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T
he sudden appearance of Ellenor at the Grand Plough supper was talked of all over the countryside; and the story of it soon penetrated to Les Casquets Cottage. Mrs. Cartier made her usual futile remark that "one never knew what the girl would do next," and whined and canted about the matter for days together. Jean was very angry at Ellenor's want of proper pride in thrusting herself where she was not considered good enough to enter; but neither parent guessed at the real state of affairs.
Le Mierre managed to waylay Ellenor some days afterLa Grand' Querrue, and a few careless kisses and slighting remarks of Blaisette bound the girl of the cottage closer to him than ever. As for Dominic, he told himself that he could not and would not give up the stolen meetings with Ellenor. They were far too exciting, for the girl was one to set a man on fire, with her passionate demonstrations of love, and her wild, untamed nature. Thus the Spring passed, and the long days of Summer gladdened workers and idlers alike.
It was June, and Perrin Corbet was busy day and night at the fishing. He and Cartier putaway a good bit of money, but they never entrusted it to safer keeping than certain old purses locked up in their cottage homes. Each man toiled, not to save merely, but to keep a sum of money put by for those he cared for. If Perrin had hopes of nearer relationship to Cartier, he was doomed to disappointment. He had begun to court Ellenor persistently, and she, as persistently, shunned him.
One evening, as he was returning from Rocquaine Bay after a long day's fishing, he met Ellenor in a shady lane. She had been milking and carried on her arm the large shining can which it was her pride to keep like silver.
"What's the matter, Ellenor?" he said at once, "you look as white as death! Is it you are ill?"
She laughed mockingly.
"Have you ever known me to be ill! Surely this warm weather is enough to make one look white! And far from being ill, I am much amused at what I have seen just now. Will I tell you about it?"
"My good, yes, tell me, I am only too pleased if you talk to me. Shall we go up to Les Casquets together? I was going there to see your father."
As they walked side by side she began to speak rapidly.
"Well, this amusing thing I have seen! Listen! I was at the top of the valley that leads to Orvillière Farm this morning when, all at once, I saw a cart coming along. In it was a big chest made of oak and carved all over; and besides there was a box covered with leather and all over brass nails. Of course one knew at once what that meant! In the chest and in the box there was the linen for the house of some woman who was soon to be married, and it was being taken to the house of the bridegroom.Sure enough, it seems I was right, for tied to the cart behind was the cow the father of the bride would give! Then, close to the cart, on the side, there was a girl I knew. She was the nearest woman relation of Blaisette Simon, and she was carrying a looking glass. I knew what all those things meant—a marriage soon to take place. So I looked again, and I saw that the man who was leading the cart was Dominic Le Mierre, the master of Orvillière, and he turned down the hill that leads to the farm. He didn't see me—him—he was chatting and laughing with the girl cousin of Blaisette, and telling her not to let the looking glass fall, or that would be bad luck. Now, Perrin Corbet, tell me, what do you think all that means?"
She breathed quickly and turned her face away from him.
"Means!" echoed the fisherman, "of course it means only one thing, that there will soon be a wedding, that the bride will be Blaisette Simon and the bridegroom will be Dominic Le Mierre. But why do you ask me? You said you knew yourself what it meant when you saw the chest in the cart!"
"Bah, don't be so stupid and tease me like that! There might be some mistake. And what do I care if she does marry him?"
"I wonder you haven't heard it talked of before, Ellenor, for all Torteval has said long ago they would make a match."
"Well, let people chat as much as they like!Hedon't care for her, that I know. It's only her money he's after. She is a silly little fool, all pink and white and yellow hair."
"Perhaps! But all we men can see that she is a very pretty girl. And how do you know he don't care for her, eh?"
"How dare you to question me like this! Never mind how I know, but I do."
"Well, my girl, I can tell you all about it. It would seem that Le Mierre has been making a fool of you. All Torteval knows it. And there's times and times I've seen you together; and him making love to you."
"You're a sneak and a liar! So you've spied on us, Perrin Corbet, have you?"
The fisherman was absolutely unmoved by her rudeness. His love was beyond and above any feeling of even proper pride.
"I've not spied on you at all, but it wasn't my fault if you didn't see me; and you never gave me a chance of telling you all this before. He's sure and certain to marry Blaisette. It's as good as if she was his wife now you've seen the cart taking the linen to Orvillière. Don't be vexed with me. It's for your good I speak. You know how I love you, Ellenor."
"Bah, who cares for your love! I was a fool to tell you the amusing thing I've seen. And I tell you, once more, he don't love Blaisette Simon."
"Well, have it your own way! I've nothing more to say about the marriage. But I've a mind to go to warn Blaisette about her husband to be."
Ellenor turned on Perrin a look of wild terror and anger.
"If I could, I'd kill you, because I hate you so! You would go to tell Blaisette that you've seen me and him together!"
"I would do no such thing. But I would wish to warn her that Dominic is mixed up with smugglers."
A dead silence was at last broken by Ellenor's husky words.
"How do you know he's mixed up with smugglers?"
"Listen to my tale this time," he said, "but it isn't at all amusing. One night I was off the point of the cliffs below the Haunted House. I was in my boat, fishing forbream. It was full moon, but me and my boat were in shadow. None could see us. By and bye—I saw a long, narrow boat shoot out from a cave not far off from me. In it were three or four black looking foreigners. They pushed their boat close under the cliffs and waited, full an hour. Then, by and bye, down came Le Mierre and another man with bundles of silk, or what looked like it ... and the fellow in the boat got up and caught hold of the bundles and went off with them like the very devil. Le Mierre and his man were up the cliff again before I could whistle to them that I was by. I've meant to tell Le Mierre some day; and it seems to me now's the time for him and his girl to know."
"And what good would that be, I'd like to be told! He'd only do his best to pay you out for being a sneak."
"I've thought, too, of letting the constables of the parish know of it," pursued Corbet quietly.
"And a fine row there'd be! Do you think you, a poor fisherman, would be believed when you went to tell tales of him, a rich farmer! Bah, you must be mad, Perrin Corbet."
Now the fisherman had all the island reverence for his betters. He really spoke to ease his mind; but he was very far from longing to deliver up Dominic to justice, in spite of the pricking of his conscience, which whispered to him that he was like an accomplice in a crime if he did not tell of the smuggling business. He was silent now, and Ellenor began to speak again.
"If you take my advice you won't meddle with Monsieur Le Mierre at all. Are you forgettingthat his family has always been well known for its wizards and witches? Bah, Perrin, have you so soon forgotten how the grandfather of Monsieur used to throw black powder on people if they offended him, and then they would be taken ill all of a sudden? And over and over again, at theSabbat des Sorciersof a Friday night on Catiôroc Hill, the very mother of Dominic has been seen, dancing with all the rest!"
Perrin stopped short and whistled.
"Well, you won't hardly believe me, but I had quite forgotten! Of course now I remember all you say. No, no, I can't meddle with him. His whole family has always been known to have dealings with the devil. Well, here we are to Les Casquets, let's go in and perhaps your mother will give me a cup of tea."
"Go in by yourself, if you like! As for me, I'm off, à bientôt, Perrin!"
Ellenor walked slowly in the direction which would lead her furthest away from the cottage. She wound in and out of low, prickly gorze bushes covering the moorland till she reached Pleinmont Point, then she ran down a gently sloping grass valley till she got to the sea. She had an appointment with Dominic at Pezerie, the bottom of the valley which skirted the rocky coast. It was blowing hard, and yet a dense mist hung over the sea. Once, like a ghost, a boat with a velvety brown sail, flitted across the Pezerie outlook. A bell tolled from Hanois Lighthouse.
Ellenor shivered, and cruel forebodings took hold of her. Then, all at once, it was brilliant sunshine in her heart, for Dominic came running down the valley and clasped her in his arms. With sobs and passionate words of reproach and love, she asked him if it was true he was going to marry Blaisette.
"Little silly child!" he said, with a laugh, "of course it is not true! There was no thought ofmymarriage when I led the cart. I was just helping the cousin of Blaisette; one does not always exactly keep to old customs."
Then she told him of Perrin and the smuggling; and he called her a clevergarcefor stopping Corbet's mouth. He was in the gayest and most fascinating of moods, and Ellenor was in a heaven of joy, for his caresses and words had never before been so tender. It was late before they parted. He could not see her again for a few days, he explained, as he had special business on hand.
The next day, when Ellenor was knitting outside Les Casquets, a messenger arrived from Orvillière. He brought an invitation to Jean Cartier and to his wife and daughter, to attend the wedding of Monsieur Dominic Le Mierre and Mademoiselle Blaisette Simon.
She stood up straight and tall to receive the blow. She did not flinch. Only her face was grey as ashes; and her large eyes looked like those of a hunted animal, as she accepted the invitation for her parents and herself.
The wedding was fixed for that day week, and all the parish, indeed the two parishes of Saint Pierre du Bois and Torteval, were wild with excitement. Hundreds of people were invited; and for days before the ceremony the water lanes and marshes were visited by bands of young people eager to gather thegllajeurs, or wild marsh iris, to strew before the bride and bridegroom when they would leave the church.
It was a lovely morning when Dominic stood before the altar in the old church of Saint Pierre du Bois and vowed to love and cherish fair Blaisette, a picture of sweet gentleness, and prettycoquetry in her fair white bridal gown. But the sun was black and the sky was lead to Ellenor, as she watched the bride and bridegroom walk down the aisle together, man and wife, arm in arm. She could have touched the bride, so close she stood to her as she passed; and Dominic's eyes fell upon her with a stony stare. For a maddening moment, Ellenor thought she would die. Then, her proud spirit re-asserted itself. She would go through the day carrying aloft her banner of self-respect. She would march to battle as if to the sound of music. As she made this resolution, a murmur of almost horror reached her from outside the church. She hastened to the porch in time to see that Blaisette was crying.
"What is it?" she whispered to Perrin Corbet, who, all unnoticed, had kept close to her during the ceremony.
"It's that she has remembered suddenly she came to the church a different way from what she does on Sundays. And of course we know it's dreadful bad luck, poor girl! It's certain there'll be something happen before the year is out."
A gleam of joy lit up Ellenor's pale face.
"Come along, Perrin, let's be off to Orvillière—there's not too much time before dinner."
Corbet looked at her doubtfully.
"But, aren't you going to put on a different gown?"
"And, pray,impudant, why, I'd like to know! This one is silk, and what more do you want?"
"It's the colour I don't like! Scarlet for a day like this! You ought to be in white."
But Ellenor only laughed at him. Not she give up her scarlet gown made of silk that Dominic had given her one night in the Haunted House!
Orvillière Farm was gay, outside and in, with garlands and crowns of flowers; and in the kitchen and in the field beside the house, tables were laid for the customary dinner of roast beef and mutton, plum pudding andgâche à corînthe. Cider flowed liberally; and, after dinner, the guests were in fitting mood for the games that followed till tea-time. Then all the evening long, dancing waxed fast and furious, with intervals for songs. Dominic delighted the company by giving Ellenor a sounding kiss when she chose him for her partner in—
"Saluez, messieurs et dames,Ah! mon beau laurier!"
"Saluez, messieurs et dames,Ah! mon beau laurier!"
and all the company then shouted in chorus—
"Entr'embrassez-vous par le jeu d'amourette,Entr'embrassez-vous par le jeu d'amour."
"Entr'embrassez-vous par le jeu d'amourette,Entr'embrassez-vous par le jeu d'amour."
But it is certain Ellenor would not have dared to choose the bridegroom had he not been half drunk. Perrin Corbet, a sober man himself, looked on in disgust; and glanced at Blaisette to see how she took it. But she was giggling as usual, and drinking mulled wine from one of the new wedding cups.
At five in the morning the wedding party broke up; and all the guests said that Ellenor Cartier was a shameless girl. Perrin heard and clenched his fist.
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Q
uick! get up, Ellenor, you must have overslept yourself!" cried Jean Cartier one morning in August, as he woke his daughter with a loud knocking on the partition between the attic bedrooms of the cottage.
"It's all right, father," the girl called in reply, "I've been up there's a long time, but I am putting the roses round my hat. The breakfast will be ready as soon as you're down."
Jean dressed in particularly old clothes, and Mrs. Cartier chose out the shabbiest skirt she possessed, for they were preparing for a day of hard work on the beach. But, to their surprise, when they came down to breakfast, Ellenor wore a pretty gown of dark red stuff. She explained, carelessly, that indeedshewould not make herself a fright before all the countryside; and if the gown was spoilt, well, it couldn't be helped. Her parents said nothing, for Ellenor's temper was more uncertain than ever, and they dreaded an outbreak; but Mrs. Cartier had her suspicions.
After breakfast the three started for Rocquaine Bay, where a lively scene was being played, for itwas the time ofvraicingor sea-weed harvest. Lines of carts were ranged above high-water mark, and the patient horses were decked with flowers. The beach and sands swarmed with people all smiling and gay, and for the most part wearing nosegays. Rich and poor from two parishes chatted, laughed and worked hard with sickles at cutting thevraic sciéfrom the low rocks. Very soon, the beach was dotted with heaps of sea-weed, each marked by a pebble, bearing the owner's name in chalk. The more adventurous waded across thecolsor causeways to rocks at some distance from the shore and found rich stores of golden weed. Amongst these adventurous spirits was Ellenor. She had persuaded one of the farmers to take her on his horse to a high group of rocks, hidden from the beach by Rocquaine Tower, and here she worked undisturbed, and in full possession of a wonderful growth ofvraic.
She took off her hat, and her hair curled about her forehead in damp little rings, for the sun was scorching. A dusky red glowed in her tan cheeks; her eyes, shining with excitement and the joy of work, followed the skilled movements of the sickle she swung to and fro, and she was entirely absorbed in gathering in the preciousvraic. But, all at once, she paused. She heard, distinctly, the splash of horse's feet. Someone was coming to interrupt her and share her harvest. She would not have it! She had first thought of these rocks! She would fight for her rights!
The splashing came nearer. She did not turn round. A scrambling sound followed; then she heard heavy steps mount the rocks.
"Ellenor," said a well-known voice, "what luck to find you quite alone here!"
It was Dominic Le Mierre, and it was the first time the two had met alone since his wedding day. He took her hand and smiled into her eyes, which filled with tears.
"You cheated me," she said, "you told me you were not going to marry her."
He laughed and stooped to kiss her.
"You silly girl! If I had told you I'd never have got so many kisses from you, and you wouldn't have liked that, eh! What difference does this marriage make to you and me, I'd like to know! Besides, don't pretend to be so good all of a sudden. Didn't you choose me at my wedding feast, and didn't I kiss you before everybody? Not that I remember it too well, for I had had a little drop, but I've been told of it since."
"Ah, I was mad that night—mad with jealousy!"
"Go on being mad!" he cried, "how well you look in that red gown, though it's a common rag besides the fine clothes of my milk-and-water wife. Bah, what a fool she is! Don't you know I married her for money and for her good family? But she is like a silly baby. Her pretty face doesn't touch me. She might stare at me for ever with her eyes of blue china, and my blood would lie quiet like a stagnant pond. As for you, witch, your eyes burn into me and set me in a blaze. And I vow you'll have to meet me pretty often. Where shall we agree to see each other to-morrow night?"
"Nowhere," she replied sulkily.
"I like that! What new trick are you up to now, pretending you don't want to meet me?"
"Idowant to meet you!" she cried passionately, "but I've got a little bit of pride left,and I'm decided not to meet a married man on the sly!"
He scowled and crushed her hands in his.
"You know your character is gone as it is. You're talked of all over the parishes, people say you're mad after me—so, I'd just like to know what difference not meeting me will make."
"I'm decided not to do it."
"Very well, my fine lady, we'll see about that. Ah, you little fool, you've wasted the time and now I must go back, my horse is already up to his knees in water. And how willyouget back, I'd like to know!"
"Perrin Corbet is coming to fetch me. Look, here he is."
A quarter of an hour later, all thevraicqueurswere gathered together on the beach to eat their meal in common. Every woman had broughtgâche, biscuits and specialvraicquingcakes: while the rich farmers had provided a plentiful supply of cider which had been brought down in little barrels swung to the carts. It was a merry time, and Blaisette Le Mierre was looked upon as the queen of the feast. Very few spoke to Ellenor, for she was shunned as a marked character. Only Perrin paid her every attention, and saw that she had everything of the best. As for Dominic, it appeared as if he did not even see her: and people said he had been persecuted and waylaid by Miss Ellenor, for it was evident he did not care a straw for such a girl.
After the meal, some of the men carted away thevraicto the farms over the cliffs, where it would be used to enrich the land. Others, with the help of the women, spread out the sea-weed, which was stored in heaps on the beach to dry. This, later on, would be used for fuel, and wouldgive out its peculiar pungent smell, so dear and memory-stirring to all Channel Islanders.
So thevraicquingfestival ended; and that night Ellenor sobbed herself to sleep, a passionate weary creature, too proud to bend to God and turn to goodness.
It was November; and one evening as Perrin Corbet was crossing a hill on his return home from fishing, he thought he heard a low moaning. He stopped and listened. Was it the cry of a sea-gull flying into shelter from the storm which was approaching? Was it, perhaps, the spirit of some drowned fisherman haunting his house? No—it was the voice of a living woman in distress! He waited, and gradually traced the sound to a huge cromlech on the hill. He stopped at the entrance.
"It is I, Perrin Corbet!" he said quietly, "is anyone in trouble?"
"Yes, yes!" answered an eager voice, "come in and speak to me—Ellenor."
"My dear girl," went on the fisherman's even voice, "what are you doing here?"
"I've been hiding, there's an hour, from Dominic Le Mierre. Ah, it is no use, I must tell you all, for you never scold me and look black at me, like all the rest do. I said I wouldn't meet him now he's married, but the more I keep out of his way, the more it seems he finds me out."
"Then you don't care for him no more, like all Torteval said you did?"
"Care for him! Care! I love him with all my soul!"
"And him such a black character, and a smuggler! There's times and times I've seen him again to the cliffs with queer fellows; and others have seen him, too. But nobody likes to give him up to the constables, except me, and I've settled itthat I'll tell what he is after. He deserves it, the way he treats you. And it will be a fine way of disgracing him. I'll risk that he'll bewitch me."
A dead silence followed his words. Then Ellenor's hand stole into his, and Ellenor's voice said softly,
"Perrin, is it you love me yet?"
He lifted her hand and kissed it.
"I love you better than even my mother. I love you next best to God."
"And yet, Perrin, I am not a good girl."
"Don't dare to say that to me! Youaregood when you are not thinking of that scoundrel. It's him that has made people speak about you like they do! But, listen, Ellenor, if you was the blackest of the black, I'd love you, because it's you, and because I was made to love you, once and for ever."
She burst into a passion of tears.
"That's how I love him! He's the blackest of the black—a liar, a smuggler, a cheat to his wife and to me, too fond of his glass, cruel to the poor, mad for money, pretending to be pious of a Sunday; and yet, yet, I love him, because it's him, and because I was made to love him, once and for ever."
"My God! how you hurt me!" cried poor Perrin, clasping her hand closer in his.
She cried quietly for a little while, and Corbet did not try to check her tears. His tender love made him wise and gentle as his own mother. At last she was quite still, and presently she said,
"Perrin, if you love me, I'll be your wife some day."
"Do you really mean it? It seems too good to be true. I can't take it in, as you see. And yet if it does come to pass, there'll be no man prouder than me in the whole of Guernsey!"
"But, if I am to be your wife, there'll be a condition."
"Condition! You can make a hundred, dear Ellenor."
"I don't know if you'll agree to this one, however!"
"Of course I will! I promise you beforehand."
"Promise! Promise! Quickly!"
He laughed gaily, wild with joy at her sweet mood and at the fair prospect the future held for him.
"I promise I'll agree gladly to your condition, whatever it is."
"Then listen to it. You have promised you'll never give up Monsieur Le Mierre to the constables."
Perrin was silent for a long time; then he said, in a voice hoarse with emotion,
"It seems I am a very stupid chap, and it takes me a little while to see what a woman is driving at. But though you are too clever for me, Ellenor, and caught me in a fine trap, I can make out the reason, the only reason, why you will be my wife. It is to save Le Mierre from disgrace."
"Yes," she replied, "it is; and there is yet one more reason. I can't live to Les Casquets any longer. I'm too unhappy. Mother is always telling me what people say about me; no other tune do I hear all day long."
"Well, it's quite plain you don't care adoublefor me; but, still, I can take care of you, give you a home and thus stop the wagging of all the tongues in the parish. But, Ellenor, there is one thing I must speak about. I am willing to know you don't love me; willing to know you've given your heart to another man, and him a scoundrel. But, I couldn't stand it if you had meetings withhim when you will be my wife, the daughter of my dear old mother. I'd kill you, I believe. God forgive me, if such a thing happened."
"You needn't be afraid," she said in a dreary, colourless voice, "since now I am always getting out of his way. There is left a little pride in me yet. I can't bring such disgrace on my father. But every day I cry because I can't see him."
"Well, I am satisfied! After all we know what each other means. And now, when will it be, this wedding of ours?"
He tried to speak gaily, poor Perrin, but it was sad work. He succeeded at last in persuading her to agree to be married on Christmas Day: and then, fearful that she would change her mind, he said he would take her home at once, for it was getting late.
As they descended the hill and crossed the bay, Perrin pointed out the gleaming of a light on Lihou, an islet within a stone's throw of Guernsey.
"It seems that Le Mierre is living there just now to work at the iodine. His wife is with him. She is very delicate, it would appear, and not very happy, poor pretty Blaisette!"
"Does he beat her?"
"So people say. I can believe anything bad of Le Mierre."
"It is not surprising. How bad I must be to love such a man! Perrin, why didn't God let me—makeme, love you instead?"
Was this sad gentle voice in reality Ellenor's? Was this nestling hand hers? Did it really creep through his arm?
"My girl, we must not dictate to God about what He does! I confess I don't understand half He lets happen to us. But I couldn't question it."
"Poor Perrin!" she went on softly, "to care for me, of all the girls in the two parishes."
"I wouldn't change you for the Queen on her throne?"
He caught her to his breast and folded her to his heart. In the heaven of his faithful love she felt, at least, safe from her own lurid passion, and at rest from the biting remarks of her little world.
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I
t was the night of Christmas Eve and the snow fell thick and fast. This weather, so unusual in the Channel Isles, had delayed Perrin Corbet in the little town of Saint Pierre Port, and it was past ten o'clock when he reached home. His mother had gone to bed, but not before she had prepared her son's supper and left the little kitchen the picture of comfort. After his meal, Perrin turned the lamp low, lit his pipe, and sat down in his mother's arm-chair before thevraicqfire. The wind moaned in the huge chimney, with a cradling sound, but Perrin was not in the least inclined to sleep. To-morrow would be his wedding day. He could not realize it; he could not believe he would so soon reach the height of joy. He tried to picture to-morrow. Ellenor, in the white gown she had described to him, would stand before the altar, and he, her devoted lover, would take her hand and declare, before God and before the world, that she was to be his wife.
Then, the rest of the day would be spent in quiet joy at Les Casquets Cottage, with his mother as the only guest of the Cartiers. He pictured themoment when he would say, taking out his watch, "Now, mother, now, Ellenor, it is time for us to go home."
He would light the lantern, and with those two women, so dear, so precious, he would return to this very cottage, henceforth to be a palace to him, since Ellenor, his queen, would be his wife. He would deal so tenderly with her, for she had suffered much, his poor Ellenor! He would never reproach her if she seemed to fret after Dominic. She could not uproot, all at once, such a deep love. He would lead her gently back to the ways of religion which she had deserted. He would remind her, one quiet evening, that she was of those who were admitted to The Holy Supper of the Lord, for had she not been confirmed at the same time as he had? And, please God, she would listen to him. Perhaps, in days to come, she would learn to love him a little. Perhaps that joy would be his when baby hands clasped his rough brown fingers and a rosy baby mouth kissed his adoring lips!
His pipe was out; and his head was bent as he dreamed of the morrow, his wedding day. For a moment, the wind had ceased its moaning and a deep stillness enfolded the cottage.
Suddenly, a sharp tap rang through the kitchen. Perrin started, his dreams scattered. He listened, breathless, his island blood frozen, his Celtic temperament at once calling up visions of the supernatural.
Again the tap sounded on the window; and this time, a familiar voice re-assured Perrin.
"Let me in, Corbet, quick, I bring bad news."
In a moment Cartier stood in the kitchen and cried breathlessly,
"Have you seen Ellenor? She hasn't been home since early this afternoon!"
The ruddy colour left Perrin's tanned face.
"My God, no, I haven't seen her! What, then, can have happened?"
Then, with graphic, trembling words, Jean told how Ellenor had gone to Saint Pierre to buy some finery for her wedding bonnet; how, hour after hour, when the snow was thick and the wind howled over the moorland, she had been anxiously looked for; how, at last, in despair, he had said to his wife that he would go to Perrin, for they must be off to look for Ellenor all the way to Saint Pierre Port.
At once, Corbet went upstairs, and, waking his mother, told her the story of his girl's mysterious disappearance.
"We'll go round to Les Casquets and bring Mrs. Cartier over here, mother. She's a poor creature, and she can't be left alone. Who can tell when Cartier and I will be back!"
It was two o'clock before the men started to walk to Saint Pierre Port. It was brilliant moonlight at four o'clock, and the gusts of snow had died away with the wind; but the men searched, in vain, for any trace of Ellenor. As soon as it was dawn, the two parishes were roused, and those who were kind helped to look for the missing girl. The rest shrugged their shoulders and said that Christmas Day was not meant to be wasted in such a search, for such a queer wild girl as Ellenor Cartier. At last a child found in a hedge a paper bag: it contained a spray of artificial flowers, a few drenched roses. The child's mother guessed this must be the finery Ellenor had gone to buy, for everyone knew the pitiful story by now. But the hedge was ominously near Rocquaine Bay. What did this mean?
After three days of minute search, the band of men gave up in despair; and Jean and Perrinwent back to the routine of daily work in dogged and patient despair. The fisherman wondered if Le Mierre had heard the news, shut up in Lihou Island, where his wife lay very ill of small-pox, which was raging in different parts of Guernsey. Finally Jean unburdened his mind to his friend and talked with him of Ellenor's infatuation for Dominic. Would it be that she had drowned herself to be rid of the torture of her life?
Perrin was haunted perpetually by this idea: it was with him by day and by night. He went about like a man who was half asleep, and people began to complain that he did not even nod to his acquaintances when he met them. So the Christmas season passed and it was the last day of the Old Year. The cold and the snow disappeared, and the weather was mild and calm as Perrin rowed homewards about four o'clock in the afternoon. He had been to pull up his lobster pots which had been put down not far from Lihou island. Buried in thought, he did not notice how close he was rowing to the reef of rocks off the north of the island, till a loud cry startled him and he saw that someone was signalling to him from a jutting rock close to his boat. It was a woman. It was Ellenor Cartier.
Mad with joy, Perrin brought his boat into a tiny creek, moored it and scrambled up the rocks to the girl's side.
"Don't come near me!" she cried, "for the sake of your mother! I am minding Blaisette. She is ill, dreadfully, dreadfully ill. If she gets well, the doctor says it will be a miracle. But evenheis afraid to come much. Since Christmas Eve he hasn't been here. It was then I came, just after his visit."
She had gradually edged away from Perrin, and now placed herself behind a boulder. Over its edge her pale face looked sadly at her lover.
"Do you know," she went on, "perhaps you won't believe me, but till I saw you just now in your boat, I didn't even feel sorry I left you on Christmas Eve. Are you very angry with me?"
"I couldn't be angry with you, my darling! Even now, it seems I can't believe you're alive. We found your white roses, all wet and spoilt, in a hedge close to Rocquaine Bay; and, ah, how we feared, your father and me ... But, Ellenor, tell me, how is it you came here? And how was it you were on the rocks just when my boat passed."
"I was on the rocks to try to see if I could let one of you men know we want food, and to tell the doctor hemustcome again. I've given her all the medicine he left. It would be no use for me to go over to Rocquaine at low tide, because not a soul would help me; all would run away from me."
"Set your heart at rest, my Ellenor. I'll go for all you want. But, quick, tell me, how is it you came here?"
She buried her face in her hands, and broke into bitter weeping. And Perrin could not clasp her in his arms. Presently she spoke, in a low voice, full of anguish.
"It was like this. On Christmas Eve, when I was coming back from Saint Pierre Port, I met Monsieur Le Mierre. He stopped me and wanted me to go back to the town with him. I had nearly decided to do as he wished. It was no use, I couldn't say 'No.' There was long I hadn't seen him; and he was so handsome and tall. And, and, I believe he loves me true, whatever happens! But, just as I said I'd go back with him, I thought of Blaisette, her that I hated and yet her that Ipitied. And I asked him who was with her on lonely Lihou Isle. Him, he only laughed, and said she was all right; he'd be back before midnight. But there wasn't a soul in Guernsey would go to mind her, for love or money, so it was no use bothering, he said, and again he laughed. And then I was frightened. He seemed like the devil, so cruel about his poor wife. And, all of a sudden, I thought only of her, and I told himI'dgo to mind her, not for love or money, but because I wassosorry, oh, so sorry, for her!"
"My brave girl! My own sweetheart!" Perrin cried, stretching out eloquent hands to the sad, pale face.
"Listen, there's more yet to tell! I don't know how I got back to Saint Pierre du Bois, it was snowing fast and yet faster; but, at last I was to L'Erée. I forgot all about everything except poor Blaisette. I threw away the roses for my wedding bonnet. I got to the beach before the tide was quite down. The sea was black. The sky was black. Just here and there was a dreadful line of white, where the waves were breaking over the rocks. And on Lihou Isle not a light was to be seen. I shivered when I thought of Blaisette in the dark, ill with small-pox of a Christmas Eve."
Perrin ground his teeth.
"Damn that brute! He's not fit for hell itself."
She drew a long breath.
"Listen, Perrin, I've not finished! I began to cross the rocks and found myself on the causeway at last, but I was deep in water. The horrible waves, like black walls, was all around me. The wind pushed me on every side. The snow was falling thicker and thicker. But at last, at last, I was to Lihou. I climbed the beach, ran across the grass, and, pushing open a door in the wall ofthe garden—we all know the farm well, eh, Perrin? I went up the steps to the house. I opened the door. The house was like ice. In the kitchen was a poor little bit of fire. I made it up; and then I tried to get courage to go upstairs.... Well, somehow I was in the bedroom. I had taken a candle with me. I can't tell you how she looked. It would make you wish you could killhim. She looked at me with her poor glazed eyes. Her lips were black with fever. She cried, in a voice like a thread, for water, water!"
"God in heaven! and you love this brute yet?"
She hid her face for a moment.
"Hush, I've not finished! I did my best for her, poor Blaisette. For a minute she knew me and she tried to thank me; and very soon she fell asleep."
"And he came back at midnight?"
"No, not till the middle of Christmas Day; and then he was half drunk. Since then he has hardly been near the house; but he has not left Lihou. He has been about the stables, and come into the kitchen to get his meals once or twice; and he is drinking, drinking all the time. I can see he is afraid of the small-pox, and afraid of death. And yet, I believe, I am sure, he loves me yet; only I will not speak to him nor look at him, because ofher, lying upstairs all unconscious."
Perrin stared at her, aghast. Was it possible a woman could love, actually love, the devil! Bah, it seemed so!
"Look here," he cried, almost in a rude voice, "he loves you so much that he lets you run the risk of getting the small-pox! Very well! I'm decided what to do. I'll go back to tell my mother I am coming here to look after you twice a day, perhaps more, and I'll givehima piece of mymind. My mother will go to Les Casquets. I'll stop the mouths of the two parishes, so will my mother and your parents, or I'll know why. Now, go back, and I'll be off for the doctor and for food."
"Wait, just a minute, Perrin! There is something more I must say, to cast it off my mind. It is all my fault that Blaisette has the small-pox. It was me that went to the witch to Saint Pierre Port to cast a spell on my rival the day after theGrand' Querrue. I didn't tell no names, but that's why she's bad, and oh, Perrin, it's all my fault."
"Yes, I suppose it's that, in a way. But it's my belief there's another reason for her sickness. You remember she came the wrong way to church on her wedding day? Ah, we all know whatthatmeans—trouble—as sure as her name is Blaisette. But I must be off!"
In a few hours Perrin returned with a store of food and the unwilling doctor, who was obliged to go up to see the patient he dreaded so horribly, for Perrin took him by the arm and did not leave him till he had landed him in the sick room. Then the fisherman sought out Le Mierre, and the coward and scoundrel tried to hold his own. But Perrin's threats of appeal to the Royal Court awed him into a promise to give out money to pay for the expenses of his wife's illness. Corbet, himself utterly fearless of disease, frightened the drunkard into further dread of the house: and Ellenor had it all her own way. But it was of no avail. Pretty, frail Blaisette could not battle with a terrible illness, neglected at the very first; and two days after Perrin came to Lihou, she died, without a look or a sign.
There was no thought of taking her poor body across to the other island for burial in the sweetquiet churchyard of Saint Pierre du Bois. She was laid to rest in a grave dug hastily in a corner beside a dark boulder. No hymns were sung over her. Only the grey sea moaned and the wind sighed, as her rough coffin was lowered into the grave. No messenger, mounted on a black horse, bore the news of her death from house to house, up and down the two parishes. Only a poor fisherman repeated the sad tidings as he trudged, first to Colomberie Farm and then to Orvillière, where Dominic's aunt kept house in state while her graceless nephew was away. NoMessieursof distinguished Torteval families were honoured bearers, but a good man and a bad man had carried her coffin to the dark place of burial. No weird feasting followed the unconsecrated ceremony: only Dominic took refuge from sickening terror in a drunken bout.
But Perrin stood long beside her grave: and prayed for the poor little woman so soon to be left alone in the island, henceforth to be haunted by her sad spirit.
An hour after Blaisette's burial, Ellenor fainted while she was making preparations for leaving the house. Perrin, guessing what would follow, rowed her across to the main island, as soon as she was able. His mother had returned to her home, and Jean and poor weak Mrs. Cartier prepared to nurse their child through an attack of small-pox. The doctor shook his head. It was a particularly bad case, he said, and it was doubtful if he could save Ellenor.