contempt of human life, and their brutal treatment of captives.\nShe had some conception of their fearful orgies, and she shuddered when\nher mind touched, not daring to dwell, on Jean's possible fate. She had\nsufficient presence of mind to bear up bravely before Haco, who had no\nsuspicion that she had a perception of the terrible truth from which\neven his rent and seared feelings shrank; nor did she reveal to Father\nAustin, during a short visit which he paid her at great risk this inner\nserpent which was devouring her young heart. Sister Theresa and her\nfellows marvelled at her as on the morning of the fatal day she passed\nbetween them, her eyes rapt in contemplation, her look serene and calm,\nthough beneath the surface lay a depth of unutterable woe, sinking,\nreceding, chill as the dark, haunted, bosom of an unfathomable mountain\nlake.\n\nShe sought her own cell and begged to be left alone. Then the full heart\nburst the bounds imposed by the strong will. She placed before her the\nlittle Madonna, from which she never parted, and fell on her knees. She\nprayed till noon, and her prayer continued still; it was not simply a\nwoman's supplication: her whole essence was poured out before the Holy\nMother, who was the object of her special adoration. This girl had never\nknown evil: for nineteen years her mind had rippled on, sparkling with\ngood deeds, little bright thoughts, gentle inspirations sweetly obeyed;\nthen first streamed in the warm current of human love, followed by the\nrapid thrilling rush of the flow of Divine awakening. The little stream\nhad become a torrent; but one in which every element was pure, for its\ncomponent parts were faith in God, trust in man, the will to act, the\npower to bear, contentment in joy and resignation in sorrow. Above all,\nshe had ever before her the words which Austin had told her comprised\nthe sermon of the universe--\"Thy will be done!\" Was it possible that, in\nthe days when miracles were yet wrought, such a prayer at such a time\nfrom such a saint should not be heard? Some three hours had passed after\nnoon when she felt a sweet languor overspread her. A mist crept before\nher eyes, which quickly passed away and was replaced by a radiance\nbrighter than the sun's rays; her eyes had power however to look aloft,\nand she gazed with clasped hands and with loving reverence: the Holy\nVirgin herself stood before her, holding in her arms the Blessed Infant;\nthe Mother looking down with a smile inexpressibly tender and\ncompassionate, the Child stretching forth its dimpled hand and giving\nits blessing. She sank in rapture, the glory too great for her. As the\nvision faded she arose, a marvellous strength possessing her. She\nstepped forth, and found herself in the midst of a crowd gazing,\nhorror-stricken, seawards. \"Fear nothing,\" she said with a calm\nexpression that seemed to permeate the whole assembly like an inner\nvoice; \"he is saved, and you are saved!\" The words came opportunely.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nANNIHILATION.\n\n    \"Prophet-like that lone one stood,\n      With dauntless words and high,\n    That shook the sere leaves from the wood\n      As if a storm pass'd by.\"\n\n    _The Last Man_.--CAMPBELL.\n\n    \"So perish the old Gods!\n    But out of the sea of time\n    Rises a new land of song,\n    Fairer than the old.\"\n\n    _The Seaside and the Fireside_.--LONGFELLOW.\n\n\nFull of evil augury was the morning of this eventful day in Vazon\nForest. There were the same trees, the same glades and streams, as on\nthe well-remembered Midsummer day of the preceding year; but nature and\nman alike were in a different mood. The trees were leafless and\nchurlish, the glades ragged and colourless; the turbid, dusky streams\nbore but small resemblance to the limpid rivulets of June; the native\nyouths were absent, engaged in military service; the maidens, headed by\nSuzanne Falla, had indeed an appearance of mirth, but there was a hollow\nring in the boisterous recklessness of their merriment; the old men\ntramped feebly and aimlessly, for the reverence for age had been\ntransferred to the veterans of the conquerors. The latter also supplied\nthe musicians; and the clanging of drums and cymbals, with the blast of\nhorns, replaced the sylvan melody of the aborigines.\n\nStill there was every sign of festivity. The proceedings began with\ndances in which the men, who posed as athletes and warriors, gave\nrepresentations of deeds of martial prowess. Then the girls were allowed\nto foot their native dances in their own fashion. Dances for both sexes\nfollowed, in which the native maidens found it difficult to conceal\ntheir terror of the rough partners ever ready to become rougher wooers.\n\nThese preliminaries concluded, the business of the day began. Though\nthis wild race sacrificed human beings, they did not treat their victims\nwith the coldblooded cruelty of the Druids, who slaughtered them as if\nthey were oxen or sheep; their custom was to burn their captives; and it\nis not for critics, whose pious forefathers kindled the fires of\nSmithfield, to assert that their practice was wholly barbarous. In the\npresent case a pyre, some twelve feet high, was built at the foot of a\nhuge granite boulder, near the sea-coast: it was constructed of dry\nwood, and was drenched with combustible materials. Jean was bound firmly\nto a strong hurdle, made of birch stems and withies securely lashed\ntogether. Judith, Garthmund, and the principal elders, placed themselves\nunder the venerable oak; the people stood at a respectful distance.\nTwelve stalwart warriors bore the litter on which the prisoner was\nstretched, and placed it on stone trestles planted for the purpose in\nthe intervening space. Then the priests arrived; twelve old men whose\nwhite locks and beards, and snowy dresses, gave them a venerable\nappearance which was soon belied by their performances.\n\nHalting when they reached the victim, the priests faced the oak, and\nchanted a solemn, wailing dirge; this, which might have been a farewell\nto the spirit whose departure they were preparing to accelerate, was not\nunimpressive. Then one stepped forward whose voice was yet clear and\nloud; he passed a warm eulogy on the qualities of the captive, whom he\ndescribed in exaggerated phrases as a sage in council, and a hero in\nbattle, endowing him also with every domestic virtue which seemed in his\neyes worthy of enumeration. This discourse was followed by a warlike\nsong in honour of Thor and Odin, and it was during the course of this\nhymn that it became clear from their rolling eyes and unsteady gait that\nthe old men were in a state of no ordinary excitement. All night they\nhad been feasting their deities, and the solemnity had involved deep\npotations; now, as the rapid movements of a dance which accompanied the\ninspiriting words sent the fumes into their heads, they appeared to be\nbeside themselves. The bystanders, however, attributing their frenzy to\nreligious fervour, and not unaccustomed to such manifestations, looked\non unmoved. The music ceased; and the song of triumph gave way to a\nhideous scene over which it were painful to dwell. The drunken old men,\nwith incredible agility, whirled round the prostrate form of Jean. There\nwas no question now of eulogizing his virtues: he was accused, in\nlanguage which seemed devil-born, of every crime, every infamy, of which\nthe human race is capable; held up to scorn and ignominy, he was cursed\nand execrated with a shower of blasphemy and obscenity; a by-stander,\ncontemplating his calm, clear face, the lips parted in prayer, gleaming\namidst the contorted features of the screaming miscreants, might have\nbelieved him to be already passing, unscathed, through the terrors of\npurgatory.\n\nIt is impossible at this day to fathom the mystery of this terrible\nrelic of some remote superstition. It may have been that the abhorrence\nand extinction of evil was roughly typified, or that it was understood\nthat the death of the victim would, as if he were a scapegoat, cleanse\nthe worshippers of the sins with which he was thus loaded. It is idle to\ngrope where all is, and must be, dark; all that can be asserted with\nany certainty is that the preliminary eulogy, a more modern practice,\nwas intended to enhance the value of the offering which they were about\nto make to the Gods.\n\nThe warriors now resumed their burden, and a procession was formed\ntowards the pyre, on which the litter-bearers, mounting by an inclined\nplane, placed the doomed youth. Judith ascended the huge boulder, which\nwas some eight feet higher than the pyre at its foot. The chief and\npeople grouped themselves round its base. The priests stood ready to\napply the torch when the sorceress gave the signal, and the distant\nwatchman on the Guct waited in his turn for the first flash of flame to\nkindle the beacon which was to set the assailing forces in motion.\n\nJudith turned to the expectant crowd: her glance was searching, in her\neye was an ineffable look of scorn. \"Down on your knees!\" she said,\n\"craven sons, whose sires would blush to own you! You who have steeped\nyour hearts in pride and boastfulness! Were your fathers slow to draw\nthe sword and quick to sheathe it? Did they cower by their hearths when\nwarm blood was being spilt? did they feast when others fought? would\nthey not have leaped, as the tempest rushes from its caves, to scatter\nlike the sand those who should have dared to bend the knee to false\nGods, objects of their loathing and derision? Runs this noble blood in\nyour stagnant veins? From giants ye have become pigmies!\" The majestic\ncontempt with which these words had been delivered had a crushing\neffect. She continued her harangue for some time in the same strain.\nEvery Voizin's head was bowed, every form bent and trembling. The\nsorceress then, slowly turning, faced seaward. Her arms assumed the\nwell-known beseeching attitude, the serpent bracelet glittering fiercely\nin the sun. Her voice changed, became softer. \"Yet they are my people!\"\nshe continued, \"and the last of our race. Ennoble them, great Gods!\nquicken their hearts and spare them!\" Looking outward with the rapt look\nof a prophetess in whom, though torn with tempests of fanaticism and of\npassion, human and superhuman, no thought was mean, no sentiment\nignoble, she poured out this her prayer; not for mercy!--her Gods knew\nnot this attribute; nor could she understand it; if the craven continued\nto be a craven she felt he were better dead;--not for peace and\ncontentment!--to these blessings neither she nor they attached\nvalue;--but for fearlessness and steadfastness of purpose, and also for\ncourage to die for the truth! there were petitions poured out by this\nwoman that would have honoured the lips of the champion of any creed.\n\nThe supplication ended, she seemed about to raise her hand to give the\nanticipated signal when a look of amazement passed over her features;\nshe brushed her hand over her eyes and looked again, then folded her\narms and gazed steadily seawards. What she saw might have shattered even\nher nerves of iron. At the close of her prayer, which had exactly\ncoincided with the moment when Hilda stepped from her cell, the bosom of\nthe sea heaved and rose: a wave, ten feet high, glided, stole as it\nwere, so gently did it move, into the forest; but so rapidly, that in\none minute every human being except herself and Jean was engulphed. They\nwere gone, the high-couraged and the craven, the frenzied priest and the\nlaughing child, with their passions, their hopes, and their fears,\nwithout the faintest note of warning of coming danger! Judith glanced at\nJean, almost contemptuously; he, not having seen what had happened, was\nstill momentarily expecting the application of the torch. A second wave\ncrept in, smaller than the former, but overwhelming the pyre. The dazed\nwarrior on the Guet reported that after this second wave had passed he\nsaw the tall form still towering on the peak, but that when he looked\nagain the rock, though still above water, was tenantless; a little later\nthe granite mass, together with the tops of the tallest trees, lay under\nan unruffled surface.\n\nWhen the pyre was submerged the litter, to which Jean was attached,\nfloated off and formed a tolerably secure raft. His life was safe for a\ntime; but he would have been exposed to a still more ghastly fate from\nthe swooping sea-birds had he not been able by a supreme effort to\nwrest one of his arms from its bands. In speechless wonderment he was\ncarried seaward by the slowly receding tide. Suddenly his raft was\nhailed by a well-known voice. Friendly hands cut the ropes that bound\nhim, and he was lifted into a boat. The occupant was Haco who, attracted\nto the spot when hurrying to the Vale, by the cries of the clustering\ngulls, had thus again saved his life.\n\nThe giant pulled vigorously to the point which, now known as the Hommet,\nterminates the northern arm of Vazon Bay; there he landed the youth, to\nenable him to stretch his cramped limbs, and to clothe him in such\narticles as he could spare from his own equipment. A rapid explanation\npassed between them. Haco told him how the force investing Lihou had,\nwhen apparently waiting for a signal to move, been overwhelmed by a wave\nwhich cut off the promontory from L'Er\u00e9e, and had perished to a man.\nJean could tell of nothing but the sudden cessation of the tumult and\nthe floating of his litter. The minds of both were wandering, burningly\nanxious as they were to know what had passed at the Vale. Scaling the\nHommet, they obtained a sufficient view to satisfy them that Lancresse\nCommon no longer formed a portion of the mainland; an hour afterwards,\nentering the Grand Havre, they saw an unbroken channel between that\ninlet and St. Sampson's: every trace of the invading host had\ndisappeared. Jean was soon in Hilda's arms; and the two lovers, with\nHaco, spent the remainder of the day in pious thanksgiving to the Holy\nMother by whose special interposition, testified so miraculously to the\nmaiden, the cause of Christ had triumphed and the parted had been\nreunited, when the last gleam of safety seemed to have been\nextinguished.\n\nThe next morning Father Austin arrived. Hilda was then made acquainted\nwith her relationship to Haco, whose tender attentions during her late\ntroubles had already won her unreserved affection. The news was an\ninexpressible joy to her, and it was touching to see how she nestled in\nthe deep embrace of her father, whose feelings, so long pent up, now at\nlast found vent. Jean absented himself during the day, but on the\nfollowing morning insisted that his nuptials should no longer be\ndeferred. The same evening, in the little chapel of the nunnery, Austin\nbestowed his blessing on a union which had been sanctified by such\nspecial manifestations of Divine approval.\n\nThe readjustment of the shattered organization of the island was\nimperative. The inhabitants of the eastern side, and those of the Vale,\nhad for the most part preserved their lives by their absence from the\nforest; the Christian converts who had aided in the struggle were also\nsafe; with these exceptions the island was practically depopulated. Jean\nwas elected chief by acclamation. After giving such pressing directions\nas immediate exigencies required, he acceded to his wife's ardent wish\nto obtain intelligence respecting Judith, and also to ascertain the fate\nof Tita.\n\nThe Lihou monks had already reported that all communication was broken\nbetween the Hanois and the shore, but that the tower appeared to be\nintact. On an April morning Haco and the young couple sailed across\nRocquaine Bay, and landed close to the tower, which now stood on a\nrugged and inhospitable island. The door was opened by Tita, who smiled,\nand prattled, and caressed her young mistress like a lap-dog. She\nrecognised Jean with indifference, but a start, followed by a shudder,\nseized her when she observed Haco; her terror, however, seemed to pass\naway when he spoke a few soothing words to her. It was evident that a\nshock, or a succession of shocks, had unsettled the poor woman's brain.\nOn the name of Judith being mentioned, she pointed fearfully to the\nupper story. Uncertain as to her meaning, Jean cautiously ascended the\nladder, and ascertained that the sorceress was in truth there. After a\nconsultation it was decided that Haco and Hilda should seek her\npresence.\n\nAs father and daughter entered the apartment, they saw the old woman\nhalf-seated, half-lying, on a couch placed close to the window; her\nface, which was turned seaward, was haggard, the leanness bringing into\nstrong relief the handsome chiselling of her profile; the sternness of\nher mouth was somewhat relaxed; there was an indication almost of\nsoftness in its corners. Her high spirit had accepted, not resented,\ndefeat.\n\nAs her eye fell on her two visitors there was no gleam of defiance, no\nmark of anger, or even surprise; but, when Haco stood fully revealed\nbefore her, a flash of triumph and pleasure shot into it, kindling every\nfeature with its glow. \"You here, Haco!\" she cried, \"and with her! The\nGods have relented. You will hold her fast in their worship, and lead\nher steps to the land of her sires! I die contented.\" She fell back\nexhausted. \"Sister,\" said the giant, laying his hand softly on her\nshoulder, \"it is too late; when Algar slew my loved one the Pagan died\nin me; I am a servant of the God of the Christians.\" Hilda awaited\nfearfully the result of this announcement, but she knew not the\ngreatness of the old woman's soul. It was long ere her voice was heard\nagain. Presently, raising herself, she said, \"I would it had been\notherwise; but I have erred, I have misjudged. I thought that your Gods\nwere false; puny creations of a nerveless brain; but they are strong, I\nown their power! It may be that the great ones of old have wearied of\nour spiritless race, and abandoned us. So perchance you may be wise to\nturn to the new-comers!\" Her voice failed her, but as they knelt by her\nside her hands wandered over their heads and lingered with a caressing\nmovement among Hilda's locks. She seemed to have forgotten Jean, whom\nshe doubtless believed to have been lost in the general calamity.\nSuddenly she started up and pointed to a storm-cloud rising rapidly from\nthe western horizon, assuming a succession of fantastic shapes as it\npassed upwards. \"Do you not see them?\" she cried--\"the great, the\nglorious ones! they bend from their seats; they smile! see their power!\nTheir majesty! their locks stream, their swords are half drawn! they\nsheathe them, they lean forward, they extend their arms! they beckon!--I\ncome, I come!\" She stretched out her arms with the old familiar gesture\nand sank back, having breathed her spirit to the tempest which she loved\nso well.\n\nThey buried her on the cliffs of Pleinmont, where a cairn long marked\nher resting-place. Tita was taken to the Vale; all attempts to restore\nher from the shock which her nerves had received failed till on one\nsunny morning Hilda's infant was placed on her knees: when the child\ncrowed, and smiled at her, the cloud imperceptibly passed away, never to\nreturn. From that time she assumed her regular place in the household.\n\nHaco abandoned his Lihou cell; his rough readiness of resource,\nunfailing good-humour, and skill in managing men, proved invaluable\nduring the task of the restoration of the broken links of government and\nsociety.\n\nThe labours of Father Austin and his coadjutors did not relax, but their\ncourse lay in smoother waters: if their prospects of martyrdom were\ndiminished they were more than consoled by the knowledge that they\npossessed among them a veritable saint, to whom the Holy Virgin had\nvouchsafed the honour of a personal appearance, and that they had been\nwitnesses of a miraculous interposition, the evidence of which would be\nindelible as long as the sea should wash the storm-beaten cliffs of\ntheir beloved island.","title":"The Forest of Vazon: A Guernsey Legend of the Eighth Century","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":20138}