{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_27324/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_27324","id":"gutenberg_27324","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/27324","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Guernsey (Channel Islands) -- Fiction"],"text":"Produced by Steven Gibbs, Karen Dalrymple, and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  WHERE\n  DEEP SEAS\n  MOAN.\n\n\n  BY\n  E. GALLIENNE-ROBIN\n\n\n  GUERNSEY:\n  FREDERICK CLARKE.\n  Printer and Publisher.\n\n\n  MCMVII.\n\n\n\n\n\"Where Deep Seas Moan.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nThe autumn wind blew in great gusts over the rocky island of\nGuernsey, and in the country parishes rushed up hill and down dale,\nleaving not a lane undisturbed by its vagaries. It rattled the\nleafless trees which grew at the back of Colomberie Farm, whose deep\nbrown-thatched roof rested against the lichened red tiles of the\nbarn adjoining. Surrounded on all sides by green fields outside its\ncharming garden, Colomberie looked the picture of comfort; and its\ncheery interior laughed the wind to scorn as the curtains were drawn\nacross the kitchen window, and the _crasset_ was lit at the side of\nthe wide hearth. But the wind had its revenge, for it blew across\nthe country roads pretty young Blaisette, the daughter of\nColomberie, who was going out to spend the evening; and who\nstruggled with all her healthy vigour against the impertinent\nbuffetting of the bleak north-wester. When she disappeared into a\nsheltered hollow, the wind, hushed and non-plussed for a minute,\npaused to meditate further mischief; then, with regathered rage, it\ntore across country, and boomed, with sullen roar, into a valley\nshut in by brackened and heather-covered hills.\n\nHere, a granite-built house, sheltered under the rocky cliff, had an\nair of stern and unkempt loneliness; and there was something\nsinister about the watermill, whose dingy wheel, green with disuse,\nwas close against the side of the building. Yet there was prosperity\nto be read in the large open barn stacked high with corn and hay, in\nthe many cows that fed in the meadow below the hill, and in the\nhorses that stamped impatiently in the stable.\n\nThe master of Orvilliere Farm was Dominic Le Mierre, a bachelor, a\nhard worker, and a more than respectable member of the parish of\nSaint Pierre du Bois. It seemed that he did not mind the boisterous\nwind this evening as he ate his supper hurriedly in the gloomy\nkitchen, whose windows shook at every touch of the blast.\n\nOver the hills, and once more across country, the howling wind made\nits way, past the old church of Saint Pierre du Bois, past the lanes\nto Torteval parish, and along the high road to Pleinmont, where it\nhad full play over a wide moorland district, dotted with low masses\nof gorze and groups of boulders.\n\nHere, too, was just one little cottage to shake and grip and freeze\nwith biting draughts. It stood in a slight hollow on the summit of a\ncliff overlooking Rocquaine Bay. Its mossy thatched roof overhung\ntiny latticed windows, whose panes were golden red from the light of\nthe fire of dried sea-weed and furze heaped up on the hearth of\nstone raised above the earthen sanded floor.\n\nRound the fire a group of girls was gathered; for the most part they\nwere just homely, pleasant creatures, but two stood out distinctly\nfrom the rest; one, by reason of her beauty, the other, because of\nher original and perhaps, forbidding, personality. The beautiful\none, Blaisette Simon, of Colomberie Farm, was small and plump and\nvery fair, with cheeks of a rosebud pink and lips full and ripe for\nkisses. The round innocence of her blue eyes looked away all sense\nfrom the men, so it was said, and she had lovers by the dozen. Added\nto her beauty was the attraction of a very desirable little fortune\nwhich she had already inherited from her mother, who was dead; and\nby and bye, _Mess_' Simon would leave her the farm and all his\nmoney, for she was an only child. She was disposed to be friendly\nwith Ellenor, again an only child, the one treasure of Jean and\nMarie Cartier, of Les Casquets Cottage.\n\nPeople wondered what Blaisette saw in the dark scowling girl, who\nwas reserved and offhand with people in general; and probably\nBlaisette herself was puzzled as to _why_ she sought Ellenor so\nconstantly. The girls were a distinct contrast, not only in\ncharacter, but in appearance.\n\nEllenor was tall and angular, with a certain nobility and\nhaughtiness of carriage inherited from her fisherman father. Her\nsallow skin, sombre grey eyes and heavy mouth, looked the\npersonification of night beside the sunny beauty of Blaisette's blue\neyes and yellow hair. The girl of the cottage was an excellent foil\nto the girl of Colomberie Farm. Did Blaisette realize, all\nunconsciously, the use of this to her as she went forward\ntriumphantly in her victorious path as the belle of two parishes?\n\nBut to return to the group round the fire.\n\nAll at once, by common consent, as it appeared, the girls rose and\ncrowded round the entrance. Ellenor lifted the latch, and, flinging\nthe door wide open, she stood on the threshold and looked out into\nthe inky blackness of the night. The wind howled and moaned as it\nentered the kitchen; and a flash of lightning tore open, for one\nsecond, the darkness of the sky. After the crash of thunder that\nfollowed, Blaisette cried in an awestruck voice,\n\n\"Surely now, Ellenor, you will not go!\"\n\n\"Not go!\" echoed the girl of the cottage, \"not go! but this is the\nvery weather to go in! Now, perhaps, you will all believe I fear\nnothing! and if there was need for it I would go bareheaded to Saint\nPeter Port in this deluge!\" and she pointed to the sheets of rain\nwhich swept over the moorland.\n\nThen a small, insignificant voice, coming from a woman who sat in\nthe hearth corner, spoke irritably.\n\n\"You know, Ellenor, if your father was here, he would not let you\nplay such tricks!\"\n\nEllenor faced her mother with rebellion in every feature of her\nface.\n\n\"The girls have dared me to go to the Haunted House on this very\nnight, and I'll go, mother, if I have to face the devil himself.\"\n\nMrs. Cartier sighed.\n\n\"Well, you must do as you please, it seems you always do!\"\n\nWithout further words, Ellenor coiled tighter the thick hair that\nlooked too heavy for her small head, stuck through it a dull gold\npin, and stepped out into the small garden.\n\n\"It has stopped raining,\" she said sarcastically, \"so who will go a\nlittle way, to see I don't cheat, but go, in reality, to the Haunted\nHouse?\"\n\nAfter a minute's hesitation, two or three of the girls followed her,\nbut Blaisette, with a pretty pout, returned to the _jonquiere_ by\nthe hearth. Ellenor walked rapidly up the steep path to the summit\nof the cliff, then plunged into the darkness of the moorland.\nWinding in and out amongst gorze bushes, she reached at last a large\npatch of grass. She turned round to the girls who were huddling\nclose to her.\n\n\"There! in two minutes I'll be to the Haunted House. Listen to the\nsea! We're close to the edge of the cliffs. Come, quick, let's run,\nwho knows if I can burst open the door, if I won't see the devil. I\nwould wish it, for my part! There'd be a chance to tell him what one\nthinks of him.\"\n\nHer words wandered away into the night, for the girls, with cries of\nhorror, had fled as if evil spirits pursued them.\n\nWith a mocking laugh, Ellenor hurried on, then gradually she\nslackened her pace. At last, she groped her way forward with\noutstretched hands, for it was horribly dark. Presently she touched\nthe rough stone wall of some building and stopped and listened. Not\na sound but the wild roar of the waves below the cliffs and the\ngradual lulling of the wind. She groped along the wall, till her\nhands fell a little lower, to a different surface. It was a short\nwooden door. She pushed against it, gently, but it did not yield.\nShe felt it across and up and down. There was no latch and she could\nfind no keyhole. Again she pushed, this time with all her strength.\nJerking suddenly, the door opened inwards, and Ellenor, leaning\nagainst it, fell forward over the high threshold into pitch\ndarkness. She felt a blinding blow and a sickening pain, and then\nshe lost consciousness.\n\nWhen she came to herself she was first aware of a heavily beamed\ncobwebbed roof, of a dim lantern beside her, of the stifling\nnearness of kegs and bales and boxes, and then of a very familiar\nfigure kneeling beside her on one knee.\n\nThe man's face that peered into hers was handsome in a heavy\nundeveloped way. Eyes as grey as hers and as sombre scowled from\nunderneath dark brows and a dark thatch of hair. His sullen mouth,\nset in a hard angry line, was the finest feature of a clean-shaven\nface.\n\n\"You little fool!\" he half whispered, \"what on earth, or in hell,\nhas made you come meddling here, I'd like to know! I've nearly\nkilled you!\"\n\nWith his coarse pocket handkerchief he mopped up the blood that was\nflowing from a cut on her head.\n\n\"How did you nearly kill me?\" she asked, \"what harm have I done?\"\n\n\"You've come sneaking in here, and in this darkness, and I hit you\nwhen you banged open the door. It seems you were falling over the\ndoorstep. You're pretty pale, my girl, but I believe I know your\nface. Aren't you from Les Casquets?\"\n\n\"I'm Ellenor Cartier, yes. And you--you're Monsieur Le Mierre, from\nOrvilliere.\"\n\nHe scowled and looked for a minute as if he meditated another\nblow--then he swore roundly in the Norman-French that he and all the\nislanders spoke.\n\n\"How the devil did you know me in this darkness! You're a witch, it\nseems, and it isn't the first time I've thought it. You are not a\nbeauty, my girl. But come, tell me, how did you recognize me?\"\n\n\"I've seen you to church, to St. Pierre du Bois, but you were all\ndressed up then; and I've seen you driving to the market of a\nSaturday morning sometimes.\"\n\nHe laughed and bent a little closer. Her eyes were like stars as\nthey were lifted to his face. And she did not appear to fear him in\nthe very least.\n\n\"Well, it's a joke, isn't it, the difference between Dominic Le\nMierre of a Sunday and Dominic Le Mierre in this place, my clothes\nall wet with sea-water. And now, tell me, witch, why do you think\nI'm here, in the Haunted House?\"\n\n\"I couldn't say, I'm sure.\"\n\nHe was silent, staring hard into the candid, fearless eyes; then\nimpulsively he cried,\n\n\"I believe I can trust you! But, I warn you, if you let out why I'm\nhere, I'll kill you.\"\n\n\"You can trust me. I'd be killed before I'd let out.\"\n\nA soft shadow darkened the clearness of her eyes: her long eyelashes\nfell before his puzzled stare.\n\n\"But why, bah! it appears you're not afraid of me, then! Very well.\nI'll tell you. It is the best way out of the difficulty. But sit up\nagainst this barrel, and drink a little brandy. I've stopped the\nbleeding in your head with a black enough cobweb.\"\n\nEllenor tried to raise herself up, but loss of blood had made her\ngiddy, and Dominic put his arm round her and steadied her roughly,\nbut not unkindly. Her dark head rested a second against his blue\njerseyed shoulder, and once more she lifted her eyes to his. With\nbrusque and evidently totally unpremeditated passion he kissed her\nred lips.\n\n\"There! didn't I say you are a witch! I could laugh at myself for\nthis--I, Le Mierre, of one of the oldest families of St. Pierre du\nBois to be kissing a girl like you, a girl who carries fish to\nmarket, tramp, tramp, all the way in the rain or in the sun! And,\nmoreover, I, Le Mierre, oh, so respectable and fine of a Sunday,\npulling a long face in my pew, and yet, behold, here I am a\nsmuggler, keeping guard over brandy and lace and silks! And why the\ndevil did I kiss you, for it isn't that you are a pretty girl or\nenticing, eh?\"\n\nThe girl trembled and turned away her head.\n\n\"Perhaps I am not pretty, but you've kissed me for all that, and\nbetter still, you've told me your secret. I think it's a mean thing\nto be a smuggler: but I'd die before I'd tell anyone _you_ was a\nsmuggler. That I promise you!\"\n\n\"Good! And why are you ready to promise me so quick? I'm inclined to\nbe afraid you'll let out, after all. I've been a fool to trust you.\"\n\nHe grasped her arm roughly and knitting his brows was buried in\nthought again. But she broke in on his silence, with blazing eyes of\nsuch beauty that he understood why he had kissed her.\n\n\"Not a bit of it, Monsieur Le Mierre! A man is not a fool to trust a\ngirl who ... likes ... him!\"\n\n\"But, that's all very well! How is it you like me? You've never\nspoken to me before.\"\n\n\"I've seen you to church; and one can like people without speaking\nto them.\"\n\nHe laughed. \"Perhaps _you_ can, but I can't! Well, the job's done\nnow, so I suppose I'll have to trust you. Next time you see me to\nchurch, you won't believe it's me you've really seen here. But you\nmust be off--or else the other chaps will catch you. Look here, I'm\nsorry I've made your head bleed! and you'll have to tell a pack of\nlies to explain why there's a cut under your hair. Are you afraid\nto tell lies, eh?\"\n\n\"Not to keep you safe.\"\n\n\"Well, you're no coward I must say. And now, stop a bit, how much\nmoney do you expect me to give you to keep a still tongue in your\nhead?\"\n\n\"Money! not a double!\"\n\n\"Bah, I can't believe it, and if ever you need it to help your\nfather and mother, you come to me. But quick, you must go, it seems\nto me I hear somebody coming. There, you're over the step, run,\nquick, it _is_ the men, coming up the cliff!\"\n\nWhen she had disappeared into the darkness, Le Mierre muttered to\nhimself, \"I'm _ensorcelai_, that's certain, for I've never found out\nwhat brought the girl here at all!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nIt was winter, always a time for enjoyment in the days of old\nGuernsey, when evening after evening, people met together at the\n_Veilles_, to knit and sing and to tell stories of witchcraft and\nweird tales of the sea.\n\nColomberie Farm was glowing with warmth and light, and swarming with\ncompany on the evening of the twenty-first of December, for it was\nthe special festival of _longue veille_. The spotless wooden table\nin the middle of the sanded floor was piled high with woollen goods\nof every kind, which had been knitted by men and women at former\n_veilles_. The dark blue of \"jerseys\" and \"guernseys\" were an\neffective background for stacks of white woollen stockings and\nscarlet caps.\n\n\"My good,\" said Mrs. Cartier, of Les Casquets Cottage, \"there's\nnever yet bin so many things for the Christmas Eve market! It's that\nwe must have worked well! What do you say, mesdames?\"\n\nA torrent of agreement, poured out in Norman-French, swallowed up\nher small pipe; and Mesdames from all the countryside gathered\ncloser round the table to inspect the good work and pack it up for\ntransmission to market. Mesdames were comely and rosy, excellent and\nthrifty housewives, delighted at the thought of the gold and silver\nthat the warm cosy garments represented.\n\nThe men of the company stood idly by, flirting and smoking and\nprovoking giggles and pretty foolish speeches from the girls, who\nqueened it openly on these occasions. Even the elderly men, seated\non wooden stools in the deep recess of the wide chimney, turned\ntheir withered nut-cracker faces from the glow of the _vraicq_ fire,\nto smile leniently on \"les jeunes gens.\"\n\nA few serious groups of born story-tellers and eager listeners sat\non the floor where the flickering light of the _crasset_ shadowed\nand then brightened the healthy beauty of the girls and the warm tan\nof fishermen's faces. Everybody was happy, and gaiety and laughter\nheld the night.\n\nBut to one girl, joy meant so much that she had crept away with it\nto the dark staircase, spiral and stone, that rose from the wide\nentry to the top of the house. She sat on the third step from the\nfloor, and from her position she commanded a full view of half the\nkitchen. Her eyes, deep and dark with excitement, yet almost\nblinding in their gaze of rapture, rested on the face of Dominic Le\nMierre who sat on the _jonquiere_ in the corner of the hearth. He\nwas alone and appeared to be absorbed in watching the group of\nstory-tellers under the _crasset_. His sombre handsome face wore an\nexpression of extreme boredom. He had said, a few moments ago to\nEllenor Cartier, the girl on the stairs, that he detested the\n_veilles_, but that he was bound to be present, as master of\nOrvilliere Farm. He had added, moreover, a remark that had flooded\nEllenor's heart with the joy that had caused her to creep away by\nherself into the darkness.\n\nIt was her presence, he assured her, with a stare into her trusting\neyes, that drew him to Colomberie Farm to-night, otherwise he would\nhave been out fishing beyond Pleinmont Point. Dominic had chuckled\nto himself many times during the past months when he reviewed his\nposition towards Ellenor. Since the meeting in the Haunted House, he\nhad seen her not a few times, and he had rivetted round her a chain\nwhich linked her closely to himself. He had exerted the masterful\nfascination which was his to bring her completely under his power.\nLove is a stronger motive than even hate. He made Ellenor love him\nthat he might be sure she would keep secret his dealings with\nsmugglers. He felt absolutely certain that if once she cared for him\nshe would be loyal, even to death. Therefore he fanned the flame of\nthe liking she had openly avowed into a wide spreading blaze, which\nmight burn up her peace and contentment, for all he cared, he said\nto himself, with a derisive laugh.\n\nIn spite of scorn and derision, however, he felt an interest in her\nwhich was quite foreign to his selfish and exploiting nature. With\nadmirable perseverance he crushed every rising of this interest and\nstamped it under foot. But it proved strangely unconquerable, and it\nrose again and again, vital and conflicting, to taunt him with its\nindestructibility. He certainly could not have told himself why he\nliked to meet this girl so often on the sly and why he liked to kiss\nher red lips and make her eyes shine into his. But the fact that he\n_did_ like the meetings and _did_ look forward to the kisses, was\nquite a dominant factor in his life. Still, these things were apart:\nambition, money, reputation were more to the master of Orvilliere\nFarm than all the girls in creation. He had not the slightest\nintention of marrying a peasant girl, but he did intend to have a\nrich well-born wife--a pretty one, if possible.\n\nAs he sat on the _jonquiere_, he watched keenly, in a business-like\nspirit, the gay gestures and pretty dimples of Blaisette Simon, who\nwas the most eager listener of the story-telling group. He had often\nthought of her as a possible wife. But she was such a universal\nflirt, that, hitherto, he had received no special encouragement.\nTo-night, however, he felt inclined to exert the full power of\nattraction which he was quite capable of appreciating and using. All\nwomen, whether they avow it or not, love to find their master and\nbend to him; and Dominic was of the very essence of virility.\nIndeed, one outspoken girl of Torteval parish said she would rather\nbe beaten by Le Mierre than be kissed by a man all gentleness and\nkindness.\n\nIn a few minutes, Blaisette had left the story-tellers and joined\nDominic on the _jonquiere_. She had not the faintest idea how it was\nshe had risen to go to him, but his welcome was of the most\ndelightful, his voice was tender and deep, his eye spoke eloquently\nof her beauty. Blaisette had never known him in such a compelling\nmood. Her foolish, weak little head was turned; his gross flattery\nwas nectar to her greedy vanity. He was generally so taciturn, so\ncold, so aloof. And Blaisette plumed herself on being the cause of\nthis wonderful unbending of his. By supper time they had advanced\ninto the thick of a serious flirtation: and more than one person\nremarked on the absorbed couple on the _jonquiere_.\n\nOf course Ellenor saw it all, at first with unconcern, then with\ngrowing alarm. The rapture died out of her face, which stiffened\ninto tragic lines of misery and jealousy. Every blush and pretty\ngesture of Blaisette's called forth a new expression in the large\nclear eyes of the watcher on the stairs. Hitherto it had not entered\ninto her head that Dominic might make her his wife; but, likewise,\nshe had never yet pictured a Madame Orvilliere who would take up the\nmaster's time and prevent the stolen meetings that were so dear to\nher. Now, as she watched Dominic's marked attentions to Blaisette,\nas she saw him, more than once, lay his hand on hers, she realized\nthe meaning of the scene in the chimney corner. He would marry the\nrich girl. She turned sick and giddy with jealousy. Rising, she\ngroped her way into the garden, and, without cloak or hat, she ran\ndown the quiet lanes and along the high road to the moorland of\nPleinmont, where her little home received her with its homely air of\ncomfort. She crept up to her attic bedroom, and when her father and\nmother returned home, she would give no account of her sudden\ndisappearance from the _veille_.\n\n\"I've brought your cloak and hat,\" whined Mrs. Cartier, \"you must be\nmad to go home without them! But, there, one never knows what you\nwill do next.\"\n\n\"Leave the girl alone,\" broke in the father's voice, \"she was tired\nout, she had done the best part of the packing up--it was Blaisette\nherself told us that. And, Monsieur Le Mierre, he said you were a\nhard-working girl and would make a good servant, if I'd let you go\nout. He laughed when he said this, did Monsieur, and it's my belief\nhe'll marry Blaisette before long. It looks as if they meant to keep\ncompany. Well, good-night, my girl! I must be off fishing in an\nhour!\"\n\nChristmas Day, not in the least typical, dawned over the heights of\nPleinmont in pale gold and soft grey; and the hours that followed\nwere mild and cloudy as those of a day in Spring. The inmates of Les\nCasquets Cottage ate their humble Christmas dinner of a small piece\nof beef and a rough kind of raisin pudding; then Jean and his wife\ncomposed themselves to the unusual luxury of an afternoon sleep.\nEllenor was too restless to stay at home. She wandered over the\ncliffs and insensibly she made, at last, for the Haunted House.\n\nShe threw herself on the grass at the back of the grim, gaunt\nbuilding, and she tried to collect the miserable, wandering thoughts\nwhich were forever haunting her--thoughts of Dominic and Blaisette.\nAll at once, a musical whistle startled her, and Le Mierre himself\ncame up the cliff, a fish basket slung over his shoulder.\n\n\"You here, Ellenor!\" he cried, sitting down beside her, \"on\nChristmas Day and all alone! Where, then, are all your beaux?\"\n\n\"You know quite well I've got none, and don't want none, Monsieur,\"\nshe replied sulkily.\n\n\"Come, come, do you expect me to believe that of a pretty girl like\nyou?\"\n\n\"Pretty!\" she echoed scornfully, \"it's your Blaisette Simon that's\nas pretty as a wax doll. It isn't me, Monsieur, with my black\nlooks!\"\n\nHe laughed and put his arm round her. At his touch she trembled and\na lovely colour rose in her pale face. Then, with slow, and as if\ninvoluntary, movement, her head nestled against his shoulder.\n\n\"That's right!\" he said, \"now you are a sensible girl. Let's be\nhappy while we can. So you call Blaisette _mine_, do you! What a\nfoolish Ellenor to be jealous of her. She's quite different from\nyou, can't you see that she doesn't set a man's blood on fire like\nyou do, witch?\"\n\n\"That's all very well, Monsieur, but you told father to the _veille_\nthat I would make a good servant and he thought perhaps you would\nwish to engage me for when you marry Blaisette, and I saw you with\nher on the _jonquiere_!\"\n\n\"Well, _sorciere_, is it that I must speak only to you? And what if\nI _do_ marry Blaisette?\"\n\nWith a quick look into his amused eyes, she lifted her head from his\nshoulder and withdrew from his careless embrace. But it was only for\na moment. In abandonment of grief and devotion she flung herself\nagainst his breast.\n\n\"I don't care,\" she sobbed, \"if you marry Blaisette! I don't care\nif, even, I come to be your servant, but, for the sake of God, love\nme the best.\"\n\nHe smiled triumphantly over her hidden face and lightly kissed her\ndark hair.\n\n\"Good, there you shew sense! But, tell me, you can't be really\njealous if you're willing for me to marry Blaisette? Why, you might\neven let out about what goes on in this Haunted House, just to vex\nme. And how do I know you won't do it, even yet?\"\n\n\"I'd die first!\" she cried, looking up proudly.\n\n\"That's settled then! And now let me tell you a secret, just to\nreward you. I am not even thinking of marriage with Blaisette Simon.\nCome, how many kisses will you give me for that piece of news?\"\n\nSo heaven opened for Ellenor, and the rest of Christmas Day was\nspent in going over and over again every word he had said to her\nbehind the Haunted House. She was unusually amiable at home, and her\nfather, who was devoted to her, rejoiced in the sunshine of her\nready smiles and bright ways.\n\nThis mood lasted but a few days. On New Year's Day she went to\nColomberie Farm to help in the kitchen, for there was much to be\ndone in the way of preparing refreshments for the constant string of\nguests who came to bring greetings and presents to the pretty\nBlaisette, the rich, desirable heiress.\n\nEllenor's duty was to take fresh relays of cake and wine into the\nbest parlour: and towards the end of the afternoon, when it was\ndusk, and the lamps were not yet lit, she entered the room suddenly,\nintent on business. There were only two people seated by the fire.\nOne was Blaisette, a vision of dainty prettiness in a new blue gown;\nthe other was Dominic Le Mierre.\n\nHe held the girl's hand in his. He was bending forward to kiss her\nas Ellenor entered the room. From the heaven of the last few days,\nshe fell into a hell of jealousy and bitter hatred of Blaisette. At\nonce she turned and fled from the room. It was all very well to\nspeak of his marriage with another girl, when she herself was in his\narms. It was another thing to see him kiss the pink and white face\nof her rival. She could not bear it. Once more she rushed from\nColomberie Farm in bitter despair and unreasoning grief.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nIt was Spring. Dominic Le Mierre still played a double game and\nthere was no talk of an engagement between Blaisette and himself. He\nmet Ellenor secretly; and was often at Colomberie Farm, where he was\na welcome visitor, not only to the daughter, but to the father, who\nvalued the advice and skill of the master of Orvilliere in all\nthings pertaining to the management of the farm. Now, in the\nspringtime, the countryside was stirring into new life, and masters\nand men alike were full of enthusiasm over the tilling of the soil\nand the expectation of good crops to come. Monsieur Le Mierre had\nsent round word to his neighbours that on a certain day in March he\nwould hold the working festival of _La Grand' Querrue_, or _The\nGrand Plough_. That meant the combination of these neighbours into a\nband of all day workers, for the purpose of deeply trenching a\ncertain field in preparation for the cultivation of parsnips. The\nlarge expensive plough to be used was the joint property of Le\nMierre and his richer neighbours, and it was, naturally, available\nfor each in turn. Every master brought his men and his horses and\nbullocks to the fray, and at seven o'clock in the morning the work\nand jollity began.\n\nThe field to be ploughed lay at the base of cliffs covered with the\ntender grass and golden gorze bushes of early Spring. Deep purple\nscentless violets clustered in sheltered nooks, where granite,\nivy-covered boulders rose grimly along the slopes and little ravines\nof the cliffs. Primroses, many of them milk white, starred the\ngrass; and wild blue hyacinths grew tall and graceful in damp\npatches shaded by stunted trees. But the special field in question\nlay bare to the sky, surrounded by low hedges, and of a rich red\nbrown colour.\n\nSix bullocks and sixteen horses drew the large plough, and Dominic\nLe Mierre was captain of the team. He looked his very best, for the\nwork drew out the strength and will of the man. The pose of his\nbody, the skill of his movements, the carriage of his head, marked\nhim as the typical worker of the fields, a very king of farmers. His\nenergy and vitality inspired the other men, and no one could believe\nit was time for _mi-matin_ when ten o'clock chimed out from the\nchurch behind the cliffs. But when the spell of work was broken, the\nmen found they were very hungry, and fell upon the bread and butter,\ncheese and strong coffee, with tremendous appetites. These good\nthings were brought down in large baskets from Orvilliere; and the\nmen scattered in little groups as they ate and drank, discussed\nfarming, or looked out over the wide sea just beyond the field, and\nwondered if fishing would pay this year.\n\nSuddenly Le Mierre gave the call for a return to work, and again the\nglorious ploughing went forward till noon. Then the cattle were\nunharnessed and allowed to feed, two men being left in charge of\nthem. The rest of the workers climbed the hill to Orvilliere, where\na substantial dinner was provided. There was cabbage soup, a\n_palette_ or big boiled ham, a piece of pork, a round of beef and\nother things loved of Guernseymen, not forgetting copious draughts\nof island cider. Two o'clock saw the men once more at the ploughing,\nand the afternoon dragged a little till four o'clock, when the\nhousekeeper and the maids from Orvilliere appeared, bringing each\nher large basket of _mirelevee_. This meant tea and currant cake,\nand probably cider. A halt was called. Once more the men grouped\nthemselves into unconscious picturesquesness, and ate and drank to\ntheir fill. But at this _al fresco_ meal a delightful air of\nfamiliarity and coquetry made itself felt by the presence of the\nrosy maidens from Orvilliere; above all by the appearance of\nBlaisette Simon, who brought down a special batch of cakes, made and\ncooked by herself. Le Mierre was at her side at once and a pretty\nflirtation sprang up, for the master was in an excellent temper and\nthe girl was marvellously taken by the handsome power and devilry of\nthe captain of the work. Never had she seen him look half so well,\nshe said to herself. Ah, if he proposed, she would not feel inclined\nto refuse him! She leant over the hedge and looked out to sea, and\nhe stood close beside her, his blue jerseyed shoulder brushing the\nstray gold of her hair. Lovers they seemed, even if lovers in\nreality they were not.\n\nSo thought Ellenor Cartier as she watched them from the little cove\nbelow the field. She stood, a solitary figure against the sky, on\nthe rough arm of a little harbour where she waited for the return of\nher father from fishing. She had been watching for the red sail of\nhis boat since three o'clock, but she had turned many times to send\nhungry, lingering looks at the field, above all at the prominent\nfigure of Le Mierre. When Blaisette came, in the glory of a new gown\nand a pink sunbonnet, it seemed to Ellenor that life was harder than\nshe could bear, for she was shut out from the _Grand Plough_. Her\nfather had not been asked to help, he was too much beneath the rank\nof Le Mierre; therefore no excuse could be framed to admit her into\nthe enchanted field. Jealousy sharpened her eyesight, she thought\nshe could see the white hand of Blaisette slip through Dominic's\narm. It was too much. She turned away and looked out to sea, blinded\nby tears.\n\nThe red sail of Cartier's boat fluttered in the breeze that blew\nfrom the land, and with swift grace the little craft came into\nharbour. Ellenor dashed the tears from her eyes and smiled down at\nthe men in the boat as they fastened it to a hook in the breakwater\nand climbed up beside her. Her father was her friend, her refuge,\nher comfort; and something of his influence over her seemed to\nbelong to the other man, his mate. Perrin Corbet was tall and\nangular, without the slightest pretention to good looks, but with a\nfund of good nature and humour in his grey eyes, and when he smiled\nback at Ellenor a shy tenderness glorified his plain face into\nsomething far beyond mere beauty of feature.\n\nThe men and Ellenor crossed the sandy cove and climbed the winding\ncliff path which led directly past the _Grand Plough_. Jean and\nPerrin lingered to watch the splendid action of Le Mierre, as, once\nmore, he led the line of animals: but Ellenor walked on and never\neven glanced to see if Blaisette were still in the field. She did\nnot wait for the men and kept a little ahead of them as she mounted\nthe cliff to the moorland above. Her head was bent, her arms hung\ndown listlessly.\n\nSuddenly, round a bend in the path, a number of children appeared in\nevident high glee. They stopped when they reached the men and\nexplained, all speaking at once, that they were going to see _La\nGrand' Querrue_. Perrin, who loved children, listened patiently to\nthe shrill little voices and patted the innocent faces.\n\n\"But we can't go on yet!\" exclaimed the eldest of the group, \"we are\nwaiting for little Marie, she stopped to tie up her shoe. Ah, there\nshe is!\"\n\nPerrin looked up and saw that Ellenor had lifted little Marie in her\narms and was bringing her to the other children. The golden haired\nbaby nestled her head against the girl's breast: and her chubby arm\nwas thrown round Ellenor's neck. The two made a sweet picture. The\ngirl's sombre face was softened by contrast with the lovely little\nhead pressed confidingly against her. The eternal wonder of mother\nand child is seen whenever a woman has a baby in her arms, and\nthough Perrin could not have explained the thrill that swept over\nhim, he knew in his heart that the sight of the two together moved\nhim to an intense longing, an intense reverence. In his nature was\nnone of the coarse fibre which so often marks the men whose lives\nare all action, danger and privation. When Ellenor kissed little\nMarie and put her down with a gentleness unusual to herself,\nPerrin's thoughts rang of what she would be as a mother. His heart\nthrobbed suddenly as he dared to drag to light a long-hidden\nsecret--kept hitherto from himself. He loved her. He had loved her\nfrom childhood, when he, a big clumsy boy, had taken her part, and\nfought her battles, at the parish school. He wanted her for his\nwife. He wanted her for the mother of his children.\n\nAh, what a picture rose before him as his thoughts painted rapidly!\nA little cottage on the moorland; a rose red _vraic_ fire; Ellenor\nseated in a low chair, beside her a cradle; on her lap, a little\nbaby, with wide sad eyes like hers. He saw himself enter the cottage\nand fling his net into a corner; he felt her kiss on his lips,\nand....\n\n\"Wake up, Corbet! Not a word have you spoken since we left those\nchildren--and what with you as glum as a fish and Ellenor gone in\nfront, its precious dull for me!\"\n\nCartier slapped his friend on the back, and Perrin exerted himself\nto chat and laugh. Then, all at once, Jean broke into the talk of\nparish gossip.\n\n\"Look here, _mon gars_, I'm not happy about Ellenor. She is unhappy,\nworse and worse each day; and so bad tempered. You know she never\ngets on with her mother, poor girl; but now, even at me she snaps,\nand, God knows, I love her well, and she loves me.\"\n\nPerrin was silent.\n\n\"Does she treat you properly?\" went on Cartier.\n\n\"Well, to tell you the truth, she is not very polite at times, but I\nwould not blame her. She always looks so sad, and, as you say, worse\nthan ever just now. Perhaps she's _ensorchelai_, who can say!\"\n\n\"I've thought of that--perhaps I'll get her to tell me. Well, this\nis your way--so a bientot, Perrin, a bientot!\"\n\nCorbet made his way to his home, a cottage not far from the\noutskirts of the moorland at whose edge stood the Haunted House. He\nlived with his mother, a widow and an invalid. She hardly ever left\nthe cottage, but she made it a palace of happiness to her son. Her\nlovely placid old face brooded over his every want and his every\nlook. She lived the life of a saint and had brought up her son to\nfear God and none else. Perrin's religious life was a deep reality\nto him: he never spoke of it, but in it he moved, at home, in the\nconscious joy of the presence of God.\n\nEvery night, when his mother had gone to bed in her tiny attic, he\nknelt long beside the _jonquiere_ in the corner of the hearth: and\nevery night he prayed for Ellenor, naming her softly after the\nbeloved word \"mother.\"\n\nBut this night. _Ellenor_ was first on his lips. Why was she\nunhappy? Why was she so unkind to the father she loved? Ah, if one\ncould see right through her dark eyes into her sorrowful heart, one\nmight have a chance of comforting her! But, as it was, one felt\nuseless and blundering.\n\nHis head bent lower. Broken words came from his lips. A deep\nmysterious silence held the man in awe. It was as though One stood\nbeside him while he prayed. And to that One he spoke of Ellenor.\n\nAt that very hour she was running quickly along the high road to\nOrvilliere. The moon, full and soft as pearl, rode high in the\ncloudless sky. The stars glinted like silver fires. But the beauty\nof the night was lost upon Ellenor. It seemed to her as if she would\nnever reach her destination. At last, at last, she was at the top of\nthe valley which sloped to the farm! As she ran down hill, she could\nhear the sound of music and the ring of laughter. The _Grand Plough_\nsupper, the _finale_ of the day's work and feasting, was evidently\nin full swing. When she reached the house she crept up to one of the\nwindows and peered in. The hired fiddler and man with the flute and\nthe man with the \"serpent\" sat on the _jonquiere_. The kitchen was\nfull of people, eating and drinking round a long table covered with\ngreat pieces of meat and puddings of every description.\n\nAt the head of the table was Dominic Le Mierre, evidently the worse\nfor drink, which, however had not made him idiotic, but which had\nmaddened him into wild and extravagant excitement. Beside him was\nBlaisette Simon, dressed in a quaint muslin gown which accentuated\nher childlike and piquante beauty. Her father, easy-going Mess'\nSimon, looked on smilingly at the orgie around him, and seemed not\nin the least disturbed when Dominic drew his arms round Blaisette\nand kissed her repeatedly. She gave an affected little scream and\npretended to be shocked, but Dominic laughed all the louder, and\ncried to all the guests to drink her health.\n\nAnd all the while, Ellenor looked on with wide eyes of jealousy. In\nthe presence of Dominic she forgot all goodness, all restraint, she\nonly longed passionately to be in the place of Blaisette. Not in the\nleast knowing what she did, she opened the house door and entered\nthe kitchen. At first she was not noticed, so great was the noise\nand misrule. Suddenly Blaisette caught sight of her, and pointed her\nout to Dominic with a foolish giggle.\n\n\"I've been told she's mad after you,\" she whispered, \"and it seems\nit's true since she has forced her way into here!\"\n\nDominic was not only furious, but fearful of disclosures. He rose\nunsteadily to his feet, and pointed at Ellenor.\n\n\"Be off with you!\" he cried, \"how dare you come here, you\n_impudante_!\"\n\nThe girl of Les Casquets Cottage stood as if turned to stone. She\ndid not know what she had expected when she entered the room.\nBlind, mad impulse had moved her to a mad act. But this was like\ndeath to her, this harsh voice, this volley of rough words. When she\ndid not move, Dominic reeled down the room, and taking her by the\nshoulders, he pushed her into the entrance hall and locked the\nkitchen door.\n\nWhen she came to herself, she never dreamt of blaming Dominic.\n\n\"It's all _her_ fault!\" she said to herself, climbing the hill\nswiftly, \"it's every bit her fault; and as sure's as she's alive,\nI'll pay her out!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\nThe sudden appearance of Ellenor at the Grand Plough supper was\ntalked of all over the countryside; and the story of it soon\npenetrated to Les Casquets Cottage. Mrs. Cartier made her usual\nfutile remark that \"one never knew what the girl would do next,\" and\nwhined and canted about the matter for days together. Jean was very\nangry at Ellenor's want of proper pride in thrusting herself where\nshe was not considered good enough to enter; but neither parent\nguessed at the real state of affairs.\n\nLe Mierre managed to waylay Ellenor some days after _La Grand'\nQuerrue_, and a few careless kisses and slighting remarks of\nBlaisette bound the girl of the cottage closer to him than ever. As\nfor Dominic, he told himself that he could not and would not give up\nthe stolen meetings with Ellenor. They were far too exciting, for\nthe girl was one to set a man on fire, with her passionate\ndemonstrations of love, and her wild, untamed nature. Thus the\nSpring passed, and the long days of Summer gladdened workers and\nidlers alike.\n\nIt was June, and Perrin Corbet was busy day and night at the\nfishing. He and Cartier put away a good bit of money, but they\nnever entrusted it to safer keeping than certain old purses locked\nup in their cottage homes. Each man toiled, not to save merely, but\nto keep a sum of money put by for those he cared for. If Perrin had\nhopes of nearer relationship to Cartier, he was doomed to\ndisappointment. He had begun to court Ellenor persistently, and she,\nas persistently, shunned him.\n\nOne evening, as he was returning from Rocquaine Bay after a long\nday's fishing, he met Ellenor in a shady lane. She had been milking\nand carried on her arm the large shining can which it was her pride\nto keep like silver.\n\n\"What's the matter, Ellenor?\" he said at once, \"you look as white as\ndeath! Is it you are ill?\"\n\nShe laughed mockingly.\n\n\"Have you ever known me to be ill! Surely this warm weather is\nenough to make one look white! And far from being ill, I am much\namused at what I have seen just now. Will I tell you about it?\"\n\n\"My good, yes, tell me, I am only too pleased if you talk to me.\nShall we go up to Les Casquets together? I was going there to see\nyour father.\"\n\nAs they walked side by side she began to speak rapidly.\n\n\"Well, this amusing thing I have seen! Listen! I was at the top of\nthe valley that leads to Orvilliere Farm this morning when, all at\nonce, I saw a cart coming along. In it was a big chest made of oak\nand carved all over; and besides there was a box covered with\nleather and all over brass nails. Of course one knew at once what\nthat meant! In the chest and in the box there was the linen for the\nhouse of some woman who was soon to be married, and it was being\ntaken to the house of the bridegroom. Sure enough, it seems I was\nright, for tied to the cart behind was the cow the father of the\nbride would give! Then, close to the cart, on the side, there was a\ngirl I knew. She was the nearest woman relation of Blaisette Simon,\nand she was carrying a looking glass. I knew what all those things\nmeant--a marriage soon to take place. So I looked again, and I saw\nthat the man who was leading the cart was Dominic Le Mierre, the\nmaster of Orvilliere, and he turned down the hill that leads to the\nfarm. He didn't see me--him--he was chatting and laughing with the\ngirl cousin of Blaisette, and telling her not to let the looking\nglass fall, or that would be bad luck. Now, Perrin Corbet, tell me,\nwhat do you think all that means?\"\n\nShe breathed quickly and turned her face away from him.\n\n\"Means!\" echoed the fisherman, \"of course it means only one thing,\nthat there will soon be a wedding, that the bride will be Blaisette\nSimon and the bridegroom will be Dominic Le Mierre. But why do you\nask me? You said you knew yourself what it meant when you saw the\nchest in the cart!\"\n\n\"Bah, don't be so stupid and tease me like that! There might be some\nmistake. And what do I care if she does marry him?\"\n\n\"I wonder you haven't heard it talked of before, Ellenor, for all\nTorteval has said long ago they would make a match.\"\n\n\"Well, let people chat as much as they like! _He_ don't care for\nher, that I know. It's only her money he's after. She is a silly\nlittle fool, all pink and white and yellow hair.\"\n\n\"Perhaps! But all we men can see that she is a very pretty girl. And\nhow do you know he don't care for her, eh?\"\n\n\"How dare you to question me like this! Never mind how I know, but I\ndo.\"\n\n\"Well, my girl, I can tell you all about it. It would seem that Le\nMierre has been making a fool of you. All Torteval knows it. And\nthere's times and times I've seen you together; and him making love\nto you.\"\n\n\"You're a sneak and a liar! So you've spied on us, Perrin Corbet,\nhave you?\"\n\nThe fisherman was absolutely unmoved by her rudeness. His love was\nbeyond and above any feeling of even proper pride.\n\n\"I've not spied on you at all, but it wasn't my fault if you didn't\nsee me; and you never gave me a chance of telling you all this\nbefore. He's sure and certain to marry Blaisette. It's as good as if\nshe was his wife now you've seen the cart taking the linen to\nOrvilliere. Don't be vexed with me. It's for your good I speak. You\nknow how I love you, Ellenor.\"\n\n\"Bah, who cares for your love! I was a fool to tell you the amusing\nthing I've seen. And I tell you, once more, he don't love Blaisette\nSimon.\"\n\n\"Well, have it your own way! I've nothing more to say about the\nmarriage. But I've a mind to go to warn Blaisette about her husband\nto be.\"\n\nEllenor turned on Perrin a look of wild terror and anger.\n\n\"If I could, I'd kill you, because I hate you so! You would go to\ntell Blaisette that you've seen me and him together!\"\n\n\"I would do no such thing. But I would wish to warn her that Dominic\nis mixed up with smugglers.\"\n\nA dead silence was at last broken by Ellenor's husky words.\n\n\"How do you know he's mixed up with smugglers?\"\n\n\"Listen to my tale this time,\" he said, \"but it isn't at all\namusing. One night I was off the point of the cliffs below the\nHaunted House. I was in my boat, fishing for _bream_. It was full\nmoon, but me and my boat were in shadow. None could see us. By and\nbye--I saw a long, narrow boat shoot out from a cave not far off\nfrom me. In it were three or four black looking foreigners. They\npushed their boat close under the cliffs and waited, full an hour.\nThen, by and bye, down came Le Mierre and another man with bundles\nof silk, or what looked like it ... and the fellow in the boat got\nup and caught hold of the bundles and went off with them like the\nvery devil. Le Mierre and his man were up the cliff again before I\ncould whistle to them that I was by. I've meant to tell Le Mierre\nsome day; and it seems to me now's the time for him and his girl to\nknow.\"\n\n\"And what good would that be, I'd like to be told! He'd only do his\nbest to pay you out for being a sneak.\"\n\n\"I've thought, too, of letting the constables of the parish know of\nit,\" pursued Corbet quietly.\n\n\"And a fine row there'd be! Do you think you, a poor fisherman,\nwould be believed when you went to tell tales of him, a rich farmer!\nBah, you must be mad, Perrin Corbet.\"\n\nNow the fisherman had all the island reverence for his betters. He\nreally spoke to ease his mind; but he was very far from longing to\ndeliver up Dominic to justice, in spite of the pricking of his\nconscience, which whispered to him that he was like an accomplice in\na crime if he did not tell of the smuggling business. He was silent\nnow, and Ellenor began to speak again.\n\n\"If you take my advice you won't meddle with Monsieur Le Mierre at\nall. Are you forgetting that his family has always been well known\nfor its wizards and witches? Bah, Perrin, have you so soon forgotten\nhow the grandfather of Monsieur used to throw black powder on people\nif they offended him, and then they would be taken ill all of a\nsudden? And over and over again, at the _Sabbat des Sorciers_ of a\nFriday night on Catioroc Hill, the very mother of Dominic has been\nseen, dancing with all the rest!\"\n\nPerrin stopped short and whistled.\n\n\"Well, you won't hardly believe me, but I had quite forgotten! Of\ncourse now I remember all you say. No, no, I can't meddle with him.\nHis whole family has always been known to have dealings with the\ndevil. Well, here we are to Les Casquets, let's go in and perhaps\nyour mother will give me a cup of tea.\"\n\n\"Go in by yourself, if you like! As for me, I'm off, a bientot,\nPerrin!\"\n\nEllenor walked slowly in the direction which would lead her furthest\naway from the cottage. She wound in and out of low, prickly gorze\nbushes covering the moorland till she reached Pleinmont Point, then\nshe ran down a gently sloping grass valley till she got to the sea.\nShe had an appointment with Dominic at Pezerie, the bottom of the\nvalley which skirted the rocky coast. It was blowing hard, and yet a\ndense mist hung over the sea. Once, like a ghost, a boat with a\nvelvety brown sail, flitted across the Pezerie outlook. A bell\ntolled from Hanois Lighthouse.\n\nEllenor shivered, and cruel forebodings took hold of her. Then, all\nat once, it was brilliant sunshine in her heart, for Dominic came\nrunning down the valley and clasped her in his arms. With sobs and\npassionate words of reproach and love, she asked him if it was true\nhe was going to marry Blaisette.\n\n\"Little silly child!\" he said, with a laugh, \"of course it is not\ntrue! There was no thought of _my_ marriage when I led the cart. I\nwas just helping the cousin of Blaisette; one does not always\nexactly keep to old customs.\"\n\nThen she told him of Perrin and the smuggling; and he called her a\nclever _garce_ for stopping Corbet's mouth. He was in the gayest and\nmost fascinating of moods, and Ellenor was in a heaven of joy, for\nhis caresses and words had never before been so tender. It was late\nbefore they parted. He could not see her again for a few days, he\nexplained, as he had special business on hand.\n\nThe next day, when Ellenor was knitting outside Les Casquets, a\nmessenger arrived from Orvilliere. He brought an invitation to Jean\nCartier and to his wife and daughter, to attend the wedding of\nMonsieur Dominic Le Mierre and Mademoiselle Blaisette Simon.\n\nShe stood up straight and tall to receive the blow. She did not\nflinch. Only her face was grey as ashes; and her large eyes looked\nlike those of a hunted animal, as she accepted the invitation for\nher parents and herself.\n\nThe wedding was fixed for that day week, and all the parish, indeed\nthe two parishes of Saint Pierre du Bois and Torteval, were wild\nwith excitement. Hundreds of people were invited; and for days\nbefore the ceremony the water lanes and marshes were visited by\nbands of young people eager to gather the _gllajeurs_, or wild marsh\niris, to strew before the bride and bridegroom when they would leave\nthe church.\n\nIt was a lovely morning when Dominic stood before the altar in the\nold church of Saint Pierre du Bois and vowed to love and cherish\nfair Blaisette, a picture of sweet gentleness, and pretty coquetry\nin her fair white bridal gown. But the sun was black and the sky was\nlead to Ellenor, as she watched the bride and bridegroom walk down\nthe aisle together, man and wife, arm in arm. She could have touched\nthe bride, so close she stood to her as she passed; and Dominic's\neyes fell upon her with a stony stare. For a maddening moment,\nEllenor thought she would die. Then, her proud spirit re-asserted\nitself. She would go through the day carrying aloft her banner of\nself-respect. She would march to battle as if to the sound of music.\nAs she made this resolution, a murmur of almost horror reached her\nfrom outside the church. She hastened to the porch in time to see\nthat Blaisette was crying.\n\n\"What is it?\" she whispered to Perrin Corbet, who, all unnoticed,\nhad kept close to her during the ceremony.\n\n\"It's that she has remembered suddenly she came to the church a\ndifferent way from what she does on Sundays. And of course we know\nit's dreadful bad luck, poor girl! It's certain there'll be\nsomething happen before the year is out.\"\n\nA gleam of joy lit up Ellenor's pale face.\n\n\"Come along, Perrin, let's be off to Orvilliere--there's not too\nmuch time before dinner.\"\n\nCorbet looked at her doubtfully.\n\n\"But, aren't you going to put on a different gown?\"\n\n\"And, pray, _impudant_, why, I'd like to know! This one is silk, and\nwhat more do you want?\"\n\n\"It's the colour I don't like! Scarlet for a day like this! You\nought to be in white.\"\n\nBut Ellenor only laughed at him. Not she give up her scarlet gown\nmade of silk that Dominic had given her one night in the Haunted\nHouse!\n\nOrvilliere Farm was gay, outside and in, with garlands and crowns of\nflowers; and in the kitchen and in the field beside the house,\ntables were laid for the customary dinner of roast beef and mutton,\nplum pudding and _gache a corinthe_. Cider flowed liberally; and,\nafter dinner, the guests were in fitting mood for the games that\nfollowed till tea-time. Then all the evening long, dancing waxed\nfast and furious, with intervals for songs. Dominic delighted the\ncompany by giving Ellenor a sounding kiss when she chose him for her\npartner in--\n\n    \"Saluez, messieurs et dames,\n    Ah! mon beau laurier!\"\n\nand all the company then shouted in chorus--\n\n    \"Entr'embrassez-vous par le jeu d'amourette,\n    Entr'embrassez-vous par le jeu d'amour.\"\n\nBut it is certain Ellenor would not have dared to choose the\nbridegroom had he not been half drunk. Perrin Corbet, a sober man\nhimself, looked on in disgust; and glanced at Blaisette to see how\nshe took it. But she was giggling as usual, and drinking mulled wine\nfrom one of the new wedding cups.\n\nAt five in the morning the wedding party broke up; and all the\nguests said that Ellenor Cartier was a shameless girl. Perrin heard\nand clenched his fist.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\n\"Quick! get up, Ellenor, you must have overslept yourself!\" cried\nJean Cartier one morning in August, as he woke his daughter with a\nloud knocking on the partition between the attic bedrooms of the\ncottage.\n\n\"It's all right, father,\" the girl called in reply, \"I've been up\nthere's a long time, but I am putting the roses round my hat. The\nbreakfast will be ready as soon as you're down.\"\n\nJean dressed in particularly old clothes, and Mrs. Cartier chose out\nthe shabbiest skirt she possessed, for they were preparing for a day\nof hard work on the beach. But, to their surprise, when they came\ndown to breakfast, Ellenor wore a pretty gown of dark red stuff. She\nexplained, carelessly, that indeed _she_ would not make herself a\nfright before all the countryside; and if the gown was spoilt, well,\nit couldn't be helped. Her parents said nothing, for Ellenor's\ntemper was more uncertain than ever, and they dreaded an outbreak;\nbut Mrs. Cartier had her suspicions.\n\nAfter breakfast the three started for Rocquaine Bay, where a lively\nscene was being played, for it was the time of _vraicing_ or\nsea-weed harvest. Lines of carts were ranged above high-water mark,\nand the patient horses were decked with flowers. The beach and sands\nswarmed with people all smiling and gay, and for the most part\nwearing nosegays. Rich and poor from two parishes chatted, laughed\nand worked hard with sickles at cutting the _vraic scie_ from the\nlow rocks. Very soon, the beach was dotted with heaps of sea-weed,\neach marked by a pebble, bearing the owner's name in chalk. The more\nadventurous waded across the _cols_ or causeways to rocks at some\ndistance from the shore and found rich stores of golden weed.\nAmongst these adventurous spirits was Ellenor. She had persuaded one\nof the farmers to take her on his horse to a high group of rocks,\nhidden from the beach by Rocquaine Tower, and here she worked\nundisturbed, and in full possession of a wonderful growth of\n_vraic_.\n\nShe took off her hat, and her hair curled about her forehead in damp\nlittle rings, for the sun was scorching. A dusky red glowed in her\ntan cheeks; her eyes, shining with excitement and the joy of work,\nfollowed the skilled movements of the sickle she swung to and fro,\nand she was entirely absorbed in gathering in the precious _vraic_.\nBut, all at once, she paused. She heard, distinctly, the splash of\nhorse's feet. Someone was coming to interrupt her and share her\nharvest. She would not have it! She had first thought of these\nrocks! She would fight for her rights!\n\nThe splashing came nearer. She did not turn round. A scrambling\nsound followed; then she heard heavy steps mount the rocks.\n\n\"Ellenor,\" said a well-known voice, \"what luck to find you quite\nalone here!\"\n\nIt was Dominic Le Mierre, and it was the first time the two had met\nalone since his wedding day. He took her hand and smiled into her\neyes, which filled with tears.\n\n\"You cheated me,\" she said, \"you told me you were not going to marry\nher.\"\n\nHe laughed and stooped to kiss her.\n\n\"You silly girl! If I had told you I'd never have got so many kisses\nfrom you, and you wouldn't have liked that, eh! What difference does\nthis marriage make to you and me, I'd like to know! Besides, don't\npretend to be so good all of a sudden. Didn't you choose me at my\nwedding feast, and didn't I kiss you before everybody? Not that I\nremember it too well, for I had had a little drop, but I've been\ntold of it since.\"\n\n\"Ah, I was mad that night--mad with jealousy!\"\n\n\"Go on being mad!\" he cried, \"how well you look in that red gown,\nthough it's a common rag besides the fine clothes of my\nmilk-and-water wife. Bah, what a fool she is! Don't you know I\nmarried her for money and for her good family? But she is like a\nsilly baby. Her pretty face doesn't touch me. She might stare at me\nfor ever with her eyes of blue china, and my blood would lie quiet\nlike a stagnant pond. As for you, witch, your eyes burn into me and\nset me in a blaze. And I vow you'll have to meet me pretty often.\nWhere shall we agree to see each other to-morrow night?\"\n\n\"Nowhere,\" she replied sulkily.\n\n\"I like that! What new trick are you up to now, pretending you don't\nwant to meet me?\"\n\n\"I _do_ want to meet you!\" she cried passionately, \"but I've got a\nlittle bit of pride left, and I'm decided not to meet a married man\non the sly!\"\n\nHe scowled and crushed her hands in his.\n\n\"You know your character is gone as it is. You're talked of all over\nthe parishes, people say you're mad after me--so, I'd just like to\nknow what difference not meeting me will make.\"\n\n\"I'm decided not to do it.\"\n\n\"Very well, my fine lady, we'll see about that. Ah, you little fool,\nyou've wasted the time and now I must go back, my horse is already\nup to his knees in water. And how will _you_ get back, I'd like to\nknow!\"\n\n\"Perrin Corbet is coming to fetch me. Look, here he is.\"\n\nA quarter of an hour later, all the _vraicqueurs_ were gathered\ntogether on the beach to eat their meal in common. Every woman had\nbrought _gache_, biscuits and special _vraicquing_ cakes: while the\nrich farmers had provided a plentiful supply of cider which had been\nbrought down in little barrels swung to the carts. It was a merry\ntime, and Blaisette Le Mierre was looked upon as the queen of the\nfeast. Very few spoke to Ellenor, for she was shunned as a marked\ncharacter. Only Perrin paid her every attention, and saw that she\nhad everything of the best. As for Dominic, it appeared as if he did\nnot even see her: and people said he had been persecuted and waylaid\nby Miss Ellenor, for it was evident he did not care a straw for such\na girl.\n\nAfter the meal, some of the men carted away the _vraic_ to the farms\nover the cliffs, where it would be used to enrich the land. Others,\nwith the help of the women, spread out the sea-weed, which was\nstored in heaps on the beach to dry. This, later on, would be used\nfor fuel, and would give out its peculiar pungent smell, so dear\nand memory-stirring to all Channel Islanders.\n\nSo the _vraicquing_ festival ended; and that night Ellenor sobbed\nherself to sleep, a passionate weary creature, too proud to bend to\nGod and turn to goodness.\n\nIt was November; and one evening as Perrin Corbet was crossing a\nhill on his return home from fishing, he thought he heard a low\nmoaning. He stopped and listened. Was it the cry of a sea-gull\nflying into shelter from the storm which was approaching? Was it,\nperhaps, the spirit of some drowned fisherman haunting his house?\nNo--it was the voice of a living woman in distress! He waited, and\ngradually traced the sound to a huge cromlech on the hill. He\nstopped at the entrance.\n\n\"It is I, Perrin Corbet!\" he said quietly, \"is anyone in trouble?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes!\" answered an eager voice, \"come in and speak to\nme--Ellenor.\"\n\n\"My dear girl,\" went on the fisherman's even voice, \"what are you\ndoing here?\"\n\n\"I've been hiding, there's an hour, from Dominic Le Mierre. Ah, it\nis no use, I must tell you all, for you never scold me and look\nblack at me, like all the rest do. I said I wouldn't meet him now\nhe's married, but the more I keep out of his way, the more it seems\nhe finds me out.\"\n\n\"Then you don't care for him no more, like all Torteval said you\ndid?\"\n\n\"Care for him! Care! I love him with all my soul!\"\n\n\"And him such a black character, and a smuggler! There's times and\ntimes I've seen him again to the cliffs with queer fellows; and\nothers have seen him, too. But nobody likes to give him up to the\nconstables, except me, and I've settled it that I'll tell what he\nis after. He deserves it, the way he treats you. And it will be a\nfine way of disgracing him. I'll risk that he'll bewitch me.\"\n\nA dead silence followed his words. Then Ellenor's hand stole into\nhis, and Ellenor's voice said softly,\n\n\"Perrin, is it you love me yet?\"\n\nHe lifted her hand and kissed it.\n\n\"I love you better than even my mother. I love you next best to\nGod.\"\n\n\"And yet, Perrin, I am not a good girl.\"\n\n\"Don't dare to say that to me! You _are_ good when you are not\nthinking of that scoundrel. It's him that has made people speak\nabout you like they do! But, listen, Ellenor, if you was the\nblackest of the black, I'd love you, because it's you, and because I\nwas made to love you, once and for ever.\"\n\nShe burst into a passion of tears.\n\n\"That's how I love him! He's the blackest of the black--a liar, a\nsmuggler, a cheat to his wife and to me, too fond of his glass,\ncruel to the poor, mad for money, pretending to be pious of a\nSunday; and yet, yet, I love him, because it's him, and because I\nwas made to love him, once and for ever.\"\n\n\"My God! how you hurt me!\" cried poor Perrin, clasping her hand\ncloser in his.\n\nShe cried quietly for a little while, and Corbet did not try to\ncheck her tears. His tender love made him wise and gentle as his own\nmother. At last she was quite still, and presently she said,\n\n\"Perrin, if you love me, I'll be your wife some day.\"\n\n\"Do you really mean it? It seems too good to be true. I can't take\nit in, as you see. And yet if it does come to pass, there'll be no\nman prouder than me in the whole of Guernsey!\"\n\n\"But, if I am to be your wife, there'll be a condition.\"\n\n\"Condition! You can make a hundred, dear Ellenor.\"\n\n\"I don't know if you'll agree to this one, however!\"\n\n\"Of course I will! I promise you beforehand.\"\n\n\"Promise! Promise! Quickly!\"\n\nHe laughed gaily, wild with joy at her sweet mood and at the fair\nprospect the future held for him.\n\n\"I promise I'll agree gladly to your condition, whatever it is.\"\n\n\"Then listen to it. You have promised you'll never give up Monsieur\nLe Mierre to the constables.\"\n\nPerrin was silent for a long time; then he said, in a voice hoarse\nwith emotion,\n\n\"It seems I am a very stupid chap, and it takes me a little while to\nsee what a woman is driving at. But though you are too clever for\nme, Ellenor, and caught me in a fine trap, I can make out the\nreason, the only reason, why you will be my wife. It is to save Le\nMierre from disgrace.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she replied, \"it is; and there is yet one more reason. I\ncan't live to Les Casquets any longer. I'm too unhappy. Mother is\nalways telling me what people say about me; no other tune do I hear\nall day long.\"\n\n\"Well, it's quite plain you don't care a _double_ for me; but,\nstill, I can take care of you, give you a home and thus stop the\nwagging of all the tongues in the parish. But, Ellenor, there is one\nthing I must speak about. I am willing to know you don't love me;\nwilling to know you've given your heart to another man, and him a\nscoundrel. But, I couldn't stand it if you had meetings with him\nwhen you will be my wife, the daughter of my dear old mother. I'd\nkill you, I believe. God forgive me, if such a thing happened.\"\n\n\"You needn't be afraid,\" she said in a dreary, colourless voice,\n\"since now I am always getting out of his way. There is left a\nlittle pride in me yet. I can't bring such disgrace on my father.\nBut every day I cry because I can't see him.\"\n\n\"Well, I am satisfied! After all we know what each other means. And\nnow, when will it be, this wedding of ours?\"\n\nHe tried to speak gaily, poor Perrin, but it was sad work. He\nsucceeded at last in persuading her to agree to be married on\nChristmas Day: and then, fearful that she would change her mind, he\nsaid he would take her home at once, for it was getting late.\n\nAs they descended the hill and crossed the bay, Perrin pointed out\nthe gleaming of a light on Lihou, an islet within a stone's throw of\nGuernsey.\n\n\"It seems that Le Mierre is living there just now to work at the\niodine. His wife is with him. She is very delicate, it would appear,\nand not very happy, poor pretty Blaisette!\"\n\n\"Does he beat her?\"\n\n\"So people say. I can believe anything bad of Le Mierre.\"\n\n\"It is not surprising. How bad I must be to love such a man! Perrin,\nwhy didn't God let me--_make_ me, love you instead?\"\n\nWas this sad gentle voice in reality Ellenor's? Was this nestling\nhand hers? Did it really creep through his arm?\n\n\"My girl, we must not dictate to God about what He does! I confess I\ndon't understand half He lets happen to us. But I couldn't question\nit.\"\n\n\"Poor Perrin!\" she went on softly, \"to care for me, of all the girls\nin the two parishes.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't change you for the Queen on her throne?\"\n\nHe caught her to his breast and folded her to his heart. In the\nheaven of his faithful love she felt, at least, safe from her own\nlurid passion, and at rest from the biting remarks of her little\nworld.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\nIt was the night of Christmas Eve and the snow fell thick and fast.\nThis weather, so unusual in the Channel Isles, had delayed Perrin\nCorbet in the little town of Saint Pierre Port, and it was past ten\no'clock when he reached home. His mother had gone to bed, but not\nbefore she had prepared her son's supper and left the little kitchen\nthe picture of comfort. After his meal, Perrin turned the lamp low,\nlit his pipe, and sat down in his mother's arm-chair before the\n_vraicq_ fire. The wind moaned in the huge chimney, with a cradling\nsound, but Perrin was not in the least inclined to sleep. To-morrow\nwould be his wedding day. He could not realize it; he could not\nbelieve he would so soon reach the height of joy. He tried to\npicture to-morrow. Ellenor, in the white gown she had described to\nhim, would stand before the altar, and he, her devoted lover, would\ntake her hand and declare, before God and before the world, that she\nwas to be his wife.\n\nThen, the rest of the day would be spent in quiet joy at Les\nCasquets Cottage, with his mother as the only guest of the Cartiers.\nHe pictured the moment when he would say, taking out his watch,\n\"Now, mother, now, Ellenor, it is time for us to go home.\"\n\nHe would light the lantern, and with those two women, so dear, so\nprecious, he would return to this very cottage, henceforth to be a\npalace to him, since Ellenor, his queen, would be his wife. He would\ndeal so tenderly with her, for she had suffered much, his poor\nEllenor! He would never reproach her if she seemed to fret after\nDominic. She could not uproot, all at once, such a deep love. He\nwould lead her gently back to the ways of religion which she had\ndeserted. He would remind her, one quiet evening, that she was of\nthose who were admitted to The Holy Supper of the Lord, for had she\nnot been confirmed at the same time as he had? And, please God, she\nwould listen to him. Perhaps, in days to come, she would learn to\nlove him a little. Perhaps that joy would be his when baby hands\nclasped his rough brown fingers and a rosy baby mouth kissed his\nadoring lips!\n\nHis pipe was out; and his head was bent as he dreamed of the morrow,\nhis wedding day. For a moment, the wind had ceased its moaning and a\ndeep stillness enfolded the cottage.\n\nSuddenly, a sharp tap rang through the kitchen. Perrin started, his\ndreams scattered. He listened, breathless, his island blood frozen,\nhis Celtic temperament at once calling up visions of the\nsupernatural.\n\nAgain the tap sounded on the window; and this time, a familiar voice\nre-assured Perrin.\n\n\"Let me in, Corbet, quick, I bring bad news.\"\n\nIn a moment Cartier stood in the kitchen and cried breathlessly,\n\n\"Have you seen Ellenor? She hasn't been home since early this\nafternoon!\"\n\nThe ruddy colour left Perrin's tanned face.\n\n\"My God, no, I haven't seen her! What, then, can have happened?\"\n\nThen, with graphic, trembling words, Jean told how Ellenor had gone\nto Saint Pierre to buy some finery for her wedding bonnet; how, hour\nafter hour, when the snow was thick and the wind howled over the\nmoorland, she had been anxiously looked for; how, at last, in\ndespair, he had said to his wife that he would go to Perrin, for\nthey must be off to look for Ellenor all the way to Saint Pierre\nPort.\n\nAt once, Corbet went upstairs, and, waking his mother, told her the\nstory of his girl's mysterious disappearance.\n\n\"We'll go round to Les Casquets and bring Mrs. Cartier over here,\nmother. She's a poor creature, and she can't be left alone. Who can\ntell when Cartier and I will be back!\"\n\nIt was two o'clock before the men started to walk to Saint Pierre\nPort. It was brilliant moonlight at four o'clock, and the gusts of\nsnow had died away with the wind; but the men searched, in vain, for\nany trace of Ellenor. As soon as it was dawn, the two parishes were\nroused, and those who were kind helped to look for the missing girl.\nThe rest shrugged their shoulders and said that Christmas Day was\nnot meant to be wasted in such a search, for such a queer wild girl\nas Ellenor Cartier. At last a child found in a hedge a paper bag: it\ncontained a spray of artificial flowers, a few drenched roses. The\nchild's mother guessed this must be the finery Ellenor had gone to\nbuy, for everyone knew the pitiful story by now. But the hedge was\nominously near Rocquaine Bay. What did this mean?\n\nAfter three days of minute search, the band of men gave up in\ndespair; and Jean and Perrin went back to the routine of daily work\nin dogged and patient despair. The fisherman wondered if Le Mierre\nhad heard the news, shut up in Lihou Island, where his wife lay very\nill of small-pox, which was raging in different parts of Guernsey.\nFinally Jean unburdened his mind to his friend and talked with him\nof Ellenor's infatuation for Dominic. Would it be that she had\ndrowned herself to be rid of the torture of her life?\n\nPerrin was haunted perpetually by this idea: it was with him by day\nand by night. He went about like a man who was half asleep, and\npeople began to complain that he did not even nod to his\nacquaintances when he met them. So the Christmas season passed and\nit was the last day of the Old Year. The cold and the snow\ndisappeared, and the weather was mild and calm as Perrin rowed\nhomewards about four o'clock in the afternoon. He had been to pull\nup his lobster pots which had been put down not far from Lihou\nisland. Buried in thought, he did not notice how close he was rowing\nto the reef of rocks off the north of the island, till a loud cry\nstartled him and he saw that someone was signalling to him from a\njutting rock close to his boat. It was a woman. It was Ellenor\nCartier.\n\nMad with joy, Perrin brought his boat into a tiny creek, moored it\nand scrambled up the rocks to the girl's side.\n\n\"Don't come near me!\" she cried, \"for the sake of your mother! I am\nminding Blaisette. She is ill, dreadfully, dreadfully ill. If she\ngets well, the doctor says it will be a miracle. But even _he_ is\nafraid to come much. Since Christmas Eve he hasn't been here. It was\nthen I came, just after his visit.\"\n\nShe had gradually edged away from Perrin, and now placed herself\nbehind a boulder. Over its edge her pale face looked sadly at her\nlover.\n\n\"Do you know,\" she went on, \"perhaps you won't believe me, but till\nI saw you just now in your boat, I didn't even feel sorry I left you\non Christmas Eve. Are you very angry with me?\"\n\n\"I couldn't be angry with you, my darling! Even now, it seems I\ncan't believe you're alive. We found your white roses, all wet and\nspoilt, in a hedge close to Rocquaine Bay; and, ah, how we feared,\nyour father and me ... But, Ellenor, tell me, how is it you came\nhere? And how was it you were on the rocks just when my boat\npassed.\"\n\n\"I was on the rocks to try to see if I could let one of you men know\nwe want food, and to tell the doctor he _must_ come again. I've\ngiven her all the medicine he left. It would be no use for me to go\nover to Rocquaine at low tide, because not a soul would help me; all\nwould run away from me.\"\n\n\"Set your heart at rest, my Ellenor. I'll go for all you want. But,\nquick, tell me, how is it you came here?\"\n\nShe buried her face in her hands, and broke into bitter weeping. And\nPerrin could not clasp her in his arms. Presently she spoke, in a\nlow voice, full of anguish.\n\n\"It was like this. On Christmas Eve, when I was coming back from\nSaint Pierre Port, I met Monsieur Le Mierre. He stopped me and\nwanted me to go back to the town with him. I had nearly decided to\ndo as he wished. It was no use, I couldn't say 'No.' There was long\nI hadn't seen him; and he was so handsome and tall. And, and, I\nbelieve he loves me true, whatever happens! But, just as I said I'd\ngo back with him, I thought of Blaisette, her that I hated and yet\nher that I pitied. And I asked him who was with her on lonely Lihou\nIsle. Him, he only laughed, and said she was all right; he'd be back\nbefore midnight. But there wasn't a soul in Guernsey would go to\nmind her, for love or money, so it was no use bothering, he said,\nand again he laughed. And then I was frightened. He seemed like the\ndevil, so cruel about his poor wife. And, all of a sudden, I thought\nonly of her, and I told him _I'd_ go to mind her, not for love or\nmoney, but because I was _so_ sorry, oh, so sorry, for her!\"\n\n\"My brave girl! My own sweetheart!\" Perrin cried, stretching out\neloquent hands to the sad, pale face.\n\n\"Listen, there's more yet to tell! I don't know how I got back to\nSaint Pierre du Bois, it was snowing fast and yet faster; but, at\nlast I was to L'Eree. I forgot all about everything except poor\nBlaisette. I threw away the roses for my wedding bonnet. I got to\nthe beach before the tide was quite down. The sea was black. The sky\nwas black. Just here and there was a dreadful line of white, where\nthe waves were breaking over the rocks. And on Lihou Isle not a\nlight was to be seen. I shivered when I thought of Blaisette in the\ndark, ill with small-pox of a Christmas Eve.\"\n\nPerrin ground his teeth.\n\n\"Damn that brute! He's not fit for hell itself.\"\n\nShe drew a long breath.\n\n\"Listen, Perrin, I've not finished! I began to cross the rocks and\nfound myself on the causeway at last, but I was deep in water. The\nhorrible waves, like black walls, was all around me. The wind pushed\nme on every side. The snow was falling thicker and thicker. But at\nlast, at last, I was to Lihou. I climbed the beach, ran across the\ngrass, and, pushing open a door in the wall of the garden--we all\nknow the farm well, eh, Perrin? I went up the steps to the house. I\nopened the door. The house was like ice. In the kitchen was a poor\nlittle bit of fire. I made it up; and then I tried to get courage to\ngo upstairs.... Well, somehow I was in the bedroom. I had taken a\ncandle with me. I can't tell you how she looked. It would make you\nwish you could kill _him_. She looked at me with her poor glazed\neyes. Her lips were black with fever. She cried, in a voice like a\nthread, for water, water!\"\n\n\"God in heaven! and you love this brute yet?\"\n\nShe hid her face for a moment.\n\n\"Hush, I've not finished! I did my best for her, poor Blaisette. For\na minute she knew me and she tried to thank me; and very soon she\nfell asleep.\"\n\n\"And he came back at midnight?\"\n\n\"No, not till the middle of Christmas Day; and then he was half\ndrunk. Since then he has hardly been near the house; but he has not\nleft Lihou. He has been about the stables, and come into the kitchen\nto get his meals once or twice; and he is drinking, drinking all the\ntime. I can see he is afraid of the small-pox, and afraid of death.\nAnd yet, I believe, I am sure, he loves me yet; only I will not\nspeak to him nor look at him, because of _her_, lying upstairs all\nunconscious.\"\n\nPerrin stared at her, aghast. Was it possible a woman could love,\nactually love, the devil! Bah, it seemed so!\n\n\"Look here,\" he cried, almost in a rude voice, \"he loves you so much\nthat he lets you run the risk of getting the small-pox! Very well!\nI'm decided what to do. I'll go back to tell my mother I am coming\nhere to look after you twice a day, perhaps more, and I'll give\n_him_ a piece of my mind. My mother will go to Les Casquets. I'll\nstop the mouths of the two parishes, so will my mother and your\nparents, or I'll know why. Now, go back, and I'll be off for the\ndoctor and for food.\"\n\n\"Wait, just a minute, Perrin! There is something more I must say, to\ncast it off my mind. It is all my fault that Blaisette has the\nsmall-pox. It was me that went to the witch to Saint Pierre Port to\ncast a spell on my rival the day after the _Grand' Querrue_. I\ndidn't tell no names, but that's why she's bad, and oh, Perrin, it's\nall my fault.\"\n\n\"Yes, I suppose it's that, in a way. But it's my belief there's\nanother reason for her sickness. You remember she came the wrong way\nto church on her wedding day? Ah, we all know what _that_\nmeans--trouble--as sure as her name is Blaisette. But I must be\noff!\"\n\nIn a few hours Perrin returned with a store of food and the\nunwilling doctor, who was obliged to go up to see the patient he\ndreaded so horribly, for Perrin took him by the arm and did not\nleave him till he had landed him in the sick room. Then the\nfisherman sought out Le Mierre, and the coward and scoundrel tried\nto hold his own. But Perrin's threats of appeal to the Royal Court\nawed him into a promise to give out money to pay for the expenses of\nhis wife's illness. Corbet, himself utterly fearless of disease,\nfrightened the drunkard into further dread of the house: and Ellenor\nhad it all her own way. But it was of no avail. Pretty, frail\nBlaisette could not battle with a terrible illness, neglected at the\nvery first; and two days after Perrin came to Lihou, she died,\nwithout a look or a sign.\n\nThere was no thought of taking her poor body across to the other\nisland for burial in the sweet quiet churchyard of Saint Pierre du\nBois. She was laid to rest in a grave dug hastily in a corner beside\na dark boulder. No hymns were sung over her. Only the grey sea\nmoaned and the wind sighed, as her rough coffin was lowered into the\ngrave. No messenger, mounted on a black horse, bore the news of her\ndeath from house to house, up and down the two parishes. Only a poor\nfisherman repeated the sad tidings as he trudged, first to\nColomberie Farm and then to Orvilliere, where Dominic's aunt kept\nhouse in state while her graceless nephew was away. No _Messieurs_\nof distinguished Torteval families were honoured bearers, but a good\nman and a bad man had carried her coffin to the dark place of\nburial. No weird feasting followed the unconsecrated ceremony: only\nDominic took refuge from sickening terror in a drunken bout.\n\nBut Perrin stood long beside her grave: and prayed for the poor\nlittle woman so soon to be left alone in the island, henceforth to\nbe haunted by her sad spirit.\n\nAn hour after Blaisette's burial, Ellenor fainted while she was\nmaking preparations for leaving the house. Perrin, guessing what\nwould follow, rowed her across to the main island, as soon as she\nwas able. His mother had returned to her home, and Jean and poor\nweak Mrs. Cartier prepared to nurse their child through an attack of\nsmall-pox. The doctor shook his head. It was a particularly bad\ncase, he said, and it was doubtful if he could save Ellenor.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\n\"So you've made up your mind to lose her, Perrin?\" said Mrs. Corbet,\nas she and her son were at supper one spring evening.\n\n\"Yes, there is nothing else to be done. Ellenor isn't a girl to\ntreat me like that just for a bit of fun. At first, when she was\njust well of the small-pox, she was very kind to me. But when I\nspoke of our wedding day that had been put off and asked her if she\nwouldn't tell me it would be soon again, she turned away and didn't\nsay another word for a long time.\"\n\n\"And you left her alone, I hope?\"\n\n\"Indeed, but, no! I begged and prayed of her to speak to me, till\nshe turned round. She looked white and tired. She was crying, but\nshe was vexed, too. She told me, quite sharp, to leave her alone.\nShe said she wasn't going to marry nobody, and she must have been\nmad to promise to be my wife before. And then she said she was glad\nshe'd had the small-pox, because it had put off the wedding.\"\n\n\"Perrin, my son, you are far too good for her, and far too simple!\nIf you'd have left her then and there, it's my belief she'd have\ncome looking after me the very next day, just to see what you'd told\nme. And if you'd have seemed you didn't care _she'd_ have cared a\ngood bit more than she does.\"\n\nThe fisherman shook his head.\n\n\"No, it isn't like what you think. It's like this--Ellenor only\ncares for one man, and that's the master of Orvilliere.\"\n\nMrs. Corbet shrugged her shoulders.\n\n\"Well, well, she must be _ensorchelai_ herself to love him that's\nsuch a devil and has so much to do with the Prince of devils. Bah,\nit was only yesterday I was told of some of Le Mierre's doings! It\nwas Judie Roussel, and _she_ heard it from one of the maids at\nOrvilliere. Just you listen to me, Perrin Corbet, and see what you\nthink of it!--Le Mierre, he wanted a bit of fun, him, and you may\ndepend it wasn't nothing good, so he fetched some of his fine\nfriends to go to the Vale. But they wasn't going to walk, them, no\nsuch thing! They makes up their minds they'll use the horse of Le\nMierre's neighbour, Langlois. They find a good strong white one in a\nmeadow. What do they do but all jump on his back and be off! Wait a\nbit! He begins to gallop and to gallop, over hedges and brambles;\nthey couldn't stop him, and and when he gets nearly to the Vale, he\nthrows them off his back in a fine muddy place, and then he's out of\nsight in a minute. And yet, would you believe it, Langlois swore the\nwhite horse had been in the meadow all the time! Of course it was\nthe _devil_ that was the gallopping white horse! And he must be on\npretty good terms with Le Mierre to play off such a joke with him,\neh, Perrin!\"\n\n\"I can't say, mother, I'm sure, and, in case even he is good friends\nwith the devil, it's all the worse for the girl that loves him.\"\n\n\"Bah! I've no patience with Ellenor. Le Mierre is a bad man. She\nknows that as well as you and me do, and yet ... she loves him.\nWell, well, women are poor fools. But, come, Perrin, isn't there any\nother girl that would do except Ellenor? There's hundreds nicer than\nher, and hundreds prettier--specially now.\"\n\n\"If she won't have me, I'll never marry. That's the end of it,\nmother.\"\n\nMrs. Corbet sighed as she heaped up the supper things for Perrin to\nwash. Such a good, kind son as he was, and to be made a fool of by a\nself-willed girl like Ellenor!\n\n\"It seems I haven't seen Le Mierre for a long time,\" she went on.\n\n\"He's been away ever since his wife's death. It was said everywhere,\nin the two parishes and even to Saint Pierre Port that he went off\nbecause of poor Blaisette. She came again and again to Orvilliere\nlike a white sea-gull, crying and flapping her wings against his\nbedroom window. Her spirit can't rest it seems, because of his\nwickedness. But, now, I've been told this very day, that he's back\nto Guernsey: and some there are who say he's been making love to\ngirls in Jersey.\"\n\n\"If only he'd had brought one back as his wife, that foolish Ellenor\nof yours would have stopped hankering after him!\"\n\n\"I don't believe he'll marry her, because she is poor and of no\nfamily: _besides_ ...\"\n\n\"You may well say _besides_, poor girl! But, come, my son, I am\ntired, I must go to bed.\"\n\nRumour was quite correct in giving one of the reasons for Le\nMierre's departure to Jersey. He told everyone how he was bothered\nby the spirit of Blaisette; but he did not add that abject terror of\nsmall-pox made him decide to spend some months with well-to-do\nrelations in Jersey, which was quite exempt from the horrible\ndisease.\n\nIt was just before Lent when he came home to find a very bleak\nspringtime keeping back the flowers in his garden at Orvilliere.\nWith relief, after the first night, he told his housekeeper that the\nspirit of Blaisette had gone, evidently for good. The woman, a\ndevout Roman Catholic, muttered behind his back.\n\n\"She's got enough to do, praying for you in Purgatory, poor soul, if\nshe's allowed to think of such a black heart as yours! The Blessed\nAngels and Saints know how it would discourage her to come back to\nsee you as bad as ever, and it's _my_ belief, worse!\"\n\nThe tragic death of Blaisette had almost canonized her: and she, who\nhad been in life, a pretty weak doll, was enshrined in all hearts as\na martyr to her husband's brutality. So often does death enrich and\nenlarge our limited outlook.\n\nIt was the evening of the first Sunday in Lent. Jean Cartier, his\nwife, Mrs. Corbet and Perrin had been to church at Saint Pierre du\nBois. It was dark as they entered the parish of Torteval, and Jean\nsaid in an anxious voice,\n\n\"I suppose Ellenor has left Les Casquets by now?\"\n\nHis wife nudged him as if to say he had betrayed a secret: but it\nwas too late. Mrs. Corbet's gentle voice asked, in great curiosity,\nwhere Ellenor was going at this time of night.\n\n\"To _Les Brandons_, on Pleinmont,\" said Jean bluntly. \"We didn't\nlike it. But as for me, I've not got the heart to refuse her\nnothing, since we nearly lost her with the small-pox--poor child!\"\n\nThe women echoed his deep sigh: and Perrin said quickly,\n\n\"Look here! I'm off to _Les Brandons_ too! Then I can look after\nher! Don't wait up for me, mother.\"\n\n\"Very well. But, tell me, Jean. Will Le Mierre be there? Has she met\nhim since his return from Jersey?\"\n\n\"He will be there, for certain,\" broke in Perrin. \"And, for certain,\nshe has not see him yet. She told me so herself. _Adi, then, toute\nla compagnie._\"\n\nHe swung along and was soon out of sight. The high road of Torteval\nwas thronged with people who, for the most part, carried lanterns.\nHe hurried past, not speaking to a soul. Presently he had reached\nhis home, and, turning sharply round the corner of the little\ngarden, he found himself in a lane which ended in a cart rut and\nbrought him out to the moorland of Pleinmont and close to the\nHaunted House.\n\nThe sky was thick with stars, which flashed like silver bonfires in\nthe blackness of the night. A fresh breeze swept over the gorze\nbushes of the moorland and blew into yellow and red streamers the\nsheet of flame that rose from a huge bonfire which was built in a\ndirect line inland from the Haunted House. The sea, below the\nprecipitous cliffs, moaned and sighed, and, far off, in the\ndistance, could be heard the murmur of the deep seas. Shouts of\nlaughter and merry voices, scraps of folk song and impromptu\ndancing, came from the throng of people scattered over the moorland\nand gathered round the bonfire.\n\nMost of the girls of the company wore masks, rough, crude affairs,\nwhich, however, effectually concealed their faces. These masked\ngirls were to take part in a special feature of _Les Brandons_, and\nwere inspected curiously by the men present who were to be chosen as\npartners by these _faux visages_.\n\nPerrin Corbet moved quietly, almost stealthily, about amongst the\npeople, evidently intent on finding some particular person. All at\nonce he stopped close to the huge bonfire, and stared, with knitted\nbrows, at Dominic Le Mierre, who swaggered in and out amongst the\ngirls, tapping one on the cheek, chucking another under the chin,\nand pulling the long curls of a young creature in her teens. In the\nfitful and flickering light, the master of Orvilliere looked like a\nsea-king, so stalwart, so wicked, so magnetic. It was quite plain to\nPerrin Corbet that he was more than a little the worse for drink;\nand he watched him closely, and followed him as near as he dared\nwithout being observed.\n\nAt ten o'clock, and at a given signal, the masked girls went up to\nthe group of men to choose partners. Perrin edged close to Dominic\nLe Mierre and scrutinized painfully the girl who laid her hand on\nthe \"jerseyed\" arm of the master. She was of middle height and\nextremely thin. Her emaciated hand trembled; it looked almost\ndiscoloured in the uncertain light. The border of her face that\ncould be seen round the mask was ghastly in its whiteness. She wore\na close fitting bonnet which hid all trace of her hair.\n\nWith partially glazed eyes, Dominic peered at her.\n\n\"You don't look much of a beauty!\" he cried, \"but I'll soon see who\nyou are, my girl!\"\n\nWhen the masks had all chosen, a circle was formed round the\nbonfire, the men holding their partners tightly by the hand. Faster\nand faster flew the circle till the masked faces shewed like a black\nband, while the outside throng of people cheered and clapped, and\nencouraged the dancers to madder whirling. Then, suddenly, as by one\nimpulse, the circle was broken up, and a new spectacle was provided\nfor the onlookers.\n\nEach girl seized her partner by the hand and together they leapt\nacross the flaming bonfire. Wild excitement was the order of the\nnight. It was the festival of the rude, primitive elements of human\nnature. It was a pageant of black shadow and brilliant light. It\nanswered to the spirit of the bleak moorland, to the steeps of the\ncliffs, to the mystery of the sea.\n\nOnly one man in the whole throng was utterly unmoved by the\nabandonment around him. Perrin kept his deep set, keen eyes fixed on\nDominic and his partner. He watched them leap with perfect skill,\nacross the roaring flame of the bonfire. He saw the master bend\ndown, and once more peer into the white face of the girl. He\nfollowed, very stealthily, the two, as they drew apart into a\nshadowed place, where, nevertheless, the light from the bonfire\ncould reach and bring their faces into relief. He watched the girl\nunfasten her mask and throw it on the grass. He drew a deep breath.\nHer face was pitifully ugly. It was covered with the pits and dents\nand scars that small-pox had left. The skin was coarse and rough and\nof a yellowish white. Her eyes were dim and red and bleared. Her\neyebrows and lashes were gone. Her expression was like that of a\nfurtive, crouching creature who dreaded the lash.\n\nAnd it came.\n\n\"Who are you, I'd like to know!\" cried the master in a towering\nrage, \"that has dared to choose me only to cheat me. Do you know,\nwoman, that you are as ugly as sin!\"\n\nHe seized her bonnet and dragged it off. Then he burst into a brutal\nlaugh.\n\n\"Almost bald, the old crone! I'll pay you out for this trick. Who\nthe devil are you? Quick, out with it, or else I'll call the other\nfellows in to help me to find out!\"\n\nPerrin moved quite close behind the master, who was too angry to\nnotice him. The girl lifted her eyes to Dominic. She spoke quietly.\n\n\"I am Ellenor Cartier.\"\n\n\"I might have guessed it, fool that I am! And you are a greater to\nthink I would even look at you _now_! You must be quite mad. All I\never cared for in you was your devilry, and your eyes that used to\nset me all on fire with love. And now you look like a scared rabbit,\na white, pinched thing! And your eyes are hideous! And your hair is\ngone! How dare you cheat me, you ugly creature!\"\n\nShe had clasped her hands together; and gazed at him in\nstupefaction.\n\nSuddenly, he turned on his heel and cried in a loud, far-carrying\nvoice--\n\n\"Come here, you men, all of you, and help me to throw the witch,\nEllenor Cartier, into the bonfire! She's too devilish ugly to live.\"\n\nThe lower sort of the throng laughed uproariously, and turned to\nstare at the poor girl. But cries of \"Shame! shame!\" rent the air.\nPerrin stepped forward, and, with a well-planted blow and a skilful\ntwist of his leg, he threw Dominic to the ground.\n\n\"See to the drunken brute!\" he cried.\n\nThen he turned to the trembling girl.\n\n\"Come, Ellenor,\" he said, with tender reverence, \"come with me, I\nwill take you home.\"\n\nHe led her to his mother, who took her up to her own attic and\nhelped her to get into bed, for the girl shivered with cold one\nminute and was in a fever the next. Perrin, meanwhile, went off to\nLes Casquets to tell her people that she was safe; and he gave Jean\nthe story of the evening, for fear he should hear it from\nstrangers. When he came back to the cottage, Mrs. Corbet was in the\nkitchen.\n\n\"She's asleep at last! But she's cried till I thought she would die.\nI asked her how it was she made herself in such a state; and then\nshe told me all the tale. Silly girl! the very way to upset any man,\nand still more, Le Mierre, to show how ugly she is now before all\nthem people. And, besides, it was all like play acting, to my mind!\"\n\n\"Oh, no, not like that, mother!\"\n\n\"Wait a bit, wait a bit, till you hears all! It seems, she told me,\nthat she planned she'd do this, there's weeks ago, while Le Mierre\nwas yet to Jersey, and she had heard he was making love to girls\nthere.\"\n\n\"But why?\"\n\n\"Well, listen! She's a strange creature, not like others! It's _my_\nbelief she comes from those fairies that built _Les Casquets_. You\nremember Perrin?\"\n\n\"No, tell me.\"\n\n\"Well, once my great-grandfather was on the beach to Portelet, and\nhe saw, a long, long way off a big ship. It came nearer and nearer,\nand it was so big that great-grandfather expected to see it smashed\non hidden rocks. But, lo and behold, the ship got smaller and at\nlast, bah, it looked like the toy of a child, and it ran in on the\nsand, close to great-grandfather. Out of the boat stepped a little\nchap, and would you believe it, the boat was turned into the\nblade-bone of a sheep, all tangled in sea-weed.\"\n\n\"Quick, what happened?\"\n\n\"Have patience, my son, and don't hurry an old woman. Well,\ngreat-grandfather asked the little chap where he was going and what\nwas his name. And all he would say was \"_Je vais cheminant_.\" But\nhe stopped to Guernsey after all and he married a girl from near\nhere--and it was him built _Les Casquets_. There! _that's_ where she\ngets her queer ways, Ellenor!\"\n\n\"And now tell me about her plan.\"\n\n\"Well, it seems she thought, foolish girl, she'd find out, for sure,\nif Le Mierre really loves her or only her looks. And she couldn't\nthink of no better way than this mad one. She can't know much of men\nand their ways, her!\"\n\n\"It's the best thing that could have happened, if only it makes her\nsee Le Mierre in his true colours.\"\n\n\"Well, we must hope for the best. And, look here, Perrin! Nothing he\ncould do before, no wickedness, no cruelty, could make her leave off\ncaring! But we women, if our looks are held up to scorn--well!--that's\nthe worst of all. So who can tell what may happen! Come, I must make\nher and give her a cup of tea. She told me she hadn't eaten or drank\nall day.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\nIt was a wild wet night in March. Dominic Le Mierre had just\nfinished supper, and he sat by the fire in the kitchen of\nOrvilliere; he was in a particularly good mood, owing to the\nexcellence of the tobacco he was smoking. As he puffed at his second\npipe he congratulated himself on his long acquaintance with\nFrenchmen, who had no scruples in giving him whole packages of this\nexcellent tobacco; and no conditions attached except the fun of\nhelping to hide it in the caves below the Haunted House, till it\ncould be conveyed to Brittany!\n\nThen he laughed aloud at the idea of the countryside about this very\nHaunted House. He had added two or three ghost tales to those\ncurrent; and, though he believed firmly in every weird story of the\ntwo parishes, he had not felt a single scruple in inventing others\nto terrify people from the spot. His love of lawlessness and danger\nwas infinitely stronger than his inherited faith in the\nsupernatural. The Haunted House brought to his mind the festival of\n_Les Brandons_, when the dreaded place had lost its horror for the\ntime being, owing to the safety that is supposed to lie in numbers.\nHe chuckled as he remembered what a fool he had made of Ellenor.\nBah! Once and for all he had done with her! Who cared to look at her\nnow, fright that she was! And how dared that pious idiot of a\nfisherman throw him down before all the company! Ah! he would soon\nteach him better manners! he would thrash him well next time they\nmet!\n\nSo he plotted and thought and smoked, and the night wind howled and\nthe rain beat against the windows. All at once, he got up, and from\nthe rack fastened across the beamed ceiling he took an old black\nbook, his friend and evil counsellor, the _Grand-Mele_ which had\nbeen in his family for generations. It was a book of magic,\ncontaining spells to be used on every conceivable occasion, and\nDominic Le Mierre was past-master in the black art. Turning over the\npages with knitted brows, he searched for a spell to be used against\nPerrin Corbet. At last he found it.\n\n\"Ah, it is quite easy to draw blood, and it need be but a drop!\" he\nmuttered, \"scratch his hand with my knife and it is done! Then, he\nwill walk in his sleep to the Haunted House. There I will meet him!\nAh, Perrin Corbet, it will be your turn to be down on the ground! I\nwill see him to-morrow, and the spell will work for the night.\n_Bon_, nothing could be better!\"\n\nHe took up his pipe again and smoked in full contentment. A sudden\nstillness had fallen over the wild night. It seemed to Dominic that\nhe could hear the moan of the sea. He listened. His blood crept at\nthe weird stillness.\n\nHark! Hush! What was that?\n\nThe wild sad cry of a sea-gull. Nearer and nearer it came, and\nDominic's eyes were fixed in horror upon the uncurtained window.\nThe sea-gull came at last quite close, with wilder, sadder cries. It\nflapped its wings and circled round and round the casement. Dominic\nwas cold and stiff with terror. He knew who the sea-gull was, but\nwhat did it mean? Some dreadful thing was drawing near Orvilliere.\n\n\"Blaisette!\" he cried, \"I know you well enough! Why do you come\nhere?\"\n\nWilder, more despairing grew the cries. Closer and closer the bird\ndrew to the panes, striking them with a twang like the sound of wild\nmusic.\n\nWith a curse the master roused himself from the freezing spell. He\ntook his loaded gun from its place over the chimney piece. He fired.\nOne of the panes of glass was broken. Outside, on the cobbled yard,\nthe gull lay dead, its glazed eyes fixed on the house.\n\nWith a laugh of triumph, Dominic re-lighted his pipe and sat down\nagain by the fire. He had just settled once more to the reading of\n_Grand-Mele_ when a very tempest of wind and hail shook the house,\nand in the midst of it, a low, sharp knock fell on the house door.\n\nThis time, the master was not under a spell. He recognized the\nknock. In an instant he was in the entrance hall and had flung open\nthe door. A rough, unkempt fisherman stood on the threshold.\n\n\"You must come at once, Monsieur,\" he cried, \"there's been great\nluck! A lot of brandy has been brought, unexpected. It's to the cave\nbelow the Haunted House. We could have got it up the cliffs alone.\nBut we all agreed that you must have your share in the fun.\"\n\n\"Quick! where did the stuff come from?\"\n\n\"From France, from les Messieurs ----.\"\n\n\"_Bon!_ Will you wait for me?\"\n\n\"No, my horse is here--tied to the gate. He's impatient, him! I'll\nbe off to tell the rest you're coming.\"\n\n\"I'll ride too,\" and Dominic slammed the door, and hurried to the\nback of the house where his horses were stabled for the night. He\nchose out a fleet white one that was used to wild rushes through the\ndark. Before he mounted, he fastened a pistol to the saddle; but he\nlaughed as he did this, it was such a useless precaution. Never once\nyet had the excisemen appeared within miles of the Haunted House.\nWith a dark lantern swinging from the saddle bow, he rode out of the\nfarmyard and cantered up the hill. Then, urging the white mare to\nher swiftest pace, he flew through steep lanes, past Torteval\nChurch, and along the high road to Pleinmont.\n\nThe rain poured in torrents. The wind roared and howled. Several\ntimes the mare paused, trembling. But Dominic lashed her on, and in\npain and terror she tore across the moorland, striking fire from the\nstones as she flew. He reined her in at last and fastened her to a\nhook in the side wall of the Haunted House. He laughed as he thought\nwhat a help she would be in keeping all comers away, for she seemed\nto shed a white dim light from her drenched skin, and her loud\nbreathing might easily be taken for groans.\n\nHe scrambled down the face of the cliff. Fortunately, the wind blew\nin from the sea, and in safety he reached a large cave, brilliant\nwith the light of many torches. His boon companions, the roughest\ngangs of the two parishes, greeted him with shouts and jests, and an\nhour of drinking and feasting followed. Then, with no little\ndifficulty, kegs of brandy were hauled up the cliffs and deposited\nin the Haunted House. With wonderful skill, the men worked almost\nall the while in the dark, only using lanterns when it was\nabsolutely necessary. At last, all the kegs were stowed away. The\nmen scattered to fetch their horses from various sheds belonging to\nfriendly people, and the master of Orvilliere was left alone.\n\nHe looked carefully round at the precious kegs stowed half way up\nthe walls. Ah--what was that! One of the barrels leaked! Brandy,\nvelvety fragrant brandy was oozing out on the earthen floor! He\nknelt down and caught a few drops in his hand. It was superfine, the\nbest stuff he had ever tasted. Greedily he drank again and again\nfrom his hand. But that process was too slow. Catching up a hatchet,\nhe enlarged the leak, and throwing himself flat on the ground, he\nlapped the golden spirit that filled him with ecstasy. At last, he\nhad had enough. He fumbled at the leak, making futile efforts to\nstop it. But he was too drunk to know what he was about. He had just\nsense enough to darken his lantern, to reel out of the Haunted House\nand fling himself on the drenched grass beside his shivering mare.\nPresently his debauch turned into a heavy sleep, and the hours\npassed. Suddenly he woke and sat up. He heard, quite distinctly, the\nsharp click of a horse's hoof. It had rung through his drunken sleep\nlike a knell. He had dreamt he heard again the passing bell that had\ntolled for Blaisette.\n\nAll at once the click passed into a smothered sound of pounding and\nslushing. The horse had left the high road and must be on the\nmoorland!\n\nSobered, Le Mierre leapt to his feet, unloosened the mare and jumped\non her back. He turned her inland and urged her forward. But,\ntrembling in every limb, the mare refused to move. Nearer and nearer\ncame the pounding of the horse. It stopped. A lantern flashed out.\nLe Mierre saw the figure of a well known exciseman riding a powerful\nblack horse. A voice cried above the howling of the wind.\n\n\"Give yourself up, and all will be well! I've looked for you far and\nwide. At last I find you. Come, Le Mierre, don't be a fool about\nthis. It will only be a fine, and perhaps not even that, if you give\nup the other chaps.\"\n\nBut the master of Orvilliere was not to be reasoned with. He was in\na towering rage. He wrenched the pistol from the saddle. He fired it\nat the exciseman. It missed him. But he, too, lost his temper. In an\ninstant he was beside Le Mierre and had dragged the pistol away and\nflung it against the house. Dominic, beside himself and unnerved\nwith the night's carouse, grappled with the exciseman and tried to\nthrottle him.\n\nA terrible struggle. A wild pounding of hoofs. Cries and oaths. The\nfall of the lantern. Gusts of rain, and wind that shrieked as if an\nagony of warning. Then, the mare broke away at last, in a frenzy of\nterror, and made straight for the edge of the cliffs behind the\nHaunted House.\n\nNot one word came from Dominic Le Mierre as the mare stumbled, fell,\nand, with a horrible, almost human cry, rolled over and over down\nthe precipitous height.\n\nThe exciseman dismounted, groped for the lantern, lit it, and fought\nhis way half down the cliff, at the risk of his life, as the wind\nhad changed and was blowing out to sea. But there was not a sign of\nthe mare and her rider.\n\nAt the earliest streak of dawn, the two parishes were roused, and\nlong and careful search went on for days. But it was all in vain.\nSomewhere, in the deep seas, perhaps, the body of the master was at\nrest, but, after \"life's fitful fever,\" did he, indeed \"sleep well?\"\n\nOrvilliere Farm was shut up. The finding of the dead gull, with a\nred wound in its white breast, proved conclusively that foul play\nand magic had been at work on the night of the storm. The servant\nand the housekeeper had been all the evening at a wedding feast, and\nwhen they returned at five o'clock next morning they found excited\ngroups of people all about the farm, and they heard the story of the\ndeath of Dominic Le Mierre.\n\nNo one would dream of living henceforth at Orvilliere. It was\nhaunted. People who were compelled to pass through the valley at\nnightfall, saw flickering lights moving from window to window of the\nfarm, and heard the sudden firing of a gun, and the plaintive cry of\na wounded bird.\n\nThe wind sighed about the lonely spot. The moan of the sea\npenetrated to the solitary farm. But no human creature wept for the\ndeparted soul of the master of Orvilliere. All shuddered at his end.\nTwo prayed, in defiance of their scruples, for his wicked, wild\nsoul. And these were only an old woman and her fisherman son.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n\nIt was a still, beautiful evening in summer. Perrin Corbet was free\ntill ten o'clock, when he would go fishing with Jean Cartier. It was\nvery lonely now in the cottage, for Perrin's mother was dead, and he\nspent very little time at home. This special evening he decided to\nmake a pilgrimage to the churchyard of St. Pierre du Bois where his\nmother was buried. Her grave was close to the church in a place of\nlong grass and overshadowing trees. As Perrin entered the churchyard\nhe saw that a woman was bending over the grave: he knew at once who\nit was, and his heart beat quicker. It was so long since he had seen\nher and spoken with her!\n\nWhen he was quite close, she turned round, and he saw that she had\nbeen crying. On the grave she had put a rude cross of _immortelles_.\n\n\"Ellenor,\" he said quietly, \"I did not expect to see you. I thought\nyou were yet in Sark.\"\n\n\"I came back this morning by the early cutter. I was longing to get\nback home.\"\n\n\"And we have been longing for you to come back! It is kind of you to\nput flowers here. Ah, it is always a woman who thinks of those\nthings! We are such stupid creatures, we men! She who lies here so\noften said that to me. I miss her more and more, Ellenor.\"\n\n\"Poor Perrin!\" she said softly, and for one long moment she looked\ninto the faithful face bent over his mother's grave; then she turned\naway with a bitter sigh. Perrin lifted his head; not a thing she\ndid, not a movement, not a sigh of hers ever escaped him.\n\n\"What is it?\" he asked, in his low, kind voice, \"are you fretting\nstill?\"\n\n\"No, no, but it seems I can't forget quickly all that has passed.\"\n\nShe covered her face with her hands and shuddered. Perrin touched\nher arm.\n\n\"Come and sit in the church porch,\" he said, \"and tell me all about\nit.\"\n\nStill with her hands covering her face, she let him lead her to the\nold stone seat in the grey porch. Presently, with an evident effort,\nher hands fell from her face, and she clasped them in her lap.\n\n\"I am selfish,\" she said, \"never once have I told you how sorry I\nwas to hear of your mother's death, it seems I could only think of\nmyself.\"\n\n\"I have understood all the time. I knew you would be sad for me.\nBut, of course, you could not help thinking most of yourself and of\nwhat you have lost.\"\n\n\"Ah, how it hurts to hear you say that! Tell me, am I _very_ ugly! I\nknow I will get the truth from you.\"\n\n\"Ugly!\" he repeated, \"_ugly_, to me you are the prettiest woman in\nGuernsey. Your hair, all growing again in dear little dark rings,\nlike the curls of a baby! Your eyes once more beautiful with long\neyelashes; your sad mouth! Ah, Ellenor, how can I speak to you like\nthis quietly! I love you more than ever! But I know it is useless!\nDid you think I meant your _looks_ when I spoke of what you had\nlost? Oh, no, I mean something else.\"\n\n\"What is it you mean?\"\n\n\"That you have lost him you love, Dominic Le Mierre.\"\n\nFor a long while Ellenor did not speak: then she said wearily,\n\n\"But it seems to me I don't love him any more. It seems he killed my\nlove the night of _Les Brandons_. It was awful when he died. And all\nI could think of was to get away from Guernsey and all the people I\nknew. In Sark, I forgot about him a little. But now I'm back, it\nseems I can't think of nothing else. I am so frightened of him.\nPerhaps, some day, when I'm going by the road to Orvilliere, he'll\ncome back from the dead and laugh and jeer at me. Because, as for\nhim, he didn't love me no more after _Les Brandons_. No, I don't care\nfor him now. But I've no heart left, I am only tired, and oh, so\nfrightened of _him_!\"\n\nShe looked at Perrin like a child asking for protection, and in an\ninstant his strong arm was round her. She drew a deep sigh of relief\nand smiled a little.\n\n\"Let me take of you, my own girl,\" he said, \"I won't bother you to\ntry to love me. Please God, that will come in time.\"\n\n\"Yes, please take care of poor me, poor wicked, stupid me,\" she\nwhispered, \"you're such a good man. I'm so safe with you. There's\nnobody in all the world I'd trust like you, Perrin.\"\n\nHe drew her head down to his breast, and the still evening breathed\na benediction over the woman who had sinned and suffered and over\nthe man who had loved her throughout with a tender reverence which\nis the very heart of the divinest love.\n\n\nTHE END.","title":"Where Deep Seas Moan","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":20546}