PR bO^'^ '^ b." 
 UNIVERSITY or CALIFORNIA SAN OiE^^^^ 
 
 3 1822 01157 7723
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVSRSITY OP 
 CALIFORNIA 
 SAM DIEGO
 
 PR 6029 X4 B37 
 
 C^ 
 
 3 1822 01157 7723 

 
 BARBE
 
 Barbe of 
 Grand Bayou 
 
 By JOHN aXENHAM 
 
 Author of " Flowers oF"the Dust," "John of 
 Gerisau," "Bondman Free," etc., etc. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 L 
 
 NEW YORK 
 DODD, MEAD & COMPANY 
 
 1903
 
 Copyright, 1902, by 
 John Oxenham 
 
 Copyright, 1903, by 
 DoDD, Mead and Company 
 
 Published September, igoj 
 
 BURR PRINTING HOUSE 
 18 JACOB ST., NEW YORK
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. Barbe, I 
 
 II. Alain, 15 
 
 III. Cadoual, 27 
 
 IV. Gain of Loss, 34 
 
 V. Joy of Life, 40 
 
 VI. Life's Crown, 58 
 
 VII. Love's Waterway, 68 
 
 VIII. "Where Thou Goest," 72 
 
 IX. An Upheaval 81 
 
 X. He Cometh Not, 96 
 
 XL Another Missing Man, 112 
 
 XII. Struck Down, 127 
 
 XIII. Buried, 132 
 
 XIV. Life Below Ground, 151 
 
 XV. Death Below Ground, 161 
 
 XVI. Concerning Strange Matters, . . . .173 
 
 XVII. The Strangest Thing of All, . . . .184 
 
 XVIII. One Returns, 194 
 
 XIX. A Bid for Life, 204 
 
 XX. A Gleam of Light, 222 
 
 XXI. 'TwiXT Heaven and 240 
 
 XXII. Into the Blessed Light of Day, . . . 248 
 
 XXIII. From Prison to Prison, 261 
 
 XXIV. The Trying of Barbe Carcassone, . . .271 
 XXV. The Trial of Alain Carbonec, . . . .288 
 
 XXVI. The Golden Way, 305
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 BARBE 
 
 GRAND BAYOU LIGHT was once the 
 scene of a very terrible tragedy; and 
 the horror of it was heightened by the 
 fact that it occurred on Christmas Eve. 
 Pierre Carcassone, master-mariner, of Morlaix 
 in Brittany, returning from a voyage to New- 
 foundland, which had been unduly prolonged by 
 reason of shipwreck, found his home broken up 
 and his wife gone off with a man whom he had 
 called friend, taking with her their two-year-old 
 daughter. 
 
 Carcassone was a morose, self-contained man. 
 He made no parade of heart-break, but, having 
 learned all that was to be learned, set off after the 
 fugitives and his missing honour. 
 
 He had not far to go. They had believed him 
 dead. Possibly inclination had persuaded them all 
 too easily thereto. Paul Kervec had obtained the 
 appointment of keeper of the Light on Grand 
 
 [I]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 Bayou. He was a widower with one son, a boy of 
 about the same age as La Carcassone's daughter. 
 
 At Grand Bayou Carcassone found them. He 
 reached Plenevec after dark on Christmas Eve, 
 borrowed a boat, and pulled straight out to the 
 tall white pillar with the beneficent halo round its 
 head. He climbed the iron ladder and entered 
 the dark doorway. 
 
 Exactly what passed is not for any man's tell- 
 ing, since, of the principals in the affair, Carcas- 
 sone alone remained alive, and the spectators were 
 too young to testify. Up above, the light shone 
 bright and constant as usual — Pierre saw to that 
 — and down below in the dark the boat from Plen- 
 evec ground limpets and barnacles to pulp, and 
 wrestled all night long with its bonds, as though 
 desirous of escape. 
 
 In the morning the tall, white shaft stood calm 
 and serene in the Christmas sunshine, and told no 
 tales to Plenevec; but presently Pierre Carcassone 
 descended the iron ladder carrying two little bun- 
 dles very carefully under one arm. He laid them 
 between his feet in the bottom of the boat, and 
 pulled steadily back to the shore, and the children 
 prattled at the white clouds sailing in the blue sky. 
 
 The owner of the boat came down to meet him, 
 and grumbled at the scoring It had got. Pierre 
 threw him a five-franc piece, on which he got drunk 
 that night and attempted to beat his wife, and 
 
 [2]
 
 BARBE 
 
 thereby reaped much sorrow, since she was the 
 better man of the two. 
 
 Carcassone picked up the children, and with one 
 on each arm walked up to the village and sought 
 out Monsieur Gaudriol, the gendarme, to whom 
 he said, "I have killed Paul Kervec, keeper of the 
 Light out there, because he took away my wife; 
 and I have killed her also. This is my child; this 
 is his. I am at your service, monsieur." 
 
 And Sergeant Gaudriol, thinking it a fine joke, 
 smote him mightily on the back and told him he 
 was either too fast or to slow, since this was cer- 
 tainly not the ist of April. 
 
 At which Carcassone knitted his face, and said 
 again, "I have killed Kervec because he took away 
 my wife, and I have killed her because she per- 
 mitted it. You had better see to it. Also, find 
 some one to tend the light. I did it last night. It 
 must not to be allowed to go out or some one may 
 get hurt." 
 
 Sergeant Gaudriol, looking into his eyes, saw 
 that the man was not jesting, but really meant what 
 he said; and he turned and led him to his 
 house, Carcassone still carrying a child on each 
 arm. 
 
 In the result, after all due formalities had been 
 faithfully observed, the jury at Plouarnec, before 
 whom Pierre was tried, found circumstances of 
 great extenuation in his case, as might hav^e been 
 
 [3]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 expected. Still, the law had been seriously broken, 
 and two people had been killed. No doubt they 
 had deserved punishment; but punishment is the 
 prerogative of the law. As a warning to others 
 who might be tempted in like manner to take mat- 
 ters into their own hands, Pierre was sent to the 
 hulks for five years. 
 
 Life had lost its savour for him, and on the 
 whole he would have preferred the guillotine, ex- 
 cept, indeed, for the fact that, if there were a 
 future life — as M. le Cure said — the chances were 
 that he would tumble across Kervec and his wife 
 there; and he had no wish to meet them again any 
 sooner than was necessary. 
 
 His baby-girl was taken charge of by the Sisters 
 of the Sacred Heart at St. Pol de Leon. Kervec's 
 boy was taken away by an aunt who had married 
 into Strawberry Land, just across the water from 
 Brest. 
 
 Carcassone bore the hulks — as he would have 
 suffered the sharp kiss of the slant-edged knife — 
 with sombre composure. When his time was up 
 he returned to his own country, and was received 
 by his own people without any sign of opprobrium, 
 rather as a man who by the hardest of labour had 
 paid a just debt. 
 
 He had no wish to return to the sea. He had 
 no desire to live on the land. He had no great de- 
 sire, in fact, to live at all. He asked nothing but 
 
 [4]
 
 BARBE 
 
 to be left alone : a broken man without a hope or a 
 wish. 
 
 The post of light-keeper at Grand Bayou hap- 
 pened to fall vacant, and for the first time in five 
 years he found himself with a longing. 
 
 The authorities were at first doubtful; but there 
 was a kind of bizarre fitness in the appointment. 
 They remembered how, even on the night of his 
 outbreak, he had scrupulously tended the hght, 
 "lest any one should get hurt." They gave him 
 the post on trial, and never was Grand Bayou light 
 better tended. 
 
 He went over to St. Pol de Leon and demanded 
 his daughter Barbe from the Sisters. They had 
 grown to love the child, and would have kept her. 
 But his mind was made up and he would take no 
 denial; and, finally, with tears and prayers, and 
 many doubts for her future, they let her go. They 
 were good women, if narrow, and the little white 
 seeds they had planted in the child's heart had 
 fallen on good ground. The teaching she got in 
 the convent was all the teaching Barbe Carcassone 
 ever had, save such as came to her in wider ways; 
 but it sufficed. 
 
 The tall white shaft on Grand Bayou became her 
 world, and she craved no larger one. Life there, 
 in its seclusion and exclusion, was akin to that 
 of the convent, with heaven already added — the 
 wide wonder of the skies above, where the snow- 
 
 [S]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 piled mountains floated and hung and bore her 
 thoughts away; the nearer glory of the ever-chang- 
 ing sea below; and she, midway between the two, 
 belonged to both, and found in both her heaven. 
 
 In such a rare expansive atmosphere Barbe grew 
 and blossomed superbly, in mind, body and spirit. 
 
 At nineteen she was a glorious creature : tall and 
 strong and supple; a mighty swimmer in deep wa- 
 ters; learned in the simple lore of sea and 
 skies, whose depths and beauties her great calm 
 eyes seemed, through much contemplation, to have 
 assimilated into themselves. 
 
 The sun and moon were her very dear friends; 
 and she had a vast acquaintance among the stars — 
 though, as they had never been properly introduced 
 to her, she had had to give them names of her own 
 which would have astonished the astronomers. 
 
 The gorgeous Atlantic sunsets and the chaster 
 glories of the dawn were her pictures. And for 
 music she had the distant, sweet chanties of the 
 fishermen as the heavy boats crept over windless 
 seas in and out of Plenevec, and the sweet, shrill 
 whistle of the wind, and the wild rush of the great 
 western waves as they leaped up the Light, and 
 roared and hissed as they fought in mid-air behind 
 it, and then gathered themselves together and 
 humped their foam-laced backs for the final rush 
 on Black Cap Rebel. And of these things she 
 never tired. 
 
 [6]
 
 BARBE 
 
 These were her higher branches of study. In the 
 rock-pools at the foot of her tower were cool water- 
 gardens, where strange and wonderful plants waved 
 tremulous fronds and filaments; and delicately tint- 
 ed anemones — amber and crimson, rose and white, 
 and rich purple-maroon — studded the dark -ocks 
 and gleamed in the broken lights like living gems; 
 and in every pool there dwelt a sweet-faced maiden 
 with eyes like her own, but of a still darker shade, 
 and floating hair like hers, but of a somewhat light- 
 er tint, who started up at her approach, and eyed 
 her with ever-fresh surprise, and then smiled a 
 grave, glad welcome to her. 
 
 Sometimes, when she was still but a little girl, 
 Barbe talked with the pool-maidens; but as she 
 grew older she only sat and watched them, while 
 her black cat, Minette, frisked about the rocks all 
 abristle with excitement and with recollections of 
 the time when she clawed at a moving thing in a 
 pool and the moving thing shook hands with her in 
 a way she never forgot. 
 
 Through much observation, too, Barbe knew 
 every kind of fish that flashed, like a quiver of star- 
 tled nerves, round the rock; but they were cold- 
 blooded creatures and impossible friends, and she 
 knew by their eyes that they always looked upon 
 her advances as only the first step towards the fry- 
 ing-pan. 
 
 With the birds she fared little better, though they 
 
 [7]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 could not, indeed, get away from her as did the 
 fishes. Very sore was her heart each morning when 
 she gathered them up inside the lantern railing, and 
 smoothed their ruffled plumes, and tried in vain to 
 adjust their broken necks, and lavished on them 
 kisses sweet enough, one would have thought, to 
 charm back life even into soft, warm bundles of 
 feathers, and then dropped them sorrowfully one 
 by one into the tide as it ebbed. 
 
 Far away across the Creuset rose frowning Cap 
 Rebel, and there the sea-birds swung and circled 
 in myriads, till it seemed as though a cloud of mist 
 hung always on the Head. When the wind blew 
 off the land she could sometimes hear their scream- 
 ing, and many years' close observation of their 
 movements had taught her when a western gale was 
 brewing. 
 
 Her constant and only companions were the 
 black cat Minette and a crippled sea-gull which she 
 found inside the railing after one stormy night, with 
 both wings and one leg broken and one eye gone. 
 She nursed him back to life and christened him 
 Pippo ; and Pippo, in return for the food he could 
 no longer seek, did his best to cultivate a spark of 
 gratitude, and flopped after her wherever two 
 broken wings and one leg could carry him, and re- 
 galed her with piercing cries under the belief that 
 he was singing, and waged ceaseless warfare with 
 Minette. But sea-gulls are soulless creatures at 
 
 [8]
 
 BARBE 
 
 best, with little to choose between them and the 
 fishes; and even a black cat is not heart-filling, 
 though there is a certain comfort in the soft, warm 
 feel of it; and at nineteen Barbe Carcassone was 
 unconsciously ripe for deeper experiences. 
 
 She was fully content with her life as it was. 
 There was no craving in her for a larger one. Her 
 heart had known no hunger, because its fare had 
 always been so simple and its satisfaction so easy 
 of accomplishment. 
 
 For the rest, her father was a silent, self-con- 
 tained man, whose stores of seafaring lore she 
 tapped at times by sheer pertinacity, but always 
 with difficulty. He read much, and she read after 
 him, anything and everything that came her way. 
 
 She rarely set foot on the mainland. She had 
 no friends there, for she had had no opportunity of 
 making any. So far she had never felt the lack 
 of them, since her kingdom had yielded her all that 
 she desired. 
 
 Twice a week, when the weather was good, her 
 father pulled round to Plenevec for supplies in the 
 rusty coble that hung from the beams in front of 
 the entrance-door. When the weather was too 
 boisterous he did not go, and they fell back on 
 the tinned provisions, of which the store-room al- 
 ways held a month's supply. 
 
 Neither Barbe nor her father had ever had a 
 day's illness since she and he went to Grand Bayou. 
 
 [9]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 They lived, inside, in a concentrated atmosphere 
 of Scotch paraffin from the huge tanks below and 
 the dripping lights above; and, outside, in a coun- 
 teractive atmosphere of sweet salt air and sun- 
 shine, of spindrift and the scent of the seaweed; 
 and the mixture seemed to suit them. Shoes and 
 stockings were unknown to them except in mid-win- 
 ter; and Barbe's shapely feet and ankles projecting 
 from her short blue woollen skirts were a sight to 
 make a man's blood spin the quicker. 
 
 The one time in the year when Barbe Carcassone 
 was distinctly and absolutely unhappy was on 
 Christmas Eve, for on that anniversary her father 
 behaved as he did at no other time, and in a way 
 that terrified her. 
 
 He always charged and trimmed the lamps that 
 night with more than usual care. He laboured at 
 the winch till the great weights that kept the light 
 revolving were at their very highest point. Then 
 he ordered Barbe up into the lantern, and himself 
 took possession of the little parlour down below 
 and held grim festival there. 
 
 He set out glasses and bottles : three glasses and 
 three bottles — one of rum for Paul Kervec, one of 
 cognac for himself as became a master-mariner, and 
 one of thin wine of Chablis for his wife, because 
 she had shown a mild liking for it during their short 
 married life. 
 
 There, all night long, he sat solemnly toasting 
 
 [10]
 
 BARBE 
 
 the dead who had died by his hand, filling the 
 glasses each with its own special liquor, and drain- 
 ing them one after the other till he sank into stu- 
 por, or, by some odd twist of the muddled brain, 
 rose in a fury — as happened more than once — and 
 smashed bottles and glasses and furniture as he 
 chased imaginary victims round the room. The 
 while Barbe sat shuddering solidly, with Minette 
 quivering in her arms, on the trap-door of the room 
 above, whither she had been drawn like a moth to 
 the flame. 
 
 She heard her father, with whom speech was so 
 rare a thing, speaking now as though to make up 
 for all lost time; and it was strange talk and un- 
 natural to listen to. The man he had down there 
 with him was Paul, and the woman was Barbe like 
 herself. When had they come off from the shore? 
 And why did they never reply to his sallies? And 
 why was she never allowed to see them? Ah, 
 Barbe ! it was just as well you should not know. 
 
 More than once it happened that the company 
 below fell out, as I have stated, and terror reigned; 
 and more than once it happened that the maddened 
 man crept on his chest up the ladder, with blind 
 hands and groping feet, and tried to come through 
 the trap into the next room — possibly to tend the 
 light as he had done that first night, possibly with 
 less philanthropic intent. But whatever his inten- 
 tion, Barbe's instincts bade her keep him out, and 
 
 [II]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 so she sat heavily on the door. And the stumbler 
 on the ladder pushed at it, with his head, growling 
 curses, but soon gave it up, and cursed his way 
 slowly down the rungs again; while Barbe, on the 
 other side, prayed earnestly to the Virgin for suc- 
 cour in this time of need, but never moved off the 
 trap. 
 
 It was always the same, and had been so since 
 ever she could remember. Christmas Eve was 
 always a curdling horror for her, and Christmas 
 Day a time of gloomy remorse for her father. 
 Then things fell back into their regular routine, and 
 life was bright again — for Barbe at all events — 
 until the evil time came round once more. 
 
 Never once during all these years did any mari 
 ner come to grief on Grand Bayou for lack of the 
 warning light, though more than one labouring 
 stranger, out of hand through stress of weather, 
 came wallowing helplessly along the Race, and was 
 ground over the Devil's Teeth into the Creuset — 
 the Melting-Pot — which lies, in the shape of a 
 mighty under-jaw, between Grand Bayou Light and 
 the towering cliffs of Finistere. 
 
 Then the lonely dwellers on the Light, which 
 stands on the outermost fang of the Teeth, hearc 
 the shouts and cries of drowning men — horrible in 
 the dark, more horrible still in daylight by reason 
 of added sight — and were powerless to help. Like 
 higher ministers of grace, they might warn, but 
 
 [12]
 
 BARBE 
 
 could not save by physical means, the souls that 
 went past to their death. Never since they came 
 to the Light had any man who got into the Melt- 
 ing-Pot come out of it alive; but of dead men they 
 had drawn out not a few. 
 
 It was in such case that Barbe and her father 
 stood breasting the fury of a wild spring gale one 
 morning, clinging to the stout wooden railing that 
 ran round the lantern, peering breathless and 
 narrow-eyed into the storm. Their eyrie thrummed 
 in the wind, and shook with the pounding of the 
 waves. Behind them the Melting-Pot boiled and 
 churned as though the devil himself were in it; 
 and the frowning cliffs beyond, for a league on 
 either side, stood knee-deep in foam and were 
 whit( ■ -^^e crest with flying spume. 
 
 A o ^ xag of sail which looked no bigger than 
 a handkerchief came bobbing towards them 
 through the gale, and they watched it intently. 
 
 It had a meagre chance, which lessened every 
 second. It was palpably in the grip of the Race. 
 If, by good seamanship, by luck, by Providence — if 
 by any means whatsoever — it could weather the 
 Light it was safe. It seemed, like a sentient thing, 
 to be straining every nerve thereto. It grimped to 
 windward inch by inch, and raised the watchers' 
 hopes; then it swirled away in the treacherous cur- 
 rent, and lost in a second more than it had gained 
 in the previous minute. Once more it clawed tooth 
 
 [13]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 and nail up into the wind, only to be swung back 
 towards destruction; till it looked as though the 
 fiend himself had gripped it by the keel, and was 
 playing with it as a cat plays with a mouse. 
 
 "It is finished," growled Carcassone at last. 
 "They are done;" and he turned and went into the 
 lantern. He had seen it all so often, and it was not 
 good to look upon. 
 
 Barbe clung there still, and looked down pitifully 
 at the little ship rolling past to its doom. The men 
 on board saw her. One of them waved his hand 
 in farewell. Instinctively her own hand rose in an- 
 swer, and the man below, with death in his eyes, 
 thought suddenly of the priest at the altar when he 
 stands and elevates the Host before the kneeling 
 people. The tinkle of the tiny bell was in his ears, 
 the scent of the incense in his nostrils. Then the 
 Devil's Teeth ripped the bottom out of the ship 
 and the seething water was over his head; and 
 Barbe gave a sob, and followed her father Into the 
 lantern, and tried to rid herself of the thought of 
 it by vigorous polishing of reflectors. 
 
 [14]
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ALAIN 
 
 THE Storm held all through the day, but 
 broke in the night; and when Barbe 
 came out into the gallery to watch the 
 dawn, the waves were fawning on the 
 rocks below like penitent dogs licking the hand they 
 snapped at yesterday. 
 
 The sea was still dark green, edged all along the 
 cliff-foot with a fringe of snowy lace. The Melt- 
 ing-Pot alone refused to be still; It boiled and tum- 
 bled viciously, as it always did after a storm, a 
 thing of evil humour and everlasting discontent. 
 
 As the light grew, Barbe's keen eyes caught 
 something on its surface. She gazed intently, then 
 reached inside the lantern for a glass, took one long 
 look, and sped down the ladder to her father's 
 bunk. 
 
 "Father!" she gasped — "a man! — on a spar! — 
 in the Creuset!" 
 
 "£/z hien! he is dead," growled her father, who 
 was just getting comfortably warm after a cold 
 night up above. 
 
 "Perhaps — perhaps not. We must see. 
 
 [15] 
 
 »j
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 ^^Eh bienf Go along. I will come down," 
 he said, as one duty-driven against his inclina- 
 tion. 
 
 Barbe ran down to the boat that hung from the 
 beams by the entrance-door. She had it in the 
 water, first one end, then the other, by the time her 
 father appeared. She took one oar, he the other, 
 and they rowed cautiously down outside the Teeth, 
 where the water came boiling out of the Pot and 
 rose under them in strange, sudden bursts and 
 surges, like mighty jelly-fish leaping at them out 
 of the depths. The man and the spar had got into 
 a corner where things went round and round for 
 days sometimes, beyond reach even of the casting- 
 line. It was impossible to get the clumsy boat in. 
 It was difficult enough to hold it anywhere near 
 the boiling Pot. 
 
 *'He is alive!" said Barbe eagerly. "I am sure 
 he is alive! See, he moves!" as the spar gave a 
 sudden joggle. 
 
 "It is only the water," said her father. 
 
 "Oh, how can we get him?" she cried. "We 
 cannot leave him there." 
 
 "We can't reach him," said her father. "Be- 
 sides, he is dead." 
 
 "He may not be. We must get him." 
 
 "No man ever came out of the Pot alive. 
 
 "He looks alive," said Barbe. 
 
 "Well, you'd better go for him," said her father. 
 
 [i6] 
 
 j»
 
 ALAIN 
 
 with grim humour. "I'm not going to drown my- 
 self for a dead man." 
 
 She hesitated a moment and looked again at the 
 figure on the tumbling spar; then without a word 
 she unbuttoned her skirts as she sat, and shook her- 
 self free. For one second she stood with one foot 
 on the gunwale of the boat, a glorious figure, clad 
 only in the modesty of an angel bent on an errand 
 of mercy and a coarse cotton shift which the morn- 
 ing breeze flapped gently about her shapely legs. 
 Then the boat shot away at her kick, and she was 
 slipping deftly through the broken water at the 
 edge of the Pot. 
 
 The Race ran strong, but Barbe knew every trick 
 that would mate it. She swam like a seal, and 
 Pierre edged along as near to the outer rim of the 
 crucible as the heaving coils would permit. 
 
 Barbe hung there just outside the corner pool, 
 which swirled slowly and swung to and fro, and 
 boiled, and showed a different aspect every second, 
 and each one worse than the last, till the spar and 
 the man came bobbing along her way. It was al- 
 most within a long arm's-reach when some sudden 
 twist from below shot it away, and she had to wait 
 till it came slowly round again. She waited, poised 
 for a leap as it were; then she dashed in and flung 
 one white arm over the man's body. His face was 
 leaden, his lips blue; but he opened his eyes for a 
 moment, and said "Dieuf" and then closed them 
 
 [■7]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 wearily, for which Barbe was glad. She struck out 
 vigorously for the outermost circles. The writh- 
 ing coils below tried to grip her; they belched 
 up in her face and spat at her, and flung her to and 
 fro. The man and the spar were like an anchor to 
 her; but she had got them. They were hers, and 
 she would not let them go. 
 
 Twice she circled the pool, but each time nearer 
 to the outer edge. She pushed through at last, and 
 the Race carried her down to the waiting boat. She 
 shoved the man and the spar alongside, and hung 
 to the gunwale, panting and rosy red, with all her 
 hair afloat about her like a nymph of the sea. 
 Pierre let her hang while he drew the man in and 
 laid him face down in the bottom of the boat. Then 
 he took her two hands and braced one foot against 
 the gunwale, and she scrambled in and had her pet- 
 ticoats round her before his oar was in the row- 
 lock. 
 
 Getting the waif up the iron ladder was a matter 
 of extreme difficulty for them. And at last, after 
 much cogitation, Pierre bound the man's two 
 wrists tightly together with his silk necktie, and 
 putting his head through the looped arms, carried 
 him up like a sack of flour, and laid him in a spare 
 bunk in the sleeping-room. He was limp and sod- 
 den, and sorely bruised with his twenty hours' cold 
 boiling in the Pot. 
 
 Pierre hurried Barbe away to get dry clothes for 
 
 [i8]
 
 ALAIN 
 
 herself and hot cognac and water for the newcomer, 
 and then proceeded to maltreat him back to life — 
 the first man that ever came alive out of the Pot, 
 and so a curiosity. 
 
 Barbe, dry-clothed, with Hfe exuberant bounding 
 in her veins and glowing in her face like a halo — 
 though the eyes of common flesh might not perceive 
 more than that she looked wonderfully beautiful — 
 came in with hot soup and cognac, attended by 
 Minette and Pippo in a state of much excitement 
 and expectation, and stood watching while her 
 father administered the stimulants drop by drop to 
 the patient. 
 
 There was a new, deep light in her eyes as she 
 watched — a light very nearly akin to that which 
 shines in the eyes of the young mother as the downy 
 head of her first-born nestles up to her side. The 
 mother-heart in her was stirred. All unconsciously 
 she was tasting the joy of maternity — with none of 
 its pains indeed, yet with all its gratitude for dan- 
 gers passed; for at risk of her life she had given 
 life, and she felt as though this new life belonged 
 to her. 
 
 Moreover, though her range of comparison was of 
 the smallest, it was a very comely piece of humanity 
 that lay there in the twilight of the bunk. A long, 
 straight-limbed figure, well knit and strong, though 
 limp and lax enough at the moment; young, too, 
 with a well-tanned face and a white-creased fore- 
 
 [19]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 head, which came from much wearing of a stock- 
 ing-cap under a blazing sun, and imparted to its 
 owner a look of cheerful surprise; and long yellow 
 hair which fell and curled on a pair of broad shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 And she — she had drawn him from death certain 
 and close. She remembered the novel sensation of 
 that startled jump which her heart gave when her 
 naked arm went over his chest and his blue eyes 
 looked into hers for a moment. It was very odd. 
 It was very delightful. 
 
 "Bictil" said her father, as the long limbs 
 straightened and then contracted into comfort, and 
 the heavy eyes opened again and looked up at them 
 with drowsy wonder. "He returns." 
 
 He continued to drop soup and cognac between 
 the lips which were beginning to turn red again, 
 and presently the man was sitting up with the spoon 
 in his own hand, stowing away the soup as if he had 
 not tasted food for thirty-six hours, which was 
 about the actual state of the case. 
 
 "It is good to be alive again," he said at last, 
 with a sigh of content. "And it is very good to 
 eat when one has starved. That soup was surely 
 made in heaven. Where am I, monsieur and 
 ma'm'selle?" 
 
 "You are on Grand Bayou Light," said Pierre. 
 
 "I remember," he said, with a nod. "And the 
 rest?" 
 
 [20]
 
 ALAIN 
 
 Pierre shook his head. "All gone ; and by rights 
 you should be with them. You are the first to come 
 alive out of the Creuset." 
 
 "All the same, I would sooner be here;" and the 
 young man gazed intently at Barbe, and his face 
 became all brown as the creases disappeared in 
 puzzlement. 
 
 "Surely I have met ma'm'selle before some- 
 where," he said at last. 
 
 "But no," said Barbe vigorously, and a flood of 
 hot colour ran all over her and made her feel over- 
 warm. 
 
 "Nevertheless," he persisted, "it seems to me 
 that I know ma'm'selle's face;" and his memory 
 groped back to find the clue, but overshot the mark. 
 "It might be some one like ma'm'selle," he said 
 musingly; "but I do not think so, for never in my 
 life have I seen any one else so — so like ma'm'- 
 selle," he added lamely, the while his bold blue 
 eyes drank in all her ripe beauty, and enjoyed the 
 draught so palpably that another energetic "No" 
 broke unconsciously from Barbe's hps. 
 
 His name, he told them, was Alain Carbonec, 
 and he had lived most of his life in Plougastel, just 
 over the water from Brest. He had been two voy- 
 ages to Newfoundland, and it was the second one 
 that had landed him in the Pot. 
 
 And ever as he spoke his eyes rested in puzzled 
 wonder on Barbe, but with never the slightest 
 
 [21]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 thoucyht that but for her he would by this time have 
 been past all wonderment and would have solved 
 all puzzles. 
 
 To Barbe he was a great and novel enjoy- 
 ment, and a quickener of many new thoughts and 
 feelings. 
 
 Not very often between alpha and omega can one 
 point the finger of memory with absolute precision 
 to an act or a moment and say, "There the change 
 began. TJiat was the actual turning-point in my 
 life." Life and death we gauge to the nicest frac- 
 tion; but life's other changes are mostly gradual. 
 We recognise the flower and the fruit; but the hid- 
 den seed has long been working underground, and 
 when precisely the white shoot first began to strug- 
 gle towards the light we know not. 
 
 But in that strenuous moment when Barbe Car- 
 cassone's strong white arm encircled the unconscious 
 Alain and drew him tight to her breast for the 
 struggle out of the pool, a new sense, of which she 
 had never known the lack, sprang up full-grown 
 within her. She felt it, but did not understand it. 
 How should she ? For it was very much more than 
 a half-drowned man on a spar that she drew to her- 
 self at that moment: it was life's best flower and 
 fruit. 
 
 Do I say that she felt it? What she felt, as the 
 man's eyes opened and looked wonderingly into 
 hers, was that something fluttered in her throat like 
 
 [22]
 
 ALAIN 
 
 a startled bird; that the glorious life in her veins 
 leaped and rushed with new, amazing vigor; and 
 that the water of the Race, which had been cold, 
 became suddenly tempered to her blood. These 
 were the outward signs visible to herself of that in- 
 ward and spiritual grace which is the nearest thing 
 earth has to heaven. It was a veritable baptism 
 into a new and larger life — a baptism by full im- 
 mersion. 
 
 Hitherto, by reason of the fewness of her needs 
 and lack of knowledge, she had been content with 
 what she had, and her nature had craved no more. 
 Henceforth it would take more than sea and sky to 
 fill her heart. She had looked into the eyes of a 
 man, and found them good. 
 
 Fortunate it was for Barbe that the eyes were the 
 eyes of a good man. Whenever she raised her eyes 
 to his she found them fixed on her. She said to 
 herself that it annoyed her. To get rid of them 
 she went away up to the lantern. There were no 
 eyes there to trouble her save the reflections of her 
 own. She felt a novel lack and loneliness, and 
 went downstairs again, and saw the bold blue eyes 
 of the young sailor shine the brighter for her com- 
 ing. Eh bienf if he liked to look at her, what 
 harm? She would pay him back the same way. 
 He was nice to look at, and he had seen many 
 strange things, and his telling of them was full of 
 interest. 
 
 [23]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 A day and a night's boiling In the Pot claimed a 
 full week for recovery; and In that short week 
 Barbe learned things that all her previous nineteen 
 years had failed to teach her — things which the 
 good Sisters of the Sacred Heart at St. Pol de 
 Leon could never have taught her though she had 
 lived with them for a hundred years. 
 
 Alain was doubtless much more deeply versed in 
 woman's ways than she in man's, or thought 
 himself so; and that amounts to much the same 
 thing when the knowledge of the wisest is but a con- 
 fession of ignorance, an academic trifling with the 
 dainty covers of a sealed book, a superficial dally- 
 ing with an unsolvable enigma. Still, no man lives 
 for nineteen years without gleaning some stray 
 stalks of vicarious knowledge, even though his per- 
 sonal experiences may have been of the most lim- 
 ited. 
 
 He had lived a clean, simple, amphibious life, 
 half-fisher, half-farmer, as is the way in Strawberry 
 Land. But he had mixed much with his fellows, 
 and he had eyes and ears as good as any, and better 
 than most. He had seen many girls in his time, 
 and Plougastel is not without its beauties; but he 
 had never seen a girl like this one. There was in 
 her something of charm and grace which set her 
 above every other girl he had ever met. What it 
 was he could not tell. 
 
 "By much watching," he said to himself, "I shall 
 
 [24]
 
 ALAIN 
 
 find out;" and with so pleasing a subject the study 
 was much to his hking. 
 
 But the simple mighty source of Barbe's untu- 
 tored grace was beyond him while he lay in his bunk 
 and watched her. In a crude way, manlike, he 
 looked to surprise art — rather, perhaps, artfulness 
 — where there was in fact nothing but the free, un- 
 fettered grace of Nature — Nature innocent of cor- 
 sets either of mind or body, and so void of any 
 slightest touch of self-consciousness or restraint. 
 Here were no gauds or beguilements, either of man- 
 ner or dress, such as even the girls of Plougastel 
 assumed on occasion, and the girls of Brest — "Eh 
 bien, assezi One does not speak of such in the 
 same breath with this one." In her homely garb 
 and bare feet and uncoifed hair — which tangled all 
 his soul in its dark meshes, and would have greatly 
 scandalised the girls of Plenevec, whose hair is 
 sacred and always hidden in many caps — she was 
 the most wonderful girl he had ever seen. 
 
 In a crude way, however, he came, perhaps, to 
 some slight understanding of the causes that had 
 made her what she was, when he dragged his 
 bruised limbs up the ladders to the lantern one day 
 while she was busy polishing the reflectors. 
 
 "Af« foil what a sight!" broke from him, as he 
 sat with his feet dangling through the rails of the 
 gallery and looked out on the blue sea, and the 
 white-piled sky, and the savage cliffs with the 
 
 [25]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 league-long fringe of foam-lace at their feet, and 
 the wavering cloud of sea-birds up above. "And 
 have you lived here long, mademoiselle?" 
 
 "I have lived here all my life," said Barbe. 
 
 "But sometimes you go ashore?" 
 
 "Almost never," she said, with a shake of the 
 head. "This has always been my home." 
 
 "Mon Dieu!" he said, with the wonder of a man 
 who has spent his life among men, and with some- 
 thing of the pity of the mariner who hates above 
 all things an anchorage on a lee-shore. 
 
 He looked thoughtfully at the girl, and then 
 again at the wide sweep of the sea, the slow, majes- 
 tic movement of the clouds, and the wild grandeur 
 of the cliffs, and he knew that the girl fitted in with 
 her surroundings. And perhaps just a glimmer of 
 understanding was vouchsafed to him, for he mur- 
 mured another half-unconscious "Af ow Dieu!" and 
 presently added an impatient "Si, si," which might 
 probably mean, "That explains it, you fool. Could 
 she be anything but what she is in such a place?" 
 
 Then, with his eyes resting thoughtfully on 
 Barbe, to the exclusion of all else, he went a step 
 farther, and wondered dimly if she could have been 
 anything but just what she was whatever her sur- 
 roundings had been; for after all, he said to him- 
 self, the kernel makes the nut, not the shell. 
 
 [26]
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CADOUAL 
 
 IT was not to be expected that Pierre would 
 view with complete equanimity the intro- 
 duction into his family circle of a man so 
 full of possibilities as this good-looking 
 sailor-lad. 
 
 His eyes were open ; but what could he do ? For 
 his own part he would as lief the man had stopped 
 in the Pot with the rest, until in due time — when it 
 had done with him — the scour of the Race had 
 washed him out and laid him gently on the shore 
 down at Plenevec; but Barbe's impetuosity had 
 balked the Pot of its prey, and here he was. 
 
 And Barbe's interest in her treasure-trove was 
 manifest. Again, what could he do? Having 
 saved the man's life, he could not refuse him hospi- 
 tality. Until the stranger was fairly fit he could 
 not throw him out, or even hint at the desirability 
 of his going. He could, however, sound him gently 
 as to his intentions, and that he proceeded to do 
 with the simple directness of the peasant. 
 
 "You will be going back to Plougastel, mon gars, 
 when you are quite recovered?" he said. 
 
 [27]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 Alain looked at him musingly, and Barbe looked 
 at Alain. 
 
 "I am not sure," said the young man at last, as he 
 dropped a crumb for Minette and Pippo to squab- 
 ble over. "I have no one at Plougastel now. My 
 people are all dead, and one place is as good as 
 another. . . . Some, perhaps, are better." 
 
 "Newfoundland is a great country " 
 
 "I would give the whole of it for ten hectares of 
 Brittany and a well-found boat." And Barbe's 
 eyes glowed responsive. 
 
 "Down the St. Lawrence, by Riviere du Loup 
 and Quebec, it is very fine country. I was there 
 once," said Pierre. "I wished my lot had been cast 
 there." 
 
 "It is fine country," said the young man; "but it 
 is not France." 
 
 "Fine men and beautiful women," said Pierre 
 reminiscently. 
 
 "All the same — " and the blank expressed more, 
 perhaps, than many words. 
 
 The time came, however, and all too quickly, 
 when Alain could no longer evade the penalty 
 of complete convalescence; and one bright morning 
 found him and Pierre In the boat pulling steadily 
 towards Plenevec. The emptiness within, as 
 though a part of him had been overlooked and left 
 behind In the Light, occasioned him much surprise 
 and some bodily discomfort. 
 
 [28]
 
 CADOUAL 
 
 Barbe, up in the gallery, waved a last farewell as 
 the boat turned the corner into Grand Bayou Bay 
 to avoid the force of the ebb-tide, and stood long 
 watching the spot where it had disappeared. She 
 also was feeling, not, strange to say, as though 
 Alain had left anything behind, but rather as 
 though he had left the hollow shaft still hollower 
 and emptier than when he came to it. Who, then, 
 was the gainer, since these two both felt a sense of 
 loss ? Not Pierre, I trow. 
 
 "Say then, Pierre," as the boat ground on the 
 shingle at Plenevec, "what hast thou there?" and 
 the speaker, a tall, loose-limbed, powerful young 
 fellow clad in blue jersey and huge sea-boots, with 
 a red stocking-cap on the back of his dark head, a 
 cigarette in his mouth and his hands deep in his 
 trouser-pockets, sauntered down to meet them. 
 
 "His ship went into the Pot a week ago, and all 
 the rest were drowned," said Pierre. 
 
 "Yes, we've had them. And how did he escape ?" 
 
 "God knows. He's the first I ever saw come out 
 alive." 
 
 "He has the luck without doubt. Say then, mon 
 gars, what is your next move? Where are you 
 from?" 
 
 "Plougastel," said Alain. 
 
 "Ah, ha ! They are fine lads at Plougastel, and 
 good sailors. Can you throw and draw?" 
 
 "Surely! I had five years at the fishing." 
 
 [29]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 "And are you going back to Plougastel?" 
 
 "I have nothing to go back for." 
 
 "Parents?" 
 
 To which Alain only shook his head. 
 
 "Have a cigarette. They are not what one gets 
 hereabouts, and come up and have a drink. Pierre, 
 mon vieux, you will join us in a chopine? Mere 
 Buvel's cider is beginning to put on a flavour in its 
 old age;" and they drew the boat a few feet up the 
 wet stones, and ground their way up to the little 
 hostelry. 
 
 A resplendent old gendarme in blue and white 
 and silver, who seemed somehow out of place 
 among the surrounding low colour-tones — the so- 
 ber greys and sombre browns, and the dingy, ashen 
 hue of salt-bitten, sun-dried wood — strolled up as 
 they set foot on the solid earth above. The only 
 thing that came anywhere near his magnificence was 
 the sun; and Monsieur Gaudriol and the sun to- 
 gether made a dazzling combination which inspired 
 in the younger members of the community a whole- 
 some fear of the law. 
 
 "Jour, Pierre !" said the gendarme. "All well?" 
 
 "All well, M. Gaudriol, I thank you." 
 
 "And who is this?" and the keen eye of the law 
 raked Alain from truck to keelson. 
 
 Pierre explained once more. 
 
 "We are going to drain a chopine to monsieur's 
 past and future," said the first-comer. "Won't you 
 
 [30]
 
 CADOUAL 
 
 join us, M. Gaudriol?" And they all went up to- 
 gether. 
 
 When they had clicked the dripping mugs across 
 the well-scrubbed table, M. Gaudriol, with the 
 authority of a paternal and would-be omniscient 
 Government with a special solicitude for wander- 
 ing sheep, proceeded to put Alain through his paces, 
 and Alain took it all as a matter of course. 
 
 "Alain Carbonec — of Plougastel — age nineteen 
 — sailor — parents dead — subject to one year's ser- 
 vice — of age, therefore, in one year's time — been 
 several voyages to Newfoundland — wrecked in 
 brig Cerise on Grand Bayou — only one saved." 
 That was the official report which, with a few sub- 
 sequent additions, M. Gaudriol sent up to head- 
 quarters that night. His own private supplement 
 to it ran something like this: "Good-looking lad, 
 quiet and modest; but with plenty of spirit, and in- 
 telligent. Doubtful how he'll get on with Cadoual, 
 who has a bit of the devil in him at times, and is 
 difficult." However, to our chopines! 
 
 "Did you hear that old Jeannot was dead?" said 
 Cadoual suddenly to Pierre. 
 
 "No. How was it?" 
 
 "The old fool took one drink too many four 
 nights ago, and fell overboard drawing the net." 
 
 "Humph!" said Pierre. 
 
 "He always did drink too much, did Jeannot, 
 and many's the time I've told him so; but as well 
 
 [3']
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 try to stop a sea-gull whistling as a dry man 
 when he's got the thirst on him," said Sergeant 
 Gaudriol. 
 
 "That leaves me alone in the boat, and that's no 
 good," said Cadoual. "What do you say, mon 
 gars?" to Alain. "Will you try the fishing here 
 for a time before going on farther? I will give you 
 Jeannot's screw, and that includes a fifth-share in 
 the take. Is it a bargain?" 
 
 "It's a bargain," said Alain, and they struck 
 hands on it, and Cadoual, with hang-the-expense 
 recklessness, had the chopincs filled again at a cost 
 of twopence the lot, and offered them cigarettes all 
 around, and they clicked and drank to the partner- 
 ship. 
 
 "You can arrange with the old one — la vieille, 
 his mother — to live with us if you like," said Cad- 
 oual. "She will do you well, and at a reasonable 
 figure." 
 
 "No, monsieur, excuse me; but I think not that, 
 by your leave," said Alain quietly. "No discour- 
 tesy to you or madame, you understand. But if we 
 are rubbing shoulders all night in the boat, it would 
 be wiser not to be rubbing them ashore all day, too, 
 or they might get rough. Is it not so ?" 
 
 "Eh bien, mon beau! that is as you choose; but 
 the old one would do you well." 
 
 Sergeant Gaudriol nodded approvingly, and 
 said, "It is good sense all the same." 
 
 [3^]
 
 CADOUAL 
 
 "And the little one, mon vieuxf" asked the 
 old gendarme of Pierre before they parted. 
 
 "She Is well," said Pierre. 
 
 M. Gaudrlol frequently asked after Barbe, 
 whom he remembered as a tiny suck-a-thumb in a 
 tight little white cotton skull-cap on her father's 
 arm, that first morning when Pierre introduced him- 
 self to Plenevec. He had seen her once again, a 
 child of six or so, with long dark hair and big blue 
 eyes, and he had seen her but once or twice since. It 
 was as the dark-haired little girl that he remem- 
 bered her, though he knew her best as the skull- 
 capped baby. 
 
 "A nice-looking lad," said M. Gaudrlol to him- 
 self as he mused over the newcomer that night. "I 
 wonder how he'll get on with George Cadoual? 
 The poor old Jeannot had a deuce of a time and a 
 dog's life. Fm not sure this one would take it 
 sitting, as he did. However, nous verrons." 
 
 A few days later he received a report from 
 headquarters concerning Alain which caused him 
 to regard the young fellow with quite new Interest. 
 
 ''Ticnsf he said to himself. "What an odd 
 world it is ! It would be odder still If — " And he 
 nodded his head like a china mandarin. "It's not 
 for me to interfere, anyhow. ... If that was to 
 come about I should take It that the bon Dieu had 
 His finger In It." 
 
 [33]
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 GAIN OF LOSS 
 
 FOR the first time in her Hfe Barbe found 
 herself lonely after Alain left. That 
 she had never felt so before was not by 
 any means her fault, though very much 
 her misfortune. 
 
 Who has no friends can suffer no bereavements; 
 but such a depth of poverty is infinitely more to be 
 deplored than the sorest wringing of the heart 
 through loss, since bruising makes the heart grow 
 tender. Philosophic wealth may consist in fewness 
 of needs; but craving indicates growth even in an 
 Oliver Twist. The rock-embedded toad lives a 
 life of perfect peace and has no wants — so far as 
 we know; but its existence is hardly the ideal one, 
 and the moment its sphere is enlarged it stretches 
 and begins to want. As a matter of fact, I believe 
 it generally dies of over-excitement; but that is by 
 the way, and in no degree affects my argument. 
 
 The Light, which had hitherto yielded Barbe all 
 she wanted in the way of food for heart and mind, 
 felt suddenly barren in these respects. 
 
 Twelve long years she had lived there in con- 
 
 [34]
 
 GAIN OF LOSS 
 
 tentment, and never lacked good company, even 
 when her father was absent. If complaint was ever 
 in her, it was rather that, on occasion — say, on 
 Christmas Eve — the Light was overcrowded. 
 
 And now this sailor-lad with the bold blue eyes 
 and the long yellow hair had come for one short 
 week, and the place felt empty without him. 
 
 Barbe went about her work sedately, and missed 
 him in every corner. 
 
 That was where he used to sit smoking of an 
 evening while he discoursed disjointedly of the 
 world outside, and her father sat and grunted ap- 
 provingly. 
 
 That was where he had sat with his legs dangling 
 through the gallery rails while she polished the re- 
 flectors, and saw him in them all. 
 
 That was his empty bunk next to her own — for 
 in Brittany the privacy of a box-bed may still im- 
 ply a community of bedroom, and lighthouses are 
 not, as a rule, built with guest-chambers. On one 
 still night she had heard his quiet, regular breath- 
 ing through the partition, and had lain awake lis- 
 tening to it, stirred with strange emotions, till she 
 fell asleep only to dream of him still. 
 
 The straight blue eyes looked out at her from 
 every corner just as they always had done. Al- 
 ways! did she say? And, mon Dicii! it was only 
 one short week he had been there. The long yel- 
 low locks, whose ends curled upwards on his shoul- 
 
 [35]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 ders like loose vine-tendrils which seek the sun 
 though they dangle to the ground, danced before 
 her eyes up and down the ladders, and she saw 
 them in the sunbeams that lighted up the dark cor- 
 ners of the rooms. 
 
 It takes a very fine face in a man to carry long 
 hair. The minor poet who bushes his ambrosial 
 locks behind his ears as a trade-mark to be read of 
 men — whereby at times his person attracts more 
 notice than his poems — is a sight for gods and rude 
 little boys to laugh at. But to the bold-faced sea- 
 men of Finistere and C6tes-du-Nord the trailing 
 locks impart no more effeminacy than they did to 
 the Vikings of old, whose descendants many of 
 them are. 
 
 That was the plate he had used that morning at 
 breakfast. She knew it by the chip out of the side, 
 like a thumb-mark, and had been annoyed that it 
 should fall to him. She washed it carefully and 
 used it herself thereafter in preference to plates un- 
 chipped. 
 
 When she had cleared out his bunk she put her 
 own pillow and mattress into it, and flushed all over 
 at so greatly daring. 
 
 Would he ever return? she wondered. Or was 
 that week — that one short week — to be all? 
 
 It had been very strange, very sweet, while it 
 lasted. She had never thought so much about any 
 one before; but then that was because she had had 
 
 [36]
 
 GAIN OF LOSS 
 
 no one to think about — except her father; and, 
 somehow, her thoughts of Alain were quite dif- 
 ferent. 
 
 Ah, if it could have gone on so! If there had 
 been no need for him to go ! How bright the fu- 
 ture would have seemed ! Things were different 
 with her somehow. The white-piled sky was very 
 far away. The slow sweep of the waves had a sense 
 of unfriendliness in them. Had they not wanted 
 him for their prey? The restless foam fretting at 
 the cliffs gave her no pleasure. The clouds of sea- 
 birds swinging round Cap Rebel annoyed her. 
 They were nearer to him than she was. 
 
 Pippo's pointed attacks on Minette, and Min- 
 ette's bristling charges on Pippo, afforded her no 
 amusement. Even her water-gardens on the rock 
 below were not as they used to be. The delicate 
 weeds were there still, swinging their tremulous 
 tresses to the kiss of wind and sun. The many- 
 hued anemones were there. The scrambling crabs 
 and tiny darting fishes were there. And there, too, 
 from every still pool a pair of large violet eyes 
 looked up at her with a wistfulness and want in 
 them that had never been there before. 
 
 She had suffered loss. She was learning uncon- 
 sciously the great lesson that in loss there may be 
 gain; that she who loses is still richer than she who 
 has naught to lose; that it is sweeter, with the in- 
 finite sweetness of the touch of sadness, to be able 
 
 [37]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 to say "once was" than to have to confess that 
 there never had been; that it is better to dwell 
 among the hills and valleys of life, even though it 
 be only for a season, even though it be only for one 
 short week, than to live for ever on the level plain 
 or in the placid seclusion of a lighthouse. 
 
 When her father returned in the afternoon, on 
 the slack of the tide, all she said to him was, "He 
 is gone?" 
 
 Perhaps he caught the touch of wistful sadness in 
 her voice. He had, in his own way, and according 
 to that which was in him, sounded the heights and 
 the depths. He was prematurely aged with the 
 bitterness of life. His fibres were tough with the 
 strains they had had. It was too much, perhaps, to 
 expect from him any very delicate sympathy with a 
 girl's first sense of loss. 
 
 "Si, si," he growled, "he is gone," and no more; 
 and that from no conscious desire to mislead her. 
 Simply that so far as they were concerned the un- 
 invited guest had departed. He would have been 
 better pleased if he had never arrived. For, nom- 
 dc-Dieu! one never knows. He was a good-looking 
 lad, and doubtless as good as his looks; but he 
 wanted no lads after his girl. Time enough for all 
 that. It only meant trouble, or at the least upset- 
 ting; and what he wanted was peace. He had had 
 trouble and upsetting enough, and more than most. 
 
 So Barbe took up her common tasks and went on 
 
 [38]
 
 GAIN OF LOSS 
 
 her daily round, and life on the Light seemed to 
 settle down into its old groove. But things could 
 never be the same again to her, for she had looked 
 into the eyes of a man, and the eyes of a man had 
 followed her till she knew it by the leaping of her 
 blood. 
 
 To Barbe the stranger was no uninvited guest, 
 but a sweet treasure-trove snatched from the waves 
 at risk of her own life. Her arm had been round 
 him; she had pressed him to her breast; she had 
 looked into his eyes, then and afterwards. 
 
 She had stretched out her hand and picked and 
 tasted of the fruit of the tree of life. 
 
 She had dimly come to the knowledge that in the 
 life of a maiden there are things of more account 
 than clouds and waves and birds and fishes — and 
 even than fathers. 
 
 [39]
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 JOY OF LIFE 
 
 THREE days later, with the sweetness of 
 her loss and the deeper gladness of 
 all her memories upon her, Barbe 
 was up in the lantern at early dawn, 
 as was her wont. 
 
 It was a soft, mother-of-pearl morning, and the 
 sea and the western sky still trailed their leaden 
 garments of the night. PIppo was hopping sto- 
 lidly round the gallery, and the urgent necessity of 
 seeing everything that was going on, both above 
 and around and below, and with only one eye to 
 do it all, kept his little blue-grey head jerking to 
 and fro in a way that got on MInette's nerves. 
 Every other minute she made a dash at him, and he 
 received her with a shrill scream, a wild flapping 
 of wings, and a beak that rattled like a Castanet. 
 Then Minette would retire to prepare a fresh am- 
 bush and try to catch him on his blind side, but 
 never succeeded in doing It. Now and again Barbe 
 would look round at them, and say softly, "Gently, 
 gently, my children ;" to which neither of them paid 
 the slightest attention. 
 
 [40]
 
 JOY OF LIFE 
 
 A brown-sailed fishing-boat was making slowly 
 for Plenevec, wobbling heavily along to the creak 
 of the oars, for there was not a breath of wind. 
 Barbe stood watching it for a moment, and at sight 
 of her the oarsmen, standing face to the bows as 
 they breasted the heavy oars, stopped in their 
 rhythmic swing. A fluty hail came pealing across 
 the smooth water, and a friendly hand waved in the 
 boat — as it had waved once before when his ship 
 was running down the Race to certain death, which 
 yet for him was to be the entrance to a larger life. 
 Then Barbe's young red blood leaped in her veins, 
 and her face glowed from the inside as well as from 
 the dawn as she waved her hand in reply. 
 
 So he had not gone after all, or he had come 
 back. He was still within sight and sound. Her 
 heart swelled within her till it gave her pain, and 
 she struck her side with her fist to keep the unruly 
 thing in order. 
 
 She watched the boat till it crept round the 
 corner into Grand Bayou. She got another wave 
 of the hand, and waved hers in reply. When 
 the boat had quite disappeared she went back to 
 her work. The sky was full of light, and the sea 
 was dimpling and smiling under the tender kisses 
 of the new-born sun. The sea-birds round Cap 
 Rebel gleamed like a snow-cloud. The tall shaft of 
 the lighthouse shone like a pillar of fire, and up on 
 top of it Barbe Carcassone, nearer heaven than 
 
 [ 41]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 most, said to herself that the good God was very 
 good, and Alain was still there. 
 
 "Tiensf" said George Cadoual as Alain 
 straightened up and stopped rowing to wave his 
 hand and send his greeting to Barbe up in the gal- 
 lery. "You know La Carcassone! But, of course, 
 you were there. I forgot. A pretty girl, they say; 
 but the old one keeps her all to himself. A gloomy 
 old curmudgeon ; but he has reason, without doubt. 
 He murdered a man and woman up there in the 
 Light, you know." 
 
 "What are you saying, then?" 
 
 "But yes. It is true, my boy. It was before my 
 time, but is well known. The man who used to 
 keep the Light ran off with Pierre's wife, and he 
 followed them and killed them both up there. For 
 me, I say he did right, and they only gave him five 
 years. And then he went to live there, and he's 
 been there ever since. Ask old Gaudriol, 77ion gars" 
 — as Alain's face betokened no sense of conviction; 
 "he was here at the time. He has been here 
 since the Flood, has Gaudriol." 
 
 But Alain was musing on this strange news, and 
 he spoke no word till they landed. 
 
 That afternoon, after his sleep, Alain purposely 
 chanced upon M. Gaudriol, and the old gendarme 
 accepted a pipeful from him and sat down on the 
 shingle to have a chat, for he had taken a liking to 
 the lad at first sight. 
 
 [42]
 
 JOY OF LIFE 
 
 "Is it true, M. Gaudriol, that M. Carcassone 
 killed a man and woman out there?" Alain asked, 
 with a seaward nod, as soon as their pipes were 
 fairly alight. 
 
 "It is true enough, my boy," and the old man 
 looked at him curiously from under his bushy white 
 brows; "but he had great provocation. Being 
 officer of the law myself, I would not go so far as 
 to say he was justified; but they only gave him a 
 short term, and nobody thought the worse of him 
 when he came back. He did a thing, and he paid 
 for it. Voila tout!. . . . Who was telling you?" 
 he asked presently. 
 
 "Cadoual, this morning in the boat. As we 
 passed the Light, ma'm'selle was up in the gallery, 
 and I waved my hand to her." 
 
 Old Gaudriol nodded understandingly. 
 
 "She is a good girl, and pretty, they say." 
 
 "She is very beautiful," said Alain with convic- 
 tion, "and I am quite sure she is good. Does she 
 never come ashore?" 
 
 "I saw her that first morning when her father 
 brought her here to me, after — you understand. 
 And I saw her when he fetched her from St. Pol ; 
 and since then I think I have seen her but twice. 
 Is she content out there all alone?" 
 
 "I suppose so," said Alain. "She did not 
 say." 
 
 "All the same, it must be dull for her," said 
 
 [43]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 Gaudriol. "Young life has Its rights also. The 
 young should mix with the young." 
 
 The old man looked at the young one as though 
 about to say something else, but he checked him- 
 self, and it was not till the pipes were beginning to 
 whiffle that he asked casually, "And how do you 
 get on with Cadoual?" 
 
 "Well enough," said Alain. "He's a bit odd at 
 times, and he likes his own way, and thinks he 
 knows more than most." 
 
 To all of which Gaudriol nodded assent, but said 
 no more. 
 
 Alain had found bed and board in the house of 
 an old widow woman whose son had been drowned 
 the previous winter. Veuve Pleuret discovered in 
 him a likeness to her lost boy, so that he found him- 
 self in very comfortable quarters, while the mother 
 in her found relief in ministering to him. His busi- 
 ness took him frequently up to the Cadoual house, 
 and he never regretted that he was not living 
 there. 
 
 He did not soon forget his first Introduction to 
 Mere Cadoual. 
 
 He had waited to see Pierre off home that first 
 day; then, with M. Gaudrlol's assistance, he went 
 to find a lodging; and in the afternoon he walked 
 up, as arranged with George, to have a talk with 
 him about the fishing. 
 
 It was a good-sized house, with barns and an 
 
 [44]
 
 JOY OF LIFE 
 
 untidy straw-yard surrounded by a high stone wall; 
 with dung-heaps and rooting pigs and scratching 
 poultry all about, and the fragrant smell of cattle, 
 and the monotonous thumping of a churn. 
 
 He made for the sound of the churn, and a red- 
 faced, tired-looking girl looked up and stopped 
 work when his head appeared in the doorway. 
 
 "Pardon, ma'm'selle," he said; "can you tell me 
 where I shall find M. Cadoual?" 
 
 But before she could answer a strident, high- 
 pitched voice broke out behind him, and the churn 
 started again with a jump. 
 
 "Now then, now then, young man," cried the 
 voice, "what's all this? Don't you know better 
 than to stop a churn ? God knows that lazy hussy's 
 only too glad to get the chance, and it's little enough 
 she does unless I'm on her back all the time. But 
 it's not backward she is at her meals, I warrant 
 you; and drinks the cream, too, if you'll beheve 
 
 me." 
 
 The girl flushed a deeper red and began pound- 
 ing away harder than ever to make up for lost time. 
 She looked again at Alain because he was something 
 new and good to look at, and then winked quickly 
 at him, as much as to say, "You don't need to swal- 
 low all that, you know," as he turned to face the 
 newcomer. 
 
 "Now, draggle-tail, don't punch the bottom out. 
 Steady, girl, steady ! Keep your temper, or you'll 
 
 [ 45 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 get no butter; and no supper, ma foi, if you spoil 
 the butter. One would think you'd never seen a 
 man before in your life; whereas, if the truth were 
 told " 
 
 "Can I see M. Cadoual, madame?" asked Alain, 
 to save the girl from the storm he had provoked. 
 
 "What is it you want, then ? We've all the hands 
 we need, if the lazy good-for-nothings would only 
 work. You're all the same, you men; and, darnel 
 the women are just as bad. Be off with you. Allez, 
 allezr 
 
 "M. Cadoual has engaged me for his boat " 
 
 "You! Mon Dieu! The boy's a fool. It's a 
 man he wants. Two boys in a boat won't catch any 
 fish. Jeanne !" in a roar, "if that churn stops again 
 I'll come in and slap your head for you." 
 
 She was a burly, dark-faced virago, with snap- 
 ping black eyes and a black moustache, and another 
 little moustache curled fiercely over each eye, which 
 gave her a terribly wide-awake look: a woman 
 whom Nature had palpably designed for a man, 
 but, getting mixed, had left her man in the form 
 of woman. Alain noticed that her hair was coarse 
 like the tail of a horse, and she wore big wooden 
 sabots with straw in them. She was so big and 
 broad that she made him feel quite small, though 
 he stood five feet ten in his bare feet. He was glad 
 he had found lodgings elsewhere. 
 
 "You're over-young, mon gars," she said. "Can 
 
 [46]
 
 JOY OF LIFE 
 
 you sail a boat and cast the nets without tumbling 
 overboard lll^e our fool of a Jeannot?" 
 
 "I had five years of it, madame, and I have never 
 got drowned." 
 
 "Evidently, since you are here still. All the 
 same, I say you're too young. Geo-r-r-ge!" 
 
 "Hello! hello! What's the matter now? I'm 
 not deaf. Tiens! it's you, mon ami. I thought 
 the house was afire at the least;" and George 
 Cadoual came out of the house with the sleep still 
 blinlcing in his eyes. 
 
 "You're half asleep yet," said his mother, "and 
 were all asleep a minute ago, I'll warrant. He's 
 too young, George," and she eyed Alain as if he 
 were a colt she hesitated to purchase on account of 
 its youth. "What you need in that boat is a 
 man " 
 
 "Well," said George, "there'll be two men in it, 
 and that's enough." 
 
 "Two Hght-headed boys, with not ballast enough 
 between them to sink a net." 
 
 "Pfutt! He's from Plougastel. I know what 
 I'm about." 
 
 "Ah! ca — from Plougastel! Well, that makes 
 a difference;" and she regarded Alain with some- 
 what less disfavour. 
 
 Here a pair of tired horses came clanking into 
 the yard, with rhythmic jingle of iron chains, and 
 their driver slouching sideways on the hind one; 
 
 [47]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 and madame instantly assailed him with a fury of 
 invective for having left off work, as she asserted, 
 full ten minutes before the proper time. 
 
 "Come in and have a chopine and a cigarette," 
 said Cadoual to Alain. "You'll find it better than 
 old Mere Buvel's wash. The mother's enjoying 
 herself now she's got something to scold;" and 
 Alain followed him into the kitchen, while the girl 
 at the churn took advantage of madame's diversion 
 to rest her tired arms for a moment. 
 
 Their discussion on matters piscatorial was so 
 discursive, and so frequently interrupted by ma- 
 dame's incursions into it, that the big kitchen table 
 was being noisily laid for the ev^ening meal before 
 it was ended, and Cadoual insisted on Alain stop- 
 ping to eat with them. 
 
 "I bet you it'll be better than anything you'll get 
 down yonder," he said. 
 
 And as far as actual meat and drink went, he 
 was right; but the contentious tongue of madame 
 imparted a bitter flavour to it all for the others — 
 all except George, whom iVlain soon perceived to 
 be at once master and spoiled boy of the house. 
 
 Six men and three maid-servants joined the 
 board. Including him of the horse and Jeanne of 
 the churn. They all looked tired and sulky, and 
 ate and drank In whipped silence, while madame, 
 eating heartily the while, trounced them all in turn 
 for endless faults of omission and commission. 
 
 [48]
 
 JOY OF LIFE 
 
 There was no end to her tirade. She would recur 
 again and again to some flagrant detail, like a dog 
 to its clean-picked bone, till Alain wondered they 
 could eat at all, and thanked his stars for lodging 
 him elsewhere. They all seemed used to it, how- 
 ever, and ate stolidly under the snapping fire of 
 madame's quick black eyes and voluble tongue, and 
 were wise enough to add no fuel to the flames. 
 
 Once or twice George took exception to her re- 
 marks, and flung hot words back at her. At which 
 she would wind up that particular fusillade with a 
 curt "Eh b'eni" and a scorching glance at the orig- 
 inal offender, and would instantly open a side bat- 
 tery in some other direction to cover her repulse. 
 
 Right glad was Alain when the meal was over 
 and he was free to go. Old Jeannot, he learned, 
 had lived in the Cadoual house. He was not much 
 surprised at his abrupt departure from it, for to 
 himself life would have been unbearable in such an 
 atmosphere. 
 
 It was on the third day of his service in Cadoual's 
 boat that they saw Barbe up in the gallery of the 
 Light, as they laboured slowly homeward in the 
 dawn past Grand Bayou. 
 
 So far he and Cadoual had got on all right to- 
 gether. The owner of the boat and four-fifths 
 shareholder In the takings was inclined, indeed, to 
 undue masterfulness and a somewhat overbearing 
 demeanour towards the one-fifth shareholder, and 
 
 [49]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 he exhibited a very much larger idea of his own 
 capabilities than circumstances absolutely justified; 
 but Alain had met that kind of man before, and 
 knew how to handle him. 
 
 He went on quietly and unconcernedly with his 
 own work in his own way, which Cadoual very 
 quickly recognised to be the right way; and when 
 George occasionally got overheated and Inclined 
 to bluster, Alain simply let him blow off steam till 
 he cooled again, and showed plainly that it did not 
 trouble him in the slightest. 
 
 George set it down to the stolidity to which he 
 was accustomed; but he came In time to perceive 
 that it was something different — something alto- 
 gether stronger and deeper. He learned, in fact, 
 by degrees that quietness does not necessarily imply 
 weakness. He knew already by personal experi- 
 ence that bluster was not in all cases a sign of 
 strength. 
 
 That distant glimpse of Barbe Carcassone, and 
 much pleasant musing thereupon, woke in Alain the 
 desire for closer communion with her. She was 
 never far from his thoughts. That was not possi- 
 ble. The tall white shaft of the Light, gleaming 
 golden in the setting sun as they stole out towards 
 the fishing grounds or flashing silver in the dawn as 
 they crept or raced home again, was an ever-present 
 reminder of her where no reminder whatever was 
 needed. The sweet elusive face glimmered among 
 
 [50]
 
 JOY OF LIFE 
 
 the stars in the velvet vault above, and looked back 
 at him from the coiling waters below. And away 
 there under the cliffs the silent throb of the light 
 sang "Barbe! Barbe! Barbe!" so loud and clear, 
 to the tune that was in his heart that he looked at 
 Cadoual sometimes and wondered at his indiffer- 
 ence. But then he remembered that George did 
 not knov/ Barbe. 
 
 On the afternoon of the day after they had seen 
 her up in the lantern, Alain came down the shingle 
 with springs in his feet so that the stones flew be- 
 fore him. He ran the dingy which usually trailed 
 behind the lugger into the water, and sent her leap- 
 ing over the waves like a football. 
 
 "Hello, Alain! Where away now? You're in 
 a hurry," hailed M. Gaudriol. 
 
 For answer Alain, with a smile, jerked his head 
 over his shoulder towards Grand Bayou rocks, and 
 lifted the dingy nearly out of the water in his haste 
 to be there. 
 
 "It is well," said M. Gaudriol to himself, and 
 sat down with his back against the lugger to watch 
 him. ''Mats oiii'' he said, with a satisfied nod, "f« 
 marche!" and it was not the blunt-nosed little boat 
 to which he referred. 
 
 Barbe's observant eye caught sight of the round 
 dot as soon as it turned the corner out of Grand 
 Bayou Bay. Her work was done, and she was 
 sitting in the gallery with her family squabbling 
 
 [51]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 , round her, as she knitted pleasant thoughts of 
 Alain into a long blue winter stocking for — well, 
 perhaps for her father, perhaps for some one else. 
 
 When the round black dot with the rhythmic 
 flashes at its sides headed straight for the rocks she 
 knew who it was, and her face flushed rosy red, and 
 a smile of satisfied hope played hide-and-seek with 
 a touch of momentary confusion in it. When one 
 has been greatly longing for a person, and that 
 person suddenly appears, as though in answer to 
 a summons which the lips would never have 
 ventured to utter, one may be grateful that the un- 
 expected arrival is a good mile away in a blunt- 
 nosed dingy, and that time is afforded for the recov- 
 ery of one's equanimity without betrayal of secrets. 
 
 The boat came steadily on, and Barbe sat watch- 
 ing it with a glad face. A quarter of a mile away 
 Alain stopped for the first time, and turned and 
 looked eagerly at the Light. He saw her in the 
 gallery and waved his hand, and received a wave of 
 the blue stocking in return. Then he bent to his 
 oars again, and the blunt-nosed boat went bound- 
 ing over the waves. 
 
 He was not quite sure how Pierre would re- 
 ceive him; but, nom-de-Dieu! Pierre was not the 
 Almighty, even if he was Barbe's father — which in 
 fact was a thing somewhat difficult to understand 
 in itself; and if Barbe gave him welcome he could 
 put up with the lack of it from Pierre. 
 
 [52]
 
 JOY OF LIFE 
 
 Barbe ran down the ladders, and was standing 
 in the dark doorway when the dingy's black snout 
 nuzzled softly up to the iron rungs below. One 
 glance showed Alain that the lighthouse boat was 
 not hanging from the beams. So Pierre was ashore, 
 and that was so much the better. He caught a 
 glimpse of the sweet, flushed face craning over to 
 watch him. The tide was rising, so all he had to 
 do was to tie the boat to a lofty rung of the ladder, 
 and it swung out with no fear of abrasions. 
 
 Then he came up the rungs like a squirrel; but 
 when he reached the doorway it was empty. For 
 Barbe, overwhelmed by a sudden accession of 
 maiden modesty, had fled up the ladders with 
 twinkling white feet at the first upward bob of the 
 yellow curls. She never stopped till she was sit- 
 ting in the gallery again, knitting furiously at the 
 blue stocking and looking calmly at Cap Rebel, 
 with a very red face and a heart that thumped so 
 loud against her blue bodice that she was sure Alain 
 would see it even if he did not hear it. 
 
 He ran on and up until he found her. 
 
 ^''Mon Dieu, ma'm'selle, but it is good to see you 
 again!" he said, with the joy of It blazing in his 
 eyes. 
 
 "How, then?" said Barbe, as quietly as that trou- 
 blesome jumping thing inside her bodice would let 
 her. 
 
 "Mais, mon Dieu! I do not know. But, all 
 
 [53]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 the same, the sight of you fills me like food and 
 wme. 
 
 "It is cheap faring," said Barbe, with a smile 
 which was lost in a furious rush of colour at his 
 immediate 
 
 "Ah, it would be if one had you always to 
 look at." 
 
 But the wave of colour made him doubt he had 
 said too much, and to cover it he added, "Do you 
 know, ma'm'selle, I thought I saw you in the door- 
 way downstairs? I could have sworn I saw you. 
 It must have been, I suppose " 
 
 "Yes ?" asked Barbe as he came to a stop. 
 
 "£/f bien! I wanted so much to see you that I 
 suppose I thought I did." 
 
 "But no," confessed Barbe's essential truthful- 
 ness; "I was there. I went down" — and then the 
 natural perversity of woman asserted itself — "to 
 tell you where to moor your boat," 
 
 "It was good of you," said Alain gratefully. 
 "And your father — he is not here?" 
 
 "No," she said, with a smile; "he is gone to 
 Plenevec." 
 
 "I did not see him," said Alain; "but in truth I 
 did not look. I came straight out of the house to 
 the boat." 
 
 "We thought you had gone away." 
 
 "No. M. Cadoual offered me a share in his 
 boat, so I stopped. Mais, tiens, ma'm'selle!" he 
 
 [54]
 
 JOY OF LIFE 
 
 broke out reminiscently, as he remembered suddenly 
 that her father was present when the bargain was 
 struck, and then stopped short as he recognised that 
 the old man had either not informed or had misin- 
 formed her as to the facts of the case. 
 
 "You were saying — " said Barbe. 
 
 "Cadoual had lost his man Jeannot, and he of- 
 fered me his place; and I had nothing to take me 
 away, so I stopped." 
 
 "It was good of him! Is he good? I do not 
 know him." 
 
 "We get on all right in the boat. But 1 am glad 
 I do not live with him;" and he described the 
 Cadoual household with such gusto as to provoke 
 Barbe's laughter. 
 
 "They are rich there, I suppose," he concluded, 
 "what with the farm and the boat; and madame is 
 a slave-driver. But, ma'm'selle, I would live on a 
 bare rock sooner than be within sound of Mere 
 Cadoual's tongue. I wonder any of them put up 
 with It. It Is not reasonable." 
 
 "I should not like that. It is so very much bet- 
 ter to be quiet; and It Is so very quiet here." 
 
 "It is like heaven here," said Alain fervently, 
 "and the other Is like the other place." 
 
 "There comes my father," said Barbe, with a 
 little start at the sudden knowledge that she 
 would have been quite as well pleased If it had not 
 been so. 
 
 [ssl
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 "In fact, yes, it is he. Will he object to my be- 
 ing here?" 
 
 "Why should he?" 
 
 "One never knows. All the same, I am glad I 
 came. I shall come again," and he looked tenta- 
 tively at her. 
 
 But she was looking calmly out at the boat creep- 
 ing slowly over the smooth water towards them. 
 She made no answer, and her silence satisfied him. 
 
 They were both in the doorway below, ready to 
 hoist up the boat by the time Pierre reached the 
 iron ladder. 
 
 "Ah, mon gars, it is you, then," he said as he 
 climbed slowly up to them, with his purchases slung 
 at his back. 
 
 "But yes, M. Carcassone, it is I. I did not see 
 you in the village when I came away." 
 
 "Eh, bien! it wouldn't have made much differ- 
 ence if you had, I suppose," said the old man. 
 
 "That is true," said Alain. "All the same, 
 I might have saved your arms the pull." 
 
 "They are still able for it," said Pierre, stretch- 
 ing them out strongly. "And how do you get along 
 with Cadoual?" he asked as they chmbed the lad- 
 ders to the living-room. 
 
 Then Barbe perceived that her father had known 
 all along that Alain had not gone away as he had 
 let her suppose. She remembered, too, that Alain 
 had not told her that her father knew. 
 
 [56]
 
 JOY OF LIFE 
 
 "Well enough," said Alain. "We have had good 
 catches so far, and we haven't got to fighting." 
 
 "Humph-hm!" grunted Pierre. "Well, that's 
 something with Cadoual." 
 
 The old man extended no invitation to him to 
 return when he bade them adieu ; but with Barbe's 
 golden silence in his mind that did not trouble him. 
 A heart that felt many sizes too large for its place, 
 and a pair of strong arms that rejoiced anew in their 
 strength, sent the blunt-nosed dingy along at a pace 
 the like of which it had never known before. 
 
 Barbe sat in the gallery watching him, and he 
 never took his eyes off her. Three times he waved 
 his hand to her, and received a wave of the blue 
 stocking in reply; then he turned the corner into 
 Grand Bayou Bay. 
 
 And when Barbe turned to the west, before going 
 inside, the sun was just sinking into the sea amid a 
 soft translucent glory of crimson and amber such as 
 she never remembered seeing before in all her life; 
 and she stood and looked at it, and thought of Alam 
 Carbonec. 
 
 [57]
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 life's crown 
 
 A WEEK later, when Alain's desire for 
 sight and speech of Barbe had come 
 to a head again, he was running the 
 dingy down the shingle, when Cadoual 
 hailed him from the dry land above. 
 
 ''Hello, Alain! Going out?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Where then?" 
 
 "To the Light." 
 
 "I'll help you pull. I'm in the humour for a 
 row. A lions!" 
 
 The boat was his. To decline his company was 
 hardly possible; to refuse to go would only cause 
 ill-feeling. Against his will, Alain found himself 
 pulling out with George behind him; and George's 
 eyes were twinkling mischievously at the yellow 
 curls in front of him, with thought of his own 
 exceeding cleverness. 
 
 That visit, however, was not much of a success, 
 from Alain's point of view at all events; for Barbe 
 was constrained to so shy a silence by this over- 
 
 [58]
 
 LIFE'S CROWN 
 
 whelming influx of strangers that she hardly opened 
 her mouth. Pierre received them with sombre 
 impassivity, and smoked gloomily with them, and 
 drank the coffee Vv^hich Barbe prepared. George's 
 dark eyes followed her every movement with an 
 amazed satisfaction which awoke in her only a feel- 
 ing of annoyance and something akin to discomfort. 
 Alain, too, sat mum; for Barbe's eyes had opened 
 wide with surprise at sight of his companion, 
 and he had no opportunity of explaining his 
 presence. 
 
 "Heavens ! What a girl ! what a girl !" chanted 
 George all the way home, to the chirp and squeak 
 of the crazy rowlocks. "And to think that she has 
 been there all these years and I have never seen her ! 
 Mais, mon Dieu! it is incredible!" 
 
 Alain bore it all in silence and showed no sign, 
 though he came in time, and through the bottling- 
 up of his feelings, within measurable distance of 
 driving his heel through the bottom of the boat to 
 put an end to it all. 
 
 George spoke much of Barbe during the follow- 
 ing days. Her beauty had bitten deep into his 
 heart. He had nothing but good to say of her, 
 however, and Alain had no just cause for resent- 
 ment beyond the fact that it was Barbe whose 
 praises George sang without ceasing, and that 
 somehow he felt as though Barbe belonged to him 
 and that George was a trespasser. 
 
 [59]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 After that Alain required the boat no more, and 
 showed no visible desire to visit the Light. 
 
 "Say, then, mon gars," said George at last one 
 afternoon, "when do we go out yonder again?" 
 
 "I have not been invited," said Alain. 
 
 "Nor I; but, nom-de-Dieii! if one waits to be 
 invited one may wait long. Shall we go this even- 
 
 ing?" 
 
 But Alain shook his head and said decisively, 
 "No, I am not going." 
 
 On that George took the boat himself and pulled 
 out to the Light. He made no progress with Barbe, 
 however. Her beauty intoxicated him; but she 
 scarcely opened her lips, and found occupation in 
 the lantern, while he sat smoking with her father 
 down below. She had seen his boat turn out of the 
 bay, and had watched it eagerly in the hope that it 
 was Alain. When it turned out to be George she 
 was vexed and disappointed; but she showed it only 
 by increased reserve and the elimination of herself 
 from the company. 
 
 George was a very sulky man in the boat that 
 night, to Alain's great satisfaction. He had seen 
 him pull out all by himself, and knew that the six- 
 mile row, with a double crossing of the Race, would 
 try those none-too-fit muscles of his smartly. His 
 snappy humour when he got back gave Alain 
 much enjoyment, since it proved the coolness of 
 his reception. If George had been happy, or even 
 
 [60]
 
 LIFE'S CROWN 
 
 equable, he would have hated him. As it was, he 
 felt extremely tolerant towards him, and absolutely 
 declined to be provoked on any count whatever. 
 
 The day after George's visit Barbe sat in the 
 gallery, with her knitting and her thoughts and 
 her unruly children. Her lips worked now and 
 again, and a tiny wrinkle crept over her smooth 
 brown brow as she wondered why Alain had ever 
 brought this other man, whom she did not like, and 
 why George had come back and Alain had not. 
 
 Perhaps they had quarrelled. Cadoual looked 
 as though that would not be a difficult matter with 
 him. She hoped they had not, however, as that 
 might send Alain away, and then things would not 
 be the same at all — mon Dicu, 7ion! — and the little 
 brown brow wrinkled and the sweet lips twisted 
 slightly at the thought. 
 
 When she raised her eyes from her work one 
 time for a calm glance over the widespread scene, 
 they lighted by chance on something unusual. She 
 knew it all so intimately, in all its possible moods, 
 that no smallest thing out of the common could 
 escape her. 
 
 There was something in the slack of the Race 
 on the seaward side — something that gleamed 
 white in the sun, then turned to yellow, and then 
 white again. The tide was on the ebb ; but the Race 
 ran swiftly at all times. Now it was running out 
 of the Pot towards the sea. 
 
 [6i]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 She watched earnestly, then stood eagerly grasp- 
 ing the railing, with her eyes fixed intently on 
 that moving speck. Then a white hand rose 
 for a second from the water, like the flashing 
 of a sea-gull's breast, and waved her a hasty greet- 
 ing. 
 
 ^^Mon Dieii! Mon Dieuf" she murmured, and 
 her heart gave a jump and sent the colour flying to 
 her face. "It is he!" 
 
 She waved her hand in reply, and stood watching 
 him breathlessly, for the Race was strong and full 
 of treachery. But Alain was stronger, since he had 
 got it at its weakest. He came ploughing along, 
 with sweeping side strokes which drove his yellow 
 head triumphantly through the writhing coils, and 
 now and again the wet face turned up for a forward 
 look at the haven ahead. 
 
 She watched him till he breasted through under 
 lee of the uncovered rocks, and then she went in and 
 down the ladders to meet him. By the time she 
 reached the doorway he was climbing the iron 
 rungs, dressed in a thin blue cotton blouse and 
 trousers, both wringing wet through having been 
 worn in a tightly twisted rope round his waist. 
 This time she did not run from him. 
 
 Never had she seen a brighter, handsomer face 
 than the one that rose up at her feet as he grasped 
 the hand-irons and stood in the doorway before her, 
 with the life of the fight still aflame in It, and the 
 
 [62]
 
 LIFE'S CROWN 
 
 long yellow hair streaming over his shoulders; but 
 then she had not seen very many faces. 
 
 And never had Alain seen a face that filled his 
 heart like this one, eager welcome and half-veiled 
 gentle chiding struggling in it for mastery. 
 
 "Oh, you should not have done it!" she said. 
 "You might have been drowned." But no words 
 could gainsay the light of welcome in her eyes. 
 
 "Not at all," he said lightly. "I am at home in 
 the water. We are good friends. It is better than 
 the boat when Cadoual's in it." 
 
 She turned and led the way to the ladder, then 
 stood aside for him to mount first. 
 
 "You are very wet," she said as they came out 
 into the gallery. 
 
 "I will sit in the sun and dry," he laughed. "I 
 am warm enough inside, I assure you, ma'm'selle." 
 And he sat himself down in his old way, with his 
 back against the side of the lantern and his feet 
 through the open railing; and Pippo came and 
 pecked him inquisitively on one side, while Minette 
 minced about him on the other, but declined his 
 invitations to closer greeting on account of his 
 dampness. 
 
 "Why did you bring that man the other day?" 
 asked Barbe presently. 
 
 "I did not bring him. He would come, and I 
 could not stop him without making a quarrel." 
 
 "He came again yesterday." 
 
 [63]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 "I know. I saw him. He was very sulky all 
 night. I do not think he enjoyed himself." 
 
 "I do not like him," she said quietly. "When he 
 looks at me I feel uncomfortable." 
 
 The thought of her discomfort at George's re- 
 gards was distinctly agreeable to him, although he 
 did not like the thought of her being made uncom- 
 fortable. 
 
 "My father is away to the village," she said. 
 
 "I know. I saw him go, and — and — I wanted 
 to see you again, so I came." 
 
 "How did you come?" she asked. 
 
 "Down the cliff, and then crawled along the 
 rocks as far as I could." 
 
 "Down Cap Rebel? Surely never!" and she 
 eyed him anxiously. 
 
 "But yes, truly. It looks impossible from here; 
 but it's easy enough when you're at it. It is full 
 of holes for fingers and toes. I shall go back the 
 same way." 
 
 "It is dangerous," she said, still solicitous on his 
 account. 
 
 "Only in the looks, I assure you. It Is good of 
 you to care, ma'm'selle — Barbe." 
 
 "But of course I care," she said. "What was the 
 good of dragging you out of the Pot if you are go- 
 ing to break yourself to pieces on the rocks?" 
 
 "But I won't, I promise you. It Is quite easy, 
 and one soon gets used to the birds. They get very 
 
 [64]
 
 LIFE'S CROWN 
 
 angry, and they are very stupid, and there are so 
 many of them — clouds and clouds. You don't get 
 any idea of them from here," 
 
 Barbe shook her head once more and said quietly, 
 "I should be sorry if you fell." 
 
 "I won't fall. I shall go back on the first of the 
 flood." 
 
 She nodded and said, "This side of the Pot?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 *'It boils and it boils," said Barbe, looking down 
 askance at the troubled waters. "They say the 
 devil lives there." 
 
 At which local monopolisation of the Evil One 
 Alain laughed. 
 
 "All the same," continued Barbe, "if you got in 
 there you would never come out again. You are 
 the only one who ever came out alive." 
 
 "I'll take very good care I never get in again. 
 But I'm glad I got in that time," said he. 
 
 Conversationally it was not, perhaps, very ex- 
 plicit as love-making; but love's fullest expression 
 is not in words, and these were peasants, bound by 
 the shackles of their inheritance. 
 
 The thrill of meeting eyes, the sunny waves of 
 colour that swept across their faces, the softened 
 inflections of their voices, the tumult that shook him 
 when her soft blue skirts swished against him, and 
 the thrill that electrified them both when once their 
 bare feet chanced lightly to touch; these told the 
 
 [65]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 sweet old story plainer than all the words in the 
 world, and spoke of feelings as deep as kings and 
 queens may know. 
 
 "The tide is on the turn, Barbe," said Alain at 
 last as he looked down on the Race. "It is time 
 for me to go." 
 
 "You will have care, Alain?" 
 
 "I will take every care, ma chere. I may come 
 again?" 
 
 "If you will take no harm," she said hesitatingly. 
 "But I shall have fear for you." 
 
 "Then I shall come again to show you it is need- 
 less." 
 
 Their pulses beat furiously as he took her hand, 
 and, with intuition descended from heaven knows 
 where — or perhaps, after all, it was simple inspira- 
 tion — -bent and kissed it with the loving courtesy 
 natural to his race but foreign to the actual soil. 
 
 Barbe's eyes glowed mistily and she swayed 
 slightly as she climbed back up the ladders in the 
 twilight of the shaft. When she came out into the 
 gallery she could hardly see his white body plough- 
 ing through the hesitating bubble of the Race for 
 her streaming eyes. She dropped her head onto 
 her hands on the railing and cried softly, "Mon 
 Dieii, mon Dieu, have care of him! Holy Mary, 
 watch over him!" 
 
 For all the past was past, and heaven and earth 
 were new created for her in this glowing hour. A 
 
 [66}
 
 LIFE'S CROWN 
 
 glory had come into her Hfe which passed her 
 knowledge. Her heart, swept bare with sweet, 
 delicious fires, was clothed anew in tints of sunset 
 and of dawn. Heaven itself could hold no more 
 for her than the perfect consummation of that 
 which was in her now. After nineteen years of 
 nature, and a very deep love for it, she had 
 awakened at last to the knowledge that the love of 
 one man is worth all the world, and more. She 
 knew that Alain Carbonec was all heaven and earth 
 to her, and she knew that Alain loved her. 
 
 When her father came home she did not tell him 
 that Alain had been there. 
 
 [67]
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 love's waterway 
 
 IN the boat the two men got along without any 
 visible quarrel ; but there was a coolness be- 
 tween them which did not make for com- 
 fort. 
 Alain, in the knowledge that the prize was his, 
 bore Cadoual's humours with the utmost equanim- 
 ity. Cadoual, knowing only that his own frequent 
 visits to the Light had not advanced him one step 
 in Barbe's regards, grew more sulky and gloomy 
 after each one. 
 
 So far as he knew, the course was clear for him. 
 Alain was evidently not inclined to follow the mat- 
 ter up on his own account. That first visit had, 
 doubtless, been dictated by feelings of gratitude 
 towards Pierre and Barbe for their care of him in 
 his time of need, though it did seem almost impossi- 
 ble that any man with blood in his veins could have 
 lived near Barbe Carcassone for a week and not 
 been fired by her as he himself was. For she was as 
 different from the Plenevec girls, and indeed from 
 any girl he had ever come in contact with, as — well, 
 as a Plenevec lugger was from one of the trim Eng- 
 lish yachts which sometimes put into Morlaix. 
 
 [68]
 
 LOVE'S WATERWAY 
 
 Alain, of course, might have other ties in his own 
 country. He never spoke of Barbe, and main- 
 tained an obstinate silence when any one else did so. 
 In fact, Cadoual came to believe that Alain was 
 naturally of a silent and stolid disposition, so little 
 did he speak at all. But he showed himself a first- 
 rate sailor and a lucky fisherman. So George was 
 satisfied with his bargain, and congratulated him- 
 self, and to that extent with reason. He had not 
 so far heard of Alain's Leandrine visits to the 
 Light. He himself went across at least once a 
 week, and sat smoking gloomily with Pierre, and 
 devouring Barbe with eyes of smouldering fire 
 whenever she put in an appearance, but made no 
 headway with her. 
 
 And once in each week Alain set the white clouds 
 of Cap Rebel whirling and shrieking with anger 
 as he clambered down the stark face of the cliff, and 
 boldly breasted the slack of the Race, after his 
 heart's desire. From her coign of vantage, with 
 anxious eyes and compressed lips and white-fingered 
 grip of the gallery rail, as though thereby to lift 
 him clear of all dangers, Barbe watched him from 
 the moment he appeared on the cliff till he drew in 
 towards the uncovered rocks below her; and if she 
 said no word, her heart was big with prayers for 
 his safety. Then, as his white arm shot up over 
 the ledge and he hung panting, she ran down the 
 ladders and met him in the doorway. 
 
 [69]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 There was no disguisement of their feelings; 
 such things come not of nature. 
 
 "Thou hast risked it again?" was her greeting on 
 his second coming, and all unconsciously she 
 dropped into that tenderer form of speech in which 
 she conversed with him in her thoughts. 
 
 "It is a small price to pay for sight of thee, dear- 
 est;" and holding both her warm hands in his sod- 
 dened ones — while her hot pulses beat through into 
 his and filled him with new fire — he drew her to him 
 and kissed her on the lips. 
 
 "I am always fearful for thee, Alain," murmured 
 the quivering red lips. And he kissed them again 
 to take away her fears. 
 
 "If thou hast never more to fear for me than 
 that, little one, it shall be well with us." 
 
 "Thou hast made me as wet as thyself," she said, 
 with a joyous laugh. 
 
 "I would I could dry thee with kisses;" and they 
 went up the ladders to dry themselves in the more 
 effectual kisses of the sun. 
 
 Of deliberate intent he chose to come when her 
 father was away. Not that he had any grounds to 
 fear denial or objection from the old man; simply 
 that his whole nature craved Barbe — Barbe herself 
 for herself. When Pierre was there Barbe was 
 simply Pierre's daughter, and of necessity his pres- 
 ence was a check to the freedom of their inter- 
 course. 
 
 [70]
 
 LOVE'S WATERWAY 
 
 So with every meeting their hearts were knit 
 closer and closer, till to sunder them would have 
 meant a rending and tearing of the very fibres of 
 their being, and that last desperate agony which 
 the world calls heart-break. 
 
 [71]
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 ''where thou goest'^ 
 
 S time passed, and George Cadoual 
 found that all his attempts in that di- 
 rection did not advance him one step 
 in Barbe's good graces, his ill-humour 
 developed to such an extent as to make him some- 
 what difficult to live with, whether on land or sea. 
 At home they bore with him as best they could, 
 since they had to. His mother, virago as she was 
 to all the rest of the world, had always consistently 
 given in to him. The spoiled boy had developed 
 into the hectoring man, who suffered no will but his 
 own, and made life unbearable to those who op- 
 posed it. He interfered but little, as a rule, with 
 the management of the farm, since his mother had 
 taken that upon her much more capable shoulders. 
 The brunt of his evil temper fell, therefore, upon 
 herself, and she reaped as she had sown. 
 
 Now, at odds with himself and the world in gen- 
 eral because Barbe Carcassone declined to look — 
 much less to smile — upon him, he vented his hu- 
 mour on all and sundry, and the Cadoual house was 
 full of fault-findings and recriminations, and be- 
 came a most unpleasant place to dwell in. 
 
 [72]
 
 "WHERE THOU GOEST" 
 
 When his mother endeavoured to find out what 
 the trouble was he curtly told her to mind her own 
 affairs. Instead, she went down to the village to 
 learn if she could what girl was at the bottom of it 
 all. There she heard of George's frequent visits 
 to the Light, and had no difficulty in putting two 
 and two together. She had only once seen Barbe, 
 and that many years ago. It was not surprising, 
 therefore, that she came short of a clear understand- 
 ing of her son's feelings. 
 
 One night when he was behaving even more un- 
 pleasantly than usual, she unwisely slacked her own 
 loose grip of the family temper and twitted him 
 with his trouble. 
 
 "So it is that bare-headed girl of Grand Bayou 
 that is twisting you all awry," she said bitterly. 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked George blackly. 
 
 "It is the talk of the village," replied madame 
 scornfully. "Every week you go there, and each 
 time you come back like a whipped dog.'* 
 
 "Thousand thunders! Let me meet the man 
 who says so." 
 
 "It's the women," laughed madame. "Trust 
 the women to know when a man's making a fool of 
 himself." 
 
 " the women !" said George. 
 
 "Don't throw yourself away on a girl like that, 
 my boy. She comes of bad stock. Her mother ran 
 away, and her father murdered her for it." 
 
 [73]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 "I know all that without your telling me." 
 
 "There's Marie Chanoine up at La Vallaye will 
 take you like a shot, and she with a dowry of fifty 
 thousand francs at the least." 
 
 "And a crooked eye and one leg shorter than the 
 other! Merci!" said George. "You have never 
 seen La Carcassone or you wouldn't speak of Marie 
 Chanoine." 
 
 "I've seen her once, and that was quite enough. 
 I never want to set eyes on her again." 
 
 "You'll see enough of her if I can bring it 
 about." 
 
 "You would marry her?" 
 
 "I intend to." 
 
 *'A la bonheur! But it takes two to make a bar- 
 gain, and she wants none of it, they say." 
 
 "They do, do they? Eh bien, we'll see! If I 
 hear them say it I'll stuff their teeth down their 
 throats, and you can tell them so;" and he slouched 
 down to Mere Buvel's to hear if any one was say- 
 ing anything of that particular kind at the moment. 
 
 As luck would have it he had been the subject of 
 conversation. 
 
 ^'Tiens, George ! Is it true that Alain Carbonec 
 swims out from Rebel point to Grand Bayou Light 
 every week to see Pierre's girl?" asked one. 
 
 "I didn't say every week," interrupted another. 
 "I said I'd seen him do it once." 
 
 "And when was that?" asked George; and they 
 
 [74]
 
 **WHERE THOU GOEST" 
 
 saw that his face was the colour of lead, so difficult 
 did he find it to hold himself in. 
 
 "This afternoon." 
 
 "You're a fool, Ve Vallek," said George, "or else 
 you were drunker than usual. Alain has been up 
 at the farm with me all afternoon. Perhaps it was 
 yourself swam out to show ma'm'selle the ugli- 
 est face in Plenevec." 
 
 "Perhaps that was it," grinned Vallek, "and per- 
 haps it wasn't. From all accounts ma'm'selle 
 doesn't find yours to her liking, anyhow." 
 
 The other men dragged them apart before much 
 bodily harm was done, and George drank cognac 
 fine to the others' sloppy cider, chewed his cigarettes 
 to pulp because he couldn't find his mouthpiece 
 — he never could smoke like other men — and 
 carried home with him a blacker mood than he 
 brought. 
 
 He said nothing to Alain, but eyed him viciously 
 out of the corners of his eyes, and thereafter set 
 himself to a cautious observation of his comings and 
 goings. 
 
 And so it came that one afternoon he lay in the 
 gorse on the nearer slope of Cap Rebel and watched 
 Alain plough his way through the Race, saw the 
 gleam of his white body as he climbed up on to the 
 rocks, saw the blue-clad figure mount the iron rungs 
 and meet the waiting figure in the dark doorway. 
 He lay there, watching and cursing, with his heart 
 
 [75]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 like a venomous toad In his tortured body — for he 
 writhed and twisted in agonies of hate and slighted 
 love — till the swimmer came lunging back through 
 the slack of the tide, and then he crept away. If 
 Alain could have seen the vindictive looks shot at 
 him in the dark that night he might have deemed it 
 advisable to avoid turning his back on his partner; 
 but George said no word, and Alain noticed nothing 
 more in him than the sullen moodiness to which he 
 had become accustomed of late, and the cause of 
 which he very well knew. 
 
 Pierre did not go to Plenevec when the usual 
 time came round the following week, and as a 
 consequence Alain did not go to Grand Bayou. 
 
 Barbe missed him. 
 
 She felt certain, too, that her father had learned 
 of his visits, and that trouble would come of it, 
 though the old man never opened his lips on the 
 subject. 
 
 For three days Alain, lying in the fringe on Cap 
 Rebel, waited for the boat to disappear from its 
 hanging beams. But day after day it hung there, a 
 silent barrier between Barbe and himself, till his 
 hungry heart was down at starvation-point, and he 
 determined to face the double event — the angry 
 waters of the Race and possibly an angrier father 
 at the end of them. 
 
 Carcassone met him with well-assumed surprise 
 as he climbed into the doorway. 
 
 [76]
 
 "WHERE THOU GOEST" 
 
 ^^Mon D'leu, mon gars! What is this? Are you 
 shipwrecked again?" 
 
 "Not at all. This is how I prefer to visit you, 
 M. Carcassone, since I have no boat of my own 
 and I do not care for company." 
 
 "It is very kind of you — " began Pierre. 
 
 "Tenez!" Let us understand one another, M. 
 Carcassone. It is Barbe I come to see. I have 
 been before, and I came purposely when you were 
 absent because — well, because it was Barbe I came 
 to see, you understand?" 
 
 "I understand," said Pierre. "But it is to stop. 
 If you come again I shall send Barbe back to the 
 Sisters at St. Pol. She Is too young and under- 
 stands too little of such things to know what is good 
 for her." 
 
 "1 will come when you are here in future If you 
 insist on it." 
 
 "No, mon gars, you will not come at all," said 
 Pierre. 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 "Because I say so, and I am master here." 
 
 "What have you against me, M. Carcassone?" 
 
 "Nothing whatever, mon gars, nor anything for 
 you. Barbe Is too young to know her own mind 
 yet. You also, without doubt." 
 
 "But no. I know my own mind, and I know 
 Barbe's " 
 
 "Bien! Now you know mine also." 
 
 [77]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 "And it is as well you should know ours. We 
 love one another dearly." 
 
 "Tchutt ! You are both too young to know what 
 it means." 
 
 "Nevertheless we know, and nothing you can do 
 will turn us from it." 
 
 "We shall see," said Pierre. 
 
 "MaylseeBarbe?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "But yes!" said a voice at the top of the ladder 
 leading up to the next room. "I am here, Alain," 
 and a pair of sun-browned feet, which shone 
 white in the gleam of the doorway, came twink- 
 ling down the rungs, and Barbe stood beside 
 them. 
 
 "And why should I not see Alain?" she asked 
 angrily of her father. 
 
 '''Eh bien, thou seest him. What more?" growled 
 Pierre. 
 
 "See then, mon pere, I love Alain with all my 
 heart, as he loves me. You cannot divide us, try 
 how you will. It is best for us all that you should 
 not try." 
 
 "Go upstairs!" said her father angrily. 
 
 "No, I won't go upstairs unless Alain comes too. 
 I have heard all you said. You may send me to 
 St. Pol or anywhere else; it will be no use. Alain 
 has my heart and I will not give him up." 
 
 "We shall see," said Pierre. "It is an ill return 
 
 [78]
 
 "WHERE THOU GOEST" 
 
 you make me for saving your life, mon gars," to 
 Alain. 
 
 "You did not," broke in Barbe. "It was I. It 
 was I who swam into the Pot and brought him out. 
 He belongs all to me;" and she stood facing her 
 father all aflame with love and anger. 
 
 "May the good God reward thee, Barbe. I did 
 not know it," said Alain. "I am doubly thine, and 
 nothing shall part us." 
 
 "We shall see," said Pierre once more. "I bid 
 you go, 7non gars, and it will be better that you re- 
 turn no more." 
 
 "I will go," said Alain, "when I have spoken 
 with Barbe. But I will not promise not to return. 
 Gently, my friend!" as Pierre came towards him 
 with black face and clenched fists; "I am strong. 
 I should be sorry to lay finger on Barbe's father; 
 but " 
 
 Pierre thought better of it. ^^Bienf" he said sul- 
 lenly. "You may speak with her. But if you 
 return I will not answer for you." 
 
 " Allans, Barbe !" said Alain, and mounted the 
 ladder, and she followed him. 
 
 "Oh, Alain, it is the beginning of troubles!" 
 sobbed Barbe as they came out on to the gallery. 
 
 "Two stout hearts will beat them, Barbe. And 
 it was thou who swam into the Pot and brought me 
 out that day I Mon Dieu, there was courage if you 
 like!" 
 
 [79]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 "I did not know it was thee, Alain. I swam for 
 a drowning man, and I found thee." 
 
 "And thy man will I be for ever and ever, Barbe. 
 Whatever comes or goes, nothing shall part us;" 
 and he kissed her again and again, mouth and eyes 
 and flaming cheeks, till she put up a little brown 
 hand to restrain him. "Will he send thee away?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "I do not know. He needs me here." 
 
 "If he does I shall follow and find thee. There 
 is nothing but thee to keep me here, and one place 
 is as good as another. But the only place for me is 
 where thou art, Barbe, and there will I be." 
 
 They found it very hard to part that day, for in 
 spite of their brave words their hearts were not 
 without fears for what the future might hold for 
 them. 
 
 It was, indeed, almost as though a corner 
 of the veil had been lifted and a glimpse of the 
 coming shadows vouchsafed to them. 
 
 [80]
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 AN UPHEAVAL 
 
 GEORGE CADOUAL'S next visit to the 
 Light brought him only vexation of 
 spirit and consequent increase of ma- 
 levolence. Pierre received him with 
 gloomy impassivity. Barbe flatly refused to come 
 down out of the lantern. When, in desperation, 
 he plucked up spirit to follow her there she imme- 
 diately descended, and would not throw him so 
 much as a single look, much less a word. 
 
 Pierre had no wish to embroil himself with the 
 wealthiest man in Plenevec — a man, too, who had 
 ample opportunities of damaging one behind one's 
 back, and who would have no hesitation in doing 
 so to further his own ends or pay off his own scores. 
 So he held aloof; and if he derived any enjoyment 
 from the quiet game of hide-and-seek he did not 
 show it. 
 
 He had no desire for Barbe to marry any one. 
 It would bring changes into the level life which for 
 twelve years had amply satisfied him. Still, when 
 she did marry, as he supposed she one day would, 
 he would prefer the man with the money to the 
 
 [8i]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 man without it. So, knowing that George's suit 
 was, for the present at all events, useless, he gave 
 him a free hand; and when George sulkily gave up 
 the chase and dropped into a chair near him, all he 
 said was, "It's no use at present, mon gars. She is 
 crazy for Alain Carbonec." 
 
 "Curse him!" snapped George, and puffed more 
 curses through his smoke. 
 
 That night in the boat he found it difficult to 
 keep his hands oft Alain. A crack over the head 
 while the other bent over to the nets, and it would 
 be done. But — behind that rose two upright posts 
 and a slant-edged knife, and, much as he hated 
 Alain, he had no desire to take his last look through 
 the narrow window on his account. A second dis- 
 appearance from the Cadoual boat would never 
 pass unnoticed; and Alain Carbonec was not like 
 old Jeannot. He was no fool, he did not drink, 
 and he was not the kind of man who tumbled over- 
 board of his own accord. So George gnawed his 
 heart in a silence that was denser and blacker than 
 the night, and thought much; and when a man like 
 George Cadoual thinks much under such conditions, 
 it behooves the man about whom he is thinking to 
 be on his guard. 
 
 If only Cadoual's ill-humour could have con- 
 tented itself with silence and evil thoughts the night 
 might have passed without untoward happening; 
 but the very quietness of Alain's bearing was gall 
 
 [82]
 
 AN UPHEAVAL 
 
 and wormwood to him. All the envy, hatred and 
 malice of his evil nature boiled and seethed within 
 him like the contents of a witch's caldron. 
 
 He kept his tongue within his teeth as long as 
 he could, and then said: 
 
 "So you no longer visit the Light, mon beau?" 
 
 "How then?" asked Alain. 
 
 "The moth no longer goes to its candle?" 
 
 "How's that?" asked Alain imperturbably. 
 
 "Or if it goes it goes secretly, so that it can have 
 its candle all to itself." 
 
 "Who goes by himself chooses his own com- 
 pany," said Alain curtly. 
 
 "It is true, and inflicts it on ma'm'selle also." 
 
 "That's as it may be. Ma'm'selle is her own 
 mistress." 
 
 "As to that," said Cadoual, with a nasty shrug, 
 the flavour of which went into his voice, "you prob- 
 ably know more about it than any one else. I con- 
 fess I have my doubts " 
 
 Then a swinging blow on the side of the head 
 sent him floundering among the fish in the bottom 
 of the boat; and as he scrambled up with his mouth 
 full of fish scales and curses, another stinging blow 
 in the face sent him back again. He sat for a mo- 
 ment, then picked up a heavy stone out of the bal- 
 last and hurled it at Alain's head. 
 
 It was a clear night, with an amazing wealth of 
 stars but no moon. The waves, when they broke 
 
 [83]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 against the side of the boat, or by reason of carrying 
 their heads too high, were shot with phosphorescent 
 gleams. Not a hght to fight by if any choice 
 were left to one: a light, nevertheless, by which 
 stones might be hurled with fair prospect of hit- 
 ting when the object aimed at was only six feet 
 away, and the stones came whizzing at Alain as 
 fast as Cadoual could stoop and fling them. One 
 caught him at last on the shoulder. As he reeled, 
 the boat wobbled to the smack of a wave and he 
 measured his length among the cargo. 
 
 Without rising he flung his body over towards 
 Cadoual m a blind fury, plucked his legs from un- 
 der him before he knew what was coming, and the 
 two men grappled fiercely among the sliddering fish. 
 Cadoual foamed curses and fought anyhow; but 
 the blazing devil that for the moment possessed 
 Alain wasted nothing on words. All it wanted was 
 the feel of Cadoual's throat crumpling under its fin- 
 gers of steel, or the sound of his black head pulping 
 against the side of the boat or the pieces of rock 
 below. 
 
 Alain Carbonec was never nearer murder than 
 he was at that moment. When man and devil come 
 to grips like this, the devil wins the fight and the 
 winner's soul as well. Never was Alain Carbonec's 
 soul in greater peril than when his fingers worked 
 into Cadoual's throat at last, and he felt the mus- 
 cles slipping about under them like a bundle of 
 
 [84]
 
 AN UPHEAVAL 
 
 greasy cords. He was panting through his nos- 
 trils like a bulldog. He threw up his face for air 
 while his fingers' still gripped the other's throat. 
 
 Far away to the east the light on Grand Bayou 
 beat softly in and out like the pulsing of a golden 
 heart. It whispered "Barbe! Barbe! Barbe!" It 
 beat through the whirling red mist that filled his 
 brain to bursting, and his exultant hands reluctantly 
 loosed their grip. 
 
 "Mon D'leii! mon Dieuf" he murmured, aghast 
 at the recognition of that which was in him. And 
 the devil slipped over the gunwale into the black 
 water. 
 
 No word passed between the two men till they 
 had landed in the early morning and had got the 
 fish ashore, washed the nets, and made the boat all 
 ready for the next cruise. Then said Alain quietly: 
 
 "It is better that we part before worse comes 
 of it. There is that between us which makes for 
 trouble. You will get another man, and I will get 
 another place." 
 
 "It is all one," growled Cadoual. "Go where 
 you will." 
 
 "If ever I hear of you saying one word against 
 Ma'm'selle Carcassone I'll shake the life out of you, 
 as I came near to doing last night," said Alain, and 
 walked away home to bed. 
 
 Alain found no difficulty in getting another place. 
 He was recognised as a clever seaman and a lucky 
 
 [85]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 fisherman, and his bright face alone was worth its 
 place in any man's boat; but Cadoual found it no 
 easy matter to make good his loss. He fell back 
 for a time on riff-raff and ne'er-do-weels, which even 
 so small a place as Plenevec could supply, and after 
 a time he laid up his boat and let the fish go in 
 peace. 
 
 For a week Pierre Carcassone had not been 
 ashore, and then Alain discovered that his supplies 
 were being taken out to him by one of the shore 
 boats to save him the necessity of coming for them. 
 
 That day Alain clambered down the side of 
 Cap Rebel and swam out to the Light; but the 
 door was bolted against him, and he could not get 
 in. He climbed the iron rungs and beat on the door 
 with his fists; but he might as well have hammered 
 the side of the lighthouse. So he chose a smooth 
 slab and sat in the sun to warm and dry, and whis- 
 tled gayly to let Barbe know that he was there, and 
 to show Pierre what good spirits he was in. 
 
 "Alain !" dropped softly from the gallery at last, 
 like a voice from heaven, and he jumped up and 
 stood below her. 
 
 "How goes it with thee, Barbe?" 
 
 Her face looked shadowed and downcast from 
 where he stood. He moved farther out, and the 
 shadows lifted somewhat. 
 
 "I am sad for want of thee, Alain. And 
 thou?" 
 
 [86]
 
 AN UPHEAVAL 
 
 "Shall I climb up to thee by the rod?" he said, 
 pointing to the thick rope of twisted copper which 
 ran up the shaft to let the lightning down into the 
 water. 
 
 "Nay, I like thee better at a distance, with a 
 whole neck," she said. 
 
 "I believe it would carry me." 
 
 "If you try I shall go inside." 
 
 "How long is this to go on, Barbe? I am like a 
 starving dog for want of thee." 
 
 "We must wait. Perhaps he will think better of 
 it. I will have nothing to say to George Cadoual 
 — not if he came every day for a hundred years." 
 
 "I have said good-bye to him. He came to look 
 at me as if he would like to knock me on the head. 
 One cannot work with a man who looks at one like 
 that. It is not comfortable." 
 
 "What will you do? You won't go away and 
 leave me all alone, Alain?" 
 
 "I will never go away until I take thee with me, 
 Barbe. I am in Jan Godey's boat, and all goes 
 well. Cadoual is away on a journey, so he will not 
 trouble thee for a time." 
 
 "/)/>« merci! Would he might never return 
 from it !" 
 
 "That is too much to hope for. But if he wor- 
 ries thee I will break his neck if thou sayest the 
 word, dearest." 
 
 So they talked for a time, and Barbe was cheered 
 
 [87]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 by his visit; but as for Alain, he would have given 
 all their words for one sweet kiss. 
 
 Twice again in similar fashion he visited her, and 
 their love but grew the stronger for the scantiness of 
 its nourishment. For love, once firmly rooted, has 
 hidden springs to draw from though all around be 
 drought and desert sand or solid rock and salty sea. 
 
 Then Cadoual returned from his journeying, but 
 met no warmer welcome from Barbe when he 
 rowed out to the Light than he had done before; 
 and yet he seemed satisfied with his visit. 
 
 When Alain scrambled up out of the water two 
 days later he saw with surprise and satisfaction 
 that, for the first time since his interview with 
 Pierre, the door of the Light was open. He needed 
 no invitation, but ran up the rungs and entered. 
 
 Pierre was sitting smoking in the living-room 
 with a face of gloomy intention. He had been 
 waiting for him for the last two days. 
 
 As soon as he saw Alain he called, "Barbe !" and 
 Barbe's voice answered from the room above, and 
 she came slowly down the ladder. At sight of 
 Alain her face flashed into light. She gave a glad 
 cry and ran towards him. 
 
 "It is thou, Alain?" and she glanced with quick 
 surprise at her father, and wondered what it 
 meant. Could the hoped-for time have come so 
 soon? 
 
 Then Pierre raised his hand with a sharp 
 
 [88] ■
 
 AN UPHEAVAL 
 
 "Tenez!" and there was that in his face that chilled 
 their leaping blood and filled them with forebod- 
 ing. He placed a chair in a certain position for 
 Alain, and another not far from it for Barbe, 
 and in a harsh voice said, "Sit!" 
 
 At the word they sat and looked at him in 
 wonder. 
 
 "Now, listen!" he said through his teeth, and 
 inside his sallow cheeks they saw his jaws grinding 
 against one another. "Eighteen years ago that hap- 
 pened which broke my life. I came home from 
 a voyage across seas, and found my home broken 
 up and my wife gone away with another man, one 
 Paul Kervec. I followed them up and found them 
 here. I came in upon them unawares. Kervec sat 
 there, where you sit" — he pointed at Alain. "My 
 wife sat there, where you sit" — he pointed at 
 Barbe. 
 
 They both sat staring at him in wide-eyed won- 
 der, which changed instantly to horror. 
 
 "Kervec I stabbed before he could rise. He fell 
 on the floor in a heap just there where you sit. 
 My wife tried to get to the ladder, but I caught her 
 by the hair and pulled her back. She begged for 
 her life; but it was past that, and I killed her there 
 in the corner behind the ladder. Upstairs were 
 their two children, a boy and a girl. I was tempted 
 to kill them, too, but I did not. I tended the light 
 that night, and next morning carried the children 
 
 [89]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 to Plenevec, and gave myself up. They under- 
 stood my reasons, and that I could not have done 
 otherwise. The girl was taken by the Sisters of 
 the Sacred Heart at St. Pol; the boy was taken away 
 to Plougastel by a sister of Kervec's, and brought 
 up there under her own name of Carbonec. You 
 are the boy," to Alain, who sprang out of his chair 
 in a fury of amazement; "and you," to Barbe, who 
 sat white and trembling, "are the girl. Now — you 
 see " 
 
 "It is a lie !" foamed Alain ; "a lie !— a He !" 
 
 "Ask your aunt at Plougastel," said the old man 
 grimly. 
 
 "I will ask her, and then I will cram it down your 
 throat " 
 
 "Bienf Ask her first." 
 
 "I have kept my hands off you because you 
 were — because I believed you to be Barbe's 
 father. If you are not, then — " And he seemed 
 like to spring on the old man and shake the life out 
 of him. 
 
 "Eh bien!" said Pierre, backing away, "I have 
 behaved like one to her, and it will not help you 
 to kill me." 
 
 "Oh, Alain, Alain!" wailed Barbe, who had sat 
 stunned by the blow. "Is it possible? Is it 
 possible?" 
 
 "No, it is not possible," stormed Alain. "It is a 
 vile lie coined by that — man, to part us, Barbe. 
 
 [90]
 
 AN UPHEAVAL 
 
 Sister of mine thou art not, I swear, for I love thee 
 as never brother loved sister since the world be- 
 gan. 
 
 "And it is not as a brother that I love thee, 
 Alain." 
 
 "Mon Dieii! no, I should hope not. Do not 
 believ^e it, Barbe. It is all a lie." And then, as 
 the thought suddenly struck him: "But, Dieu-de- 
 Dieii! if thou art my sister, Barbe, then it is I who 
 should hav^e the care of thee, and he has no claim on 
 thee. Come with me, dear one, and I will care for 
 thee." 
 
 For a moment they all three stood stock-still star- 
 ing at one another: Barbe with a sudden light of 
 hope fulfilled in her eyes; Alain flaming with love 
 and wrath; Pierre caught in his own toils, for, in 
 spite of all his thinking, he had not thought of this. 
 
 "Run up and get your things, Barbe, and I will 
 drop the boat," said Alain. 
 
 "No!" cried Pierre. "You are at all events my 
 daughter by adoption. You shall not go;" and he 
 moved towards the ladder, as though to stop her. 
 
 "You !" shouted Alain, swinging up a chair by 
 the back. "You are finished. You have made 
 enough trouble in the world. One little bit more 
 and I will send you out of it in pieces;" and he 
 towered above the shrinking man, and seemed dou- 
 ble his usual size, while the other dwindled before 
 him. 
 
 [91]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 "Go, then, Barbe," said Alain. "I will await 
 thee here;" and Barbe's white feet twinkled up into 
 the gloom above. 
 
 She ran up joyfully, all a-quiver with delicious 
 tremors at the thought of going away with Alain. 
 How her heart had ached, till her body ached in 
 sympathy just for the sight of him ! And here she 
 was going away with him — alone with Alain. 
 Glory ! The very thought of it was so upsetting 
 that her head was in a whirl. She could scarcely 
 think what to take and what to leave, and her hands 
 trembled so that they would not answer to her will. 
 
 To go away with Alain ! She hung over the 
 black oak chest where her few possessions were 
 kept. She took out one thing after another, and 
 already they looked strange to her from the change 
 that was in herself. Her point of view had altered 
 in the last few minutes. Her life had been over- 
 turned and everything was to begin anew, for was 
 she not going away with Alain? With Alain! 
 
 Then, as the first tumultuous shock of it wore off, 
 and her brain began to work more calmly, her hands 
 clenched themselves tightly on the rim of the oaken 
 chest, and her eyes grew thoughtful — grew fixed 
 and dark with the intensity of her thought. She 
 gazed down into the chest with so fixed and gloomy 
 a stare at last that one might have thought a corpse 
 lay hidden there, and that she had turned up some 
 of its bones. Minette leapt softly into the chest 
 
 [92]
 
 AN UPHEAVAL 
 
 and began daintily poking about to find out what 
 was wrong, and Pippo turned ov^er the things on 
 the floor with his inquisitive beak, and eyed them 
 sagely with his one eye. But Barbe paid no heed 
 to them, and presently she sank down on the floor 
 among her poor little belongings, her head drooped 
 down on to her arms, and she wept stormily though 
 in silence. 
 
 For the realisation of what she had been going to 
 do came suddenly upon her and struck her like a 
 blow. 
 
 Alain's sister ! Never! Her whole being re- 
 volted at the thought. 
 
 Alain's — sister! Moti Dieii! mon Dieu! It could 
 not be. She did not want him as a brother. As 
 everything else, her whole being cried aloud for 
 him. But — his sister! 
 
 She flung the things back into the chest, and got 
 up heavily and went down the ladder. 
 
 The men stood fronting one another in silence. 
 
 "Alain," she whispered, "I cannot. It would be 
 like believing it. It is not possible " 
 
 "But yes, thou shalt come with me, Barbe," he 
 cried, with an angry stamp. "We will prove it a 
 lie; but I cannot leave thee here with him. By his 
 own words I have more right to thee than he. 
 Come, dearest, and I will see to thee." 
 
 He threw his wet arm round her and drew her to 
 the lower ladder. 
 
 [93]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 "But not as thy sister, Alain!" she cried, trem- 
 bling under his arm. 
 
 He bent and kissed her working lips, and show- 
 ered hot kisses on her flaming face. 
 
 "Dost feel like a sister to me?" he said. "Do I 
 kiss thee like a brother?" 
 
 "My man! my man!" she cried, knitting her 
 arms round his neck and straining him to her with 
 all the wild abandonment of her love. 
 
 How often in the coming times their thoughts 
 turned back to that first all-too-brief voyage 
 towards the new life ! For Alain could hardly row 
 for delight of her presence. His blue eyes blazed 
 with rapture on her blushing face, downcast, in spite 
 of the tumultuous joy that was in her, lest there 
 should be any truth in Pierre's revelation. When 
 his gladness bubbled up beyond the power of looks 
 to express, Alain drew his oars up short to the row- 
 locks, and flinging back his yellow locks, he scram- 
 bled precariously over to her, fell on his knees be- 
 fore her and drew her down to him and kissed her 
 passionately. Once, after raining kisses on her face 
 till she covered it with her little brown hands, he 
 bent and wildly kissed her feet till, with a startled 
 exclamation, she drew them up under her short blue 
 skirts. 
 
 "Little sister! little sister!" he laughed with 
 scorn of Pierre and his lies. "I could almost eat 
 thee for very love." 
 
 [94]
 
 AN UPHEAVAL 
 
 "Do not say it, Alain. I will not be thy sister." 
 
 "Not for one moment, beloved. Sisters are 
 
 good, no doubt, though I never had one; but a wife 
 
 is worth them all, and thou shalt be my wife, my 
 
 very own." 
 
 They looked back for a moment at the tall white 
 shaft gleaming cold against a great black rain-cloud 
 that was driving up from the west, then they turned 
 the corner into the bay, where Plenevec lay in front, 
 and Alain rowed swiftly ashore. 
 
 [95]
 
 N 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 HE COMETH NOT 
 
 i 4 n%. "T^^-^E-^^EU! What is this?" 
 
 said the idlers on the shore 
 at Plenevec, as the blunt nose 
 of the lighthouse boat bumped 
 up the shingle. 
 
 "It is Pierre's boat from Grand Bayou," an- 
 swered one. 
 
 "It is Alain run off with old Pierre's daughter," 
 said another. 
 
 "La Carcassone! Tiens, how pretty she is!" 
 
 "What a shame to hide her over there so long!" 
 
 "And where is Cadoual? Where is George? He 
 is missing the treat." 
 
 "Let George look after himself, mon beau. It is 
 the one thing he is good at." 
 
 Alain led Barbe over the unaccustomed shingle 
 to the firmer ground above, and straight along the 
 road to Veuve Pleuret's cottage, where he lived. 
 
 The old lady received them with many exclama- 
 tions of surprise. 
 
 "This is Ma'm'selle Barbe of Grand Bayou. 
 She is to stop here for a few days, Mere Pleuret, 
 
 [96]
 
 HE COMETH NOT 
 
 and you will take care of her. She will sleep In 
 that other bed in your room." 
 
 "Bienf" said Mere Pleuret. If Alain had asked 
 her for her own bed she would have turned out 
 gladly; he was so very like her own boy who was 
 gone. 
 
 "Now I will take back that boat, or the old hunks 
 will be saying I hav^e stolen it," said Alain. "Take 
 as good care of her as if she were your own, Mere 
 Pleuret," he said, and kissed Barbe with control, 
 and in his exuberance kissed the old lady also, which 
 made her eyes swim with pleasure. "In two 
 hours," he said to Barbe, "I will be back, and then 
 we shall see. M. Gaudriol will tell us what is the 
 truth." 
 
 The two women watched him along the road till 
 he turned down the shingle, and then, as they lost 
 sight of him, they looked at one another, and the 
 eyes of both shone softly. 
 
 "A fine lad," said Mere Pleuret, "and a good 
 one, and very like my own that was drowned. You 
 are going to marry?" 
 
 "Yes," said Barbe, full of faith and hope. And 
 the old lady, having no Idea of all that lay behind 
 the pleasant face of things, questioned her discur- 
 sively as to her father, and her life on the Light; 
 and Barbe answered her with simple caution and 
 gave no hint of the actual state of matters. 
 
 If only they had met Sergeant Gaudriol that day, 
 
 [97]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 how differently all might have gone with them, and 
 what heart-breaking times they might have been 
 saved ! But Gaudriol was away at Plouarnec on 
 official business and did not get home till night, and 
 then it was too late. 
 
 The hours passed, the storm of rain swept over 
 them to the thirsty land behind, the sun drew down 
 red and angry towards the rim of the sea, and 
 Barbe Carcassone sat waiting for Alain to come to 
 her. 
 
 She wondered what was keeping him. She 
 wondered how the old man at the Light would 
 get on without her. Mere Pleuret tried to draw 
 her into conversation at times, but as the day wore 
 on Barbe was too full of thought for talking. 
 
 The Light gleamed rosy white, then loomed grey 
 in the eye of the sun with a glimmer of gold at each 
 side, then stood cold and pale like a sheeted ghost; 
 and while she gazed the golden rays burst out from 
 the top so suddenly that she started. She had never 
 seen them from the land before. 
 
 Still Alain did not come. What could be keep- 
 ing him? 
 
 Mere Pleuret set her surprise to many words as 
 she prepared the evening meal; but Barbe sat dumb 
 with anxiety and could eat nothing. 
 
 The night drew on and deepened, and still he did 
 not come. When Mere Pleuret was ready to go to 
 bed she expressed the opinion that Alain had come 
 
 [98]
 
 HE COMETH NOT 
 
 to an untimely end, with the outspoken frankness of 
 one who had already suffered and knew the futility 
 of hope. Then Barbe shut herself in behind the 
 sliding panels of the other box-bed, and sobbed 
 silently because of the exceeding strangeness of 
 everything. 
 
 Fears and forebodings racked her all through 
 the night. She fell into fitful sleep at times, and 
 dreamed horrible dreams and woke up in the cramp- 
 ing agonies of a sorely tried heart. Yet at 
 the core of all her trouble there glowed a tiny 
 gleam of gladness. Alain loved her; she loved 
 Alain. Though all the world cracked and tumbled 
 about her in ruins, as It seemed like doing, that was 
 one thing to cling to and hold by, and she would 
 never let go of it. She told herself hopefully that 
 Alain would come in the morning, and then prayed 
 earnestly, pitifully, that it might be so. 
 
 She said to herself that no harm could come to 
 one so bold and strong and skilful; but she knew 
 that the sea was stronger still, and still more cun- 
 ning, and that the boldest and bravest go down into 
 it and come back no more. 
 
 Her face was sharpened with anxiety, and her 
 eyes looked larger than ever by reason of the dark 
 circles round them, when she came out into the dawn 
 to look for Alain. The boats were coming in one 
 by one. A wild hope sprang up in her that he had 
 had to go with the rest before he found time to 
 
 [99]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 come and see her again last night. It would not 
 be like him, she thought; but there might be things 
 she did not understand. 
 
 The other girls and women were there awaiting 
 the boats also. They eyed her with curiosity; she 
 had been scarcely more than a name to most of them 
 for so long. They whispered among themselves. 
 They were not openly rude ; but Plenevec had never 
 wasted its time on polishing its manners. 
 
 Barbe, accustomed to the wide solitudes of the 
 Light, was greatly troubled by this sudden concen- 
 tration of observation upon herself. 
 
 She knew not whom to ask about Alain. She felt 
 herself a stranger in a strange country. In spite of 
 her anxiety for information, she was about to flee 
 back to the shelter of Mere Pleuret's shadowy 
 wing when her eye, casting wildly round, fell on 
 a majestic figure in blue and white which had just 
 come along the road and was eyeing her steadfastly. 
 Sergeant Gaudriol had heard of her arrival the 
 night before. He had looked in at Veuve Pleuret's 
 as he passed. He came up to her at once. 
 
 "Tiens, ma'm'selle ! It is good to see you here," 
 he said. 
 
 She looked up into the old grizzled face, and 
 liked it, and knew she could trust him; for, if the 
 official mask was somewhat hard and grim, as be- 
 came the representative of the law, the simple kind- 
 liness of tolerant age looked through the eyes —
 
 HE COMETH NOT 
 
 eyes which had seen so much In their time, and had 
 come now to prefer the brighter side of things, per- 
 haps because they were growing dimmer them- 
 selves. 
 
 "M. Gaudriol?" she gasped. For Alain had 
 spoken to her of the old man, and only last night 
 he had said, "Gaudriol will tell us the truth 
 of it." 
 
 "But yes," said the old man delightedly, "I am 
 Gaudriol. And how do you know me, ma'm'- 
 selle?" 
 
 "I have heard much of you, monsieur, from 
 Alain." 
 
 "Ah, yes, Alain! The fortunate Alain! And 
 where is Alain, ma'm'selle?" 
 
 "But, monsieur, that is what is troubling me. He 
 took the boat back to the Light yesterday after- 
 noon, and he has never returned. And, oh, mon- 
 sieur, I fear for him!" And her hand flew to her 
 heart. 
 
 "He went to the Light yesterday afternoon, and 
 never returned ? Stay, I will inquire down there," 
 and he went crunching down the shingle to the noisy 
 crowd round the boats. 
 
 "Jan Godey, where is Alain Carbonec?" 
 
 "Mon Dietif M. Gaudriol, that is what I would 
 like to know. He never turned up last night, and 
 left me short-handed," grumbled Jan. 
 
 "Who has seen him?" asked the old gendarme. 
 
 [lOl]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 But no one had seen him since they all saw him 
 row out to the Light after bringing ma'm'selle 
 ashore. 
 
 How came ma'm'selle to be ashore? Gaudriol 
 saw at once that the key to the matter probably lay 
 there, and he strode back to Barbe. 
 
 "Why did he bring you ashore, ma'm'selle?" he 
 asked quietly. "What has happened?" He had a 
 dim, far-down fear that the Light might possibly 
 have been the scene of another tragedy not so very 
 different from the one it had witnessed before. 
 
 Barbe hesitated, and Sergeant Gaudriol saw it. 
 
 "Tell me just what happened, my dear," he said. 
 "Tell me everything, or I cannot help you." 
 
 "Oh, I will tell you everything, monsieur!" 
 Alain said you would tell us the truth of it." 
 
 "Bienf" 
 
 "It is this way, monsieur. We love one another, 
 we two, very dearly " 
 
 Gaudriol nodded. 
 
 "And my father — that is, M. Carcassone — he 
 did not want me to marry Alain " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I think he did not want me to leave him alone. 
 He would not let Alain in; but he swam out 
 through the Race many times to see me, and I spoke 
 with him from the gallery. Yesterday he opened 
 the door to Alain ; and when Alain came in he called 
 me down and told us about the — the murders — 
 
 r 102 ]
 
 HE COMETH NOT 
 
 long ago, and he said we were brother and sister, 
 and so we could never marry. But it is not as 
 brother and sister that we love one another, I assure 
 you, monsieur. I would give my life for Alain, 
 and he for me. We did not believe it because we 
 do not feel to one another as brother and sister. 
 But though we did not believe it, Alain said he 
 would not let me stop there. Since he was my 
 brother, he said he had the right to take care of me, 
 and he brought me ashore. Then he took back 
 the boat and would swim to Cap Rebel, as he al- 
 ways did " 
 
 "Mon Dieu! Cap Rebel!" ejaculated Gau- 
 driol. 
 
 "But he had done it so many times, monsieur," 
 she said, with quick anticipation of her own fears, 
 "and he is so strong and bold, and nothing ever 
 happened to him. He said he would be back in 
 two hours. But he has never come." 
 
 The old gendarme's brows knitted into bushes 
 of perplexity, and he thought deeply and quickly. 
 It might only be an accident. Alain might be lying, 
 bruised and broken, somewhere about Cap Rebel. 
 Though, ma foil if it was at the bottom it was little 
 they would ever see of him again, as the tide had 
 come and gone since then. He might have dared 
 the Race once too often, and gone under, strong 
 swimmer though he was. And — and — yes, it 
 would up in spite of him — it might be that either of 
 
 [ 103]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 these things — bad as they were; ay, even though 
 they were final — would be the least of the things 
 that might have happened; for it might be that the 
 men had quarrelled on Alain's return, and that 
 Grand Bayou Light had once more drunk hot 
 blood. 
 
 "Wait you, my dear," he said to Barbe at last, 
 "with Mere Pleuret and keep your heart up. I will 
 go to the Light myself and see if he is there. He 
 might have hurt himself and been unable to come 
 back." 
 
 He spoke hopefully, and she was cheered some- 
 what. 
 
 "And the other matter, M. Gaudriol?" she 
 asked anxiously, and with colour in her cheeks. "It 
 is not true that I am Alain's sister?" 
 
 "I have never heard it said till this moment, my 
 dear, and I do not believe it. When Pierre came 
 across that first morning after — when — you under- 
 stand," he said, with an embarrassed nod — "he car- 
 ried you on one arm and the boy on the other. It 
 is nearly nineteen years ago; but I remember it all 
 very clearly, for it was a terrible affair. He came 
 up to me as I stood just about here where we are 
 standing now, and he told me what he had done; 
 and he said — but yes, I recall it all — he said, 'This 
 is my child, and this is his.' Foilaf" 
 
 "God be thanked!" she said gratefully. "I 
 knew it could not be true. He said it just to part 
 
 [ 104]
 
 HE COMETH NOT 
 
 us. It was not well done; but I would sooner have 
 him for a father than Alain for a brother. You are 
 quite, quite sure, monsieur?" 
 
 "I am quite sure of what he said that day, my 
 child ; but we can make surer still from the records, 
 and I will see to it." 
 
 "I thank you with all my heart," she said; and 
 he gravely saluted her and crunched away down the 
 shingle. 
 
 "Jan Godey, I want to the Light. Who will take 
 me?" 
 
 "Bieft, M. Gaudriol," said Jan obsequiously. 
 "In two minutes I will be ready, if you can put up 
 with the remains of the fishing. There will not be 
 time to wash down." 
 
 "It will do, mon beau." 
 
 And presently M. Gaudriol, having settled him- 
 self comfortably on Jan's coat to save the spick and 
 span of his blue and silver from contamination, and 
 looking somehow monstrously out of place there, 
 the bluff-bowed lugger was running swiftly sea- 
 wards, bearing the Law to the Light. 
 
 "You fear something wrong, M. Gaudriol?" 
 asked Godey, making play with so unique an oppor- 
 tunity of cultivating . friendly relations with the 
 great man. 
 
 "But no, i7ion beau, not at all. But accidents are 
 always possible, and I want to find that boy." 
 
 "A clever lad and a good fisherman," said Jan. 
 
 [105]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 "Cadoual was a fool to lose him. But, ma foil it's 
 not for me to complain." 
 
 The tide was against them; but the wind was 
 fair, and they made a quick run to the Light. The 
 door was open and there was no one in sight. 
 
 "Wait for me," said the gendarme, to Jan's dis- 
 appointment, and began the laborious ascent of the 
 perpendicular rungs. 
 
 It was not the easiest of matters for his stiff joints 
 and harnessed limbs, but he drew himself up into 
 the doorway at last, cocked hat and all, and disap- 
 peared within. It was almost an unknown country 
 to him; for Pierre had never encouraged visitors, 
 and Gaudriol's duty had always lain on solid earth, 
 for which he had many a time devoutly thanked 
 God. He got all he wanted of the sea from the 
 vantage-point of dry land, and he never even 
 walked on the shingle if he could help it. 
 
 He glanced cautiously round the dim interior. 
 He was not without his fears of what he might find 
 there. He had a very definite recollection of what 
 he had once found there; and what had been 
 might be. 
 
 The lower story yielded nothing. He climbed 
 the ladder. Nothing there, and no signs of life 
 above. Up again, and still again, till he stood in 
 the lantern, and passing out to the gallery, he 
 looked down on Jan Godey lying apparently asleep 
 in the idly rocking boat sixty feet below. To all 
 
 [io6]
 
 HE COMETH NOT 
 
 appearances they two had the place entirely to 
 themselves. So down again for more minute re- 
 search, in great relief at finding so far no signs of 
 any tragedy. 
 
 Some one had tended the light all night. The 
 only question with him was whether it was Alain 
 or Pierre, and which of them had murdered the 
 other. 
 
 As he stood in the sleeping-room the rough 
 breathing of a sleeper came to him through the 
 closed panel of one of the bunks. He strode across 
 and laid his hand on it. The answer to his puzzle 
 lay behind it. He hesitated for one second, half 
 dreading what he might find there. Alain? 
 Pierre? In either case trouble. If Alain, then 
 his worst forebodings would be realised. If Pierre, 
 then he would fear much for Alain. 
 
 He gently rolled back the panel — Pierre, sleep- 
 ing the sleep of the just and of the man who has 
 kept watch while the rest of the world slept. 
 
 Sergeant Gaudriol had all his country's belief in 
 the efficacy of the sudden surprise, the unexpected 
 challenge, the endeavour to entrap, the assumption 
 of knowledge, in dealing with a suspect. He laid 
 his hand on Pierre's shoulder. The sleeper's 
 breathing softened, his eyes opened, and he looked 
 vaguely at the grizzled face and the imposing 
 cocked hat bending towards him, 
 
 "Where is Alain Carbonec?" asked Sergeant 
 
 [ 107 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 Gaudriol, and Pierre sat up with a start. Gaudrlol's 
 eyes missed no slightest change in his face. He saw 
 the startled look in the half-awake eyes, and he saw 
 the colour ebb till the face was leaden under its tan. 
 And he said to himself, "Alain is done for, and this 
 man knows." 
 
 And again to Pierre, and more harshly this time, 
 "Where is Alain Carbonec? What have you done 
 with him?" 
 
 And Pierre knew that in the eyes of the law, as 
 represented by Sergeant Gaudriol, he was already 
 condemned unheard. 
 
 "What is it, then?" he growled. "I do not un- 
 derstand." 
 
 "Alain Carbonec is missing. He came here. He 
 never returned. What have you done with him?" 
 
 "But, Sergeant, I know nothing of him. I did 
 not even see him when he came back. We had had 
 a dispute, and I had had enough of him for one day. 
 He left the boat where he found It and went his 
 way." 
 
 "Aye. Where to?" 
 
 "How should I know? I tell you I never even 
 saw him." 
 
 "And no one else has seen him since." 
 
 '^Eh bien, that is not my affair." 
 
 "Have you killed him as you killed his father?" 
 
 "Ah! That's It, Is it? And why should I kill 
 him, Sergeant Gaudriol?" 
 
 [io8]
 
 HE COMETH NOT 
 
 "God knows. Doubtless you hated him because 
 he was his father's son, and still more because he 
 loved your girl, and she him. First you try to part 
 them with lies, and when that failed you make away 
 with the lad." 
 
 "But I tell you I never even saw him. I only 
 knew he had been here by finding the boat in its 
 place." 
 
 "Eh bienf We shall see. If we find him, good. 
 If not " 
 
 "If not you will try to make out that I have 
 made away with him. Eh bien, go ahead ! A man 
 can but die, and I am sick of it all." 
 
 But whatever Sergeant Gaudriol's own suspicions 
 might be, he had nothing beyond them to act upon. 
 Pierre might be telling the truth. Obviously the 
 one thing to be done was to find Alain's body, if 
 that were possible; but he had to acknowledge to 
 himself that the chances of doing so might be small. 
 If Pierre had gone the length of killing him, it was 
 hardly to be expected that he would not have gone 
 the further length of disposing of his body. Cer- 
 tainly on that other occasion he had boldly avowed 
 his crime and accepted the consequences; but then 
 the motives were, from a French point of view, not 
 absolutely inadequate, whereas in this case no court 
 in the country but would exact full payment for the 
 crime, if crime there were. 
 
 The first place to search was Cap Rebel, in case 
 
 [ 109 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 the matter was simply one of accident. So Gau- 
 driol went gingerly down the iron rungs and 
 kicked the rope till Jan Godey woke, and they 
 loosed and went in a wide curve through the run 
 of the Race, and came in under the frowning 
 Head. 
 
 They landedthere and made careful search among 
 the boulders; but their time was short by reason of 
 the rising tide. They embarked again and coasted 
 along close inshore, to and fro, till they had satisfied 
 themselves that Alain's body was not there at all 
 events. Finally, Sergeant Gaudriol reluctantly gave 
 the matter up for the time being, and went home 
 saying to himself that they would have to wait till 
 the sea gave up its secret; for the scour of the Race 
 sooner or later carried most things down to Plene- 
 vec beach. 
 
 He had a faint hope that there might be some 
 news of the missing man at the village, but a sight 
 of Barbe Carcassone's eager face as she ran down 
 the shingle to meet them showed him that the hope 
 was futile. 
 
 The cocked hat wagged mournfully at her. "No 
 news, no trace, no nothing!" he said. "But 
 don't lose heart, my child. He'll turn up all right 
 yet." 
 
 But in his own mind he doubted it, and his tone 
 carried no conviction. And Barbe's heart, which 
 had buoyed itself on the Sergeant, sank hopelessly. 
 
 [no]
 
 HE COMETH NOT 
 
 "He is dead," she cried, "or he would surely 
 have come!" 
 
 "If he is dead some one shall pay for it," said the 
 Sergeant. 
 
 "Ah, it is only Alain I want!" she cried. 
 
 Words are but poor medicine for a stricken soul; 
 and vengeance will not fill the place of one who 
 leaves an empty heart behind." 
 
 iiiij
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 ANOTHER MISSING MAN 
 
 ALL that day, after Sergeant Gaudriol 
 returned from his fruitless errand, 
 Barbe haunted the beach, and the 
 wistful hope died gradually out of 
 her eyes and left in them nothing but despair. 
 
 The other women, with but a dim comprehension 
 of her trouble, offered her rough words of comfort, 
 which comforted her no more than alien words can 
 ever do. The despairing eyes in the dark circles of 
 the eager white face evoked their sympathy and 
 loosed their tongues. A discriminating reserve had 
 no place in the Plenevec character, especially In the 
 gentler — rather let us say the female — sex. They 
 discussed Barbe to her face, and behind her back, 
 long after the feeble lights glimmered In the tiny 
 windows, and doubtless also when the panels of the 
 dark box-beds were slid to. She paid no heed to 
 them, but suffered none the less. 
 
 When night fell she found her way back to Mere 
 Pleuret's cottage, and sat before the white ashes on 
 the hearth, drooping and desolate. 
 
 ''Ma foil He is dead, without doubt," said the
 
 ANOTHER MISSING MAN 
 
 old woman, with the stolid outspokenness of the 
 peasant; "but one must eat all the same." 
 
 She insisted on the girl eating some of the thin 
 soup out of the pot over the fire, and a piece of 
 black bread which tasted to Barbe like ashes from 
 the hearth; and she discoursed reminiscently the 
 while of Alain and her own dead boy, whom he now 
 resembled more than ever. 
 
 Barbe sat there dry-eyed and silent. Fears 
 wrung her heart into silent sobs of prayer to the 
 Mother of Sorrows, whose own heart had been 
 wTung beyond any heart in the world save one. In 
 the shuddering darkness of that day and night she 
 drew very near to that great heart of pity which, 
 by whatever name it be known, is closed to none, 
 and may be reached by many channels. 
 
 She slept little that night, and rose in the morn- 
 ing white and worn and widowed; and when, 
 during the day, Pierre came to the house and bade 
 her come home, she followed him without a word. 
 
 Pierre spoke no word to her as they crossed 
 slowly to the Light. He was in his grimmest hu- 
 mour, for the whisper had gone round Plenevec 
 that Sergeant Gaudriol believed that Alain Carbo- 
 nec had come to his death out there, as his father 
 had done before him, and Plenevec was disposed to 
 consider it not unlikely. They had forgiven Pierre 
 Carcassone one crime because in their judgment he 
 was justified; but this — If it were so — eh bienf you 
 
 [113]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 understand, this is another affair altogether. Such 
 a fine lad was Alain, and the sight of Pierre's face 
 was enough to make you shiver. 
 
 Pierre understood it all perfectly; but he gave 
 them no gratification of a sign of it. He shut 
 his face grimly and spoke no word to any of 
 them. 
 
 They climbed the ladder in silence. In silence 
 Pierre ate the morning meal, and then lay down in 
 his bunk. Barbe climbed up to the lantern and 
 went out on to the gallery and gazed with hopeless 
 longing at Cap Rebel, as if it could have told the 
 secret of Alain's disappearance if only it could have 
 spoken. In her anguish she raised her arms towards 
 the frowning Head, as though invoking its help or 
 its pity, and no prayer is ever lost. 
 
 It was hard at first to settle back into the old 
 routine after so great an upheaval, and with every 
 fibre of her being tight-strung for news of the miss- 
 ing one. Relief came to her by degrees, however, 
 in the common round of her daily tasks, and she 
 slaved over them as never before. The lighthouse 
 rooms were so immaculate that it seemed like dese- 
 cration to use them for the ordinary purposes of life. 
 The reflectors in the lantern suffered such tribula- 
 tion that no shadow of a speck remained upon them. 
 Grand Bayou light shone with a brilliance that 
 evoked half-damnatory eulogiums even in Plenevec. 
 
 "Eh Men! He may kill people, this monster of 
 
 ["4] '
 
 ANOTHER MISSING MAN 
 
 a Pierre ; but he knows how to keep a lighthouse," 
 said they. 
 
 Pierre, however, had Httle to do with it. He was 
 rankhng under the injustice of the general condem- 
 nation of a deed he had not done, and he was sick 
 of it all. He rarely spoke to Barbe, and spent most 
 of his time sulking in his bunk or sitting smoking, 
 with his eyes fixed gloomily on the wall before him. 
 Dieii-de-Dieu! Was it not bad enough to have suf- 
 ferred when that had gone before which justified, 
 and at the same time compensated, the suffering? 
 Now he was suffering without reason. That old 
 fool Gaudriol ought to be drowned. And as for 
 those other fools at Plenevec : let them think what 
 they would; it was all one to him. 
 
 Once only, on the first night of her return, did 
 Barbe speak to him of her own accord. 
 
 He was smoking gloomily before taking his 
 watch up above, when she came silently down the 
 ladder and stood before him. Her face was set like 
 stone. There were even little ridges round the soft 
 mouth showing white through the bloom of the tan. 
 Her eyes burned in their hollows, and her words 
 were the outcome of much anguished thought, 
 
 "Where is Alain?" she asked abruptly. 
 
 "I know nothing of him." 
 
 "He came back here with the boat." 
 
 "I found the boat at the beams. I saw nothing 
 of him." 
 
 [115]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 **If you have killed him I shall kill you If the law 
 does not." 
 
 She said it very quietly, but in Intensity of pur- 
 pose she looked at the moment capable of it. This 
 was not the Barbe he had been accustomed to; but 
 he recognised what was in her as an old acquaint- 
 ance of his own, and he showed no surprise. He 
 even looked at her for a moment with something 
 like approval. 
 
 "I understand," he said. "It is in your blood. 
 But I have no fear of either you or the law, my 
 girl." 
 
 ^^Bienf" said she, "we shall see." 
 
 When he turned in to his bunk at early dawn he 
 left the sliding panel slightly open to show how little 
 effect her threat had on him. 
 
 She was sitting in the gallery that morning, as 
 was her custom when she had finished all her work 
 below, when a boat turned out of the bay and made 
 steadily for the Light. 
 
 It was probably George Cadoual, she thought, 
 and so sat and watched it stolidly and with dis- 
 favour; but a sudden shift of the helm showed 
 her the gaudy plumage of Sergeant Gaudriol 
 in the stern, and she jumped up and clung to 
 the gallery rail with her heart fluttering in her 
 throat. 
 
 News was coming — good or bad — In either case 
 a certain end to uncertainty; and when one's heart 
 
 [ii6]
 
 ANOTHER MISSING MAN 
 
 has really given up hope even the certain worst 
 brings a measure of relief. 
 
 For the time being — as the result of sleepless 
 nights and overstrained nerves and lack of food, 
 for she could not eat — she knew that Alain was 
 dead. If he had been alive he would have come 
 to her. He had not come, therefore he was dead; 
 and here was Sergeant Gaudriol coming with the 
 news. 
 
 She was waiting in the doorway when Jan Godey 
 brought his blunt-nosed boat with a deft sweep up 
 to the gangway; and, when he was satisfied that he 
 could do so without loss of life or dignity, the old 
 gendarme came slowly up the iron ladder, 
 
 *'You have found him?" gasped Barbe. 
 
 "But no, my child, not yet," said Gaudriol kind- 
 ly. "Is Pierre upstairs?" 
 
 "He is sleeping." 
 
 "Good! I will go up. I hke them sleeping;" 
 and he ascended the ladder in front of Barbe. 
 
 Sergeant Gaudriol's mind was in a state of chaos, 
 and he had come to see Pierre in hope of reducing 
 it somewhat. 
 
 George Cadoual had been missing for three days 
 past. Madame Cadoual was in a state of furious 
 distress, and demanded him of Sergeant Gaudriol 
 with tears and invectives, and ceased not day nor 
 night. 
 
 *'Mon Dieuf mon Dieu! What is the good of
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 you, then, you there, If you cannot find me my boy? 
 What in the name of heaven are you here for but to 
 keep things straight? Don't talk to me! Don't 
 talk to me ! Get up and do something, you great 
 padded heap of blue cloth ! Sacre-nom-de-Dieii! 
 Tell me, some one, is it a man, then, that thing in 
 the laced hat that stands mopping and mowing like 
 a gibbering idiot? Oh ! let me get at him — " And 
 so on, and so on, till Gaudriol grew tired of it, and 
 the neighbours dragged Madame Cadoual away, 
 foaming and clawing and fairly off her head. 
 
 The moment he had heard of Cadoual's disap- 
 pearance the Sergeant had set to work searching for 
 clues, and following them up to the best of his 
 power. 
 
 The matter connected itself at once, in his own 
 mind, with the disappearance of Alain Carbonec. 
 That was inevitable, of course; but what the con- 
 nection was he had not so far been able to deter- 
 mine. In the meantime he organised search par- 
 ties and sent them out over the hills and wastes 
 in every direction. 
 
 The community was roused out of its natural sto- 
 lidity by this double disappearance. Mere 
 Buvel drove a roaring trade each night, and the dis- 
 cussions that went on round her trestle tables were 
 listened to by the old Sergeant with keen attention 
 in hopes of finding a grain or two of corn among 
 the windy chaff; but he heard very little that 
 
 [ii8]
 
 ANOTHER MISSING MAN 
 
 was not familiar to him. Cadoual and Alain had 
 quarrelled and separated, and it was freely stated 
 that they had quarrelled over Barbe Carcassone. 
 Cadoual had gone away on a journey. On his re- 
 turn he had gone out to the Light, as he had been 
 in the habit of doing. Then had come the quarrel 
 between Alain and Pierre, which resulted in Alain 
 bringing Barbe across to Plenevec. Alain took the 
 lighthouse boat back, and no one had set eyes on 
 him again. That same day George Cadoual had 
 started off to visit Landroel on business, but had 
 never arrived there — or anywhere else in the neigh- 
 bourhood so far as could be ascertained. 
 
 Gaudriol listened to it all as it tossed about like 
 a thinning bundle of hay, among the smoke and the 
 damp mugs of cider, and he racked his brains for 
 the meaning of it. 
 
 He had been certain in his own mind that Pierre 
 Carcassone had made away with Alain. Was 
 Cadoual also In that matter perchance? Had 
 Pierre and Cadoual joined hands to get rid of 
 Alain, and then had Cadoual — infinitely the weaker 
 mind of the two — fled the country ? Or had Pierre 
 made away with Cadoual also? And for what rea- 
 son? To rid himself of an accomplice? It was 
 possible. In fact, anything was possible with Pierre 
 Carcassone, 
 
 George's boat, however, was drawn up high and 
 dry on the beach, and no other boat was missing; 
 
 ["9]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 but, of course, Pierre might have taken him across 
 from the Head in the lighthouse boat. 
 
 Then, as the result of one of Madame Cadoual's 
 tempestuous visits, he extracted from her with in- 
 finite difficulty the fact that when George had been 
 away that other week he had been to Brest. That 
 set the Sergeant's ideas churning again. 
 
 Cadoual had been to Brest. Brest is just across 
 the water from Plougastel, where Alain's boyhood 
 had been spent. On his return he goes at once to 
 see Pierre. Then comes Pierre's announcement to 
 Alain that he is Paul Kervec's son, and his attempt 
 to separate Alain and Barbe by the declaration that 
 they are brother and sister. It was obvious that 
 the information as to Alain's identity had been 
 given to Pierre by George. Alain might have dis- 
 covered that, and 
 
 Yes, that was possible, but not like Alain. Still, 
 he was a hot-headed boy, and there was no know- 
 ing. A hasty blow following hot on provocation, 
 and two lives may be wrecked in a moment — ay, 
 three; and the thought of Barbe's suffering lay 
 heavily on the old man's heart, for her beauty and 
 her distress had touched him greatly. But there — 
 given three angry men with love and hate thrown 
 in among them, and the possibilities were endless. 
 All the same, he would not believe that of Alain 
 till he had more to go upon than a remote possi- 
 bility. 
 
 [ 120]
 
 ANOTHER MISSING MAN 
 
 It was in this frame of mind that he climbed 
 the ladder to Pierre's room, with Barbe at his 
 heels. 
 
 Pierre was snoring peacefully, as he had been 
 that other morning. 
 
 "But yes, I hke them asleep," said the Sergeant 
 to himself as he laid his hand on the sleeper's shoul- 
 der; but his remark applied to Pierre as a suspect 
 and not simply as a man, in which capacity he would 
 hardly have claimed a prize for beauty. 
 
 "What, then?" said Pierre, opening his eyes and 
 then sitting up with a jerk, and very wide awake 
 indeed at sight of the Sergeant. "Well, what is it 
 now?" he asked gruffly. "Who have I murdered 
 this time?" 
 
 "George Cadoual is missing," said Gaudriol; 
 and Barbe, behind him, gave a startled jump. 
 "Have you seen anything of him?" He knew 
 by his eyes, before Pierre answered, that he had 
 not. 
 
 "Thousand devils. Sergeant Gaudriol ! Am I 
 accountable for every fool that goes a-missing in 
 Plenevec? I know no more of him than I knew of 
 the other." 
 
 "When did you see Cadoual last?" 
 
 ^^Nom-dt'-Dieuf I do not know," said Pierre, 
 pondering stolidly. "He came and went " 
 
 "Did you see him the day Alain Carbonec was 
 here?" 
 
 [121]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 "I think not." 
 
 "The day before?" 
 
 "Ah, but yes, I remember— 
 
 1) 
 
 "He came to you after he had been to Plougastel 
 and told you what he had learned about Alain. Is 
 it not so?" 
 
 "That's so." 
 
 "And you told Alain how you got that informa- 
 tion?" 
 
 "I think not," said Pierre, still thinking heav- 
 ily. "But la petite was there and heard all that 
 passed." 
 
 "The first time he came, yes. But when he re- 
 turned with the boat?" 
 
 "I never saw him, as I told you already." 
 
 "And you know nothing of Cadoual?" 
 
 "Neither of him nor the other. Par-die! I 
 should not wonder if t'other has killed which. 
 They did not love one another, those two." 
 
 Gaudriol had drawn blank, and he knew it. He 
 turned to go, and met Barbe's anxious look. 
 
 "You have no word of Alain, then, M. Gau- 
 driol?" 
 
 "No word yet, my child; but we do not give up 
 hope. It is all a tangle at present, and I have not 
 found the thread yet; but keep up your heart, 
 my dear. Alain is a fine lad, and I do not fear for 
 him." 
 
 But there was that in the grim old face which 
 
 [ 122]
 
 ANOTHER MISSING MAN 
 
 said differently in spite of himself, and Barbe was 
 not deceived. 
 
 "Tiens done! Have you searched the Head?" 
 said Pierre, as the result of his cogitations. "When 
 he brought back the boat he would swim ashore 
 there, as he always did. It would be a simple mat- 
 ter for the other to drop a rock on his skull as he 
 climbed " 
 
 "I searched there after I left you last time." 
 
 "Ah — ca! He said no more, but seemed satis- 
 fied with his own thoughts on the subject. 
 
 Thereafter, whenever she looked at frowning 
 Cap Rebel, Barbe had terrifying visions of Alain 
 precariously climbing the Head, while George 
 Cadoual bombarded him with rocks from the top. 
 She saw his poor body lying bruised and broken at 
 the foot of the cliffs, till the tide crept up hke a 
 stealthy beast of prey and dragged it silently away. 
 She brooded over the ebbs and flows in case it 
 should be passing, and more than once she sprang 
 up and hung over the railing with fear at her heart, 
 thinking she saw the white face tossing in the boil- 
 ing Pot. 
 
 She passed through many phases during those 
 first dreadful days. Since Gaudriol's visit she no 
 longer suspected Pierre; but, all the same, they 
 rarely spoke to one another. The atmosphere of 
 the Light was grim and dark, but the light itself 
 shone brighter than ever. 
 
 I 123 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 All her suspicions centred now on Cadoiial, and 
 she hated the thought of him. Once only the idea 
 flashed venomously across her mind that Alain had 
 gone away because of Pierre's lying statement con- 
 cerning their relationship; but her heart rejected it 
 instantly, and chased it away whenever it showed 
 head again. For herself she had no doubts about 
 that matter, and Pierre's own words that other 
 night when she threatened to kill him confirmed 
 her in her belief. 
 
 "I understand. It is in your blood," he had 
 said, and she rejoiced that it was Pierre's bad blood 
 that ran in her veins, for she did not want Alain 
 Carbonec for a brother. Truly Pierre's words were 
 translatable in many ways, but her understanding of 
 them held comfort, and she cherished it resolutely 
 and closed her mind to any other. 
 
 By degrees, and broken-heartedly, she took up 
 the old life again — outwardly; but life could never 
 be the same to her, and gladly would she have laid 
 it down. She felt bruised, broken, hopeless, and 
 the thought of the long lonely years that lay before 
 her brought her head to the rail many times a day, 
 and her tears were silent prayers for help and suc- 
 cour. 
 
 Of the possibility of Alain being still alive, and 
 of her ever seeing him again, she gradually gave up 
 hope. Hope dies hard; but there is a point at 
 which the strongest cable snaps, and the time comes 
 
 [ 124]
 
 ANOTHER MISSING MAN 
 
 when the slender threads of hope, which are 
 stronger than any handiwork of man's, reach break- 
 ing-point, too. Alain was dead or she would surely 
 have heard from him, and when he went all her life 
 went with him. 
 
 She drooped like a waterless flower, and all her 
 old interests became as dust and ashes to her. 
 Minette and Pippo wrangled round her in vain. 
 They went to extremest lengths of provocation 
 without evoking so much as a single look from 
 her. The dawns and the sunsets pulsed and burned 
 unheeded, and as yet only pained her with their 
 memories of happier days. The high-piled argo- 
 sies sailed the upper blue in vain for her. Her 
 thoughts no longer freighted them with glowing 
 fancies; and the ever-changing sea below was no 
 longer a friend, but a stealthy and inscrutable foe 
 who perchance held the key to this mystery. At 
 times, as she looked on the smooth, swelling waters 
 through her tears, the thought of seeking rest be- 
 neath them came down upon her and would not be 
 driven off. Could she have been certain that Alain 
 rested there, the temptation might have been too 
 much for her; but the white seeds planted long 
 since by the Sisters at St. Pol were still in her. She 
 had a simple belief in an after-life when this weary 
 one was over, and her heart told her that that was 
 not the way to enter it. 
 
 A time of weary, hopeless desolation, with only 
 
 [■25]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 an eternity of the same In front of her! Verily 
 love and Alain Carbonec seemed to have brought 
 her anything but joy; and yet, deep down in her 
 heart, at times she would cry, "Alain ! Alain !" in a 
 voice that was love itself, though her hand was at 
 her side to still the pain that beat there. 
 
 [126]
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 STRUCK DOWN 
 
 ALAIN CARBONEC, when he parted 
 from Barbe and Veuve Pleuret that 
 afternoon, rowed gayly across to the 
 hghthouse, hauled the boat up to the 
 beams and left it as he had found it. Then he 
 stripped and twisted his blue cotton duds in a rope 
 round his waist, and cast himself into the tide, just 
 as the raincloud burst and whipped the sea all round 
 him till it hissed like a boiling pot. 
 
 He was in the highest of spirits. He did not, 
 indeed, see the end of the matter quite clearly yet; 
 but Barbe was out of Pierre's hands and in his own, 
 which was all to the good. He would see Gaudriol 
 when he got back to the village and get his opinion 
 of this sister-and-brother story — which, for him- 
 self, he did not for one moment believe. Gaudriol 
 would certainly help him, for he had shown his 
 liking in many little ways since he came to Plenevec. 
 How they were to get married without Pierre's con- 
 sent he did not quite see, but they would manage it 
 somehow, and then he would be the happiest man 
 on earth, and Barbe should be the happiest girl. 
 
 [127]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 Dieu-de-Dieii-de-Dieu, how beautiful she was! 
 The blood leaped through his veins at thought of 
 her, and he shot through the waves at double speed 
 because each strong stroke was taking him back to 
 her. 
 
 He scrambled ashore under the frowning head- 
 land, and found his clothes in the nook where he al- 
 ways left them. They were soaked with the rain, 
 but that was a very small matter. In an hour he 
 would be sitting with Barbe before the fire in Mere 
 Pleuret's cottage. He twisted the blue cottons 
 round his neck, since they would not be needed 
 there again, and set off on his precarious climb 
 round the granite shoulder of the cliff. 
 
 It was perilous work, but his fingers and toes 
 found holes and holding, as though by instinct, 
 where holding seemed impossible. The rain hissed 
 on the rocks and beat back in his face. The 
 birds shrieked and whirled around him in a way 
 that would have flung a less hardy climber to his 
 death; but Alain was accustomed to them, and 
 there was that in him now that made him feel as 
 though he had wings himself. He let them scream 
 their fill without hindrance or annoyance, and 
 drew himself up at last among the scant herbage 
 of the cliff-brow, and lay panting his lungs full of 
 it, the smell of it was so sweet after the nauseous 
 passage of the roosting-places. Then he rose and 
 swung down among the great standing-stones that 
 
 [128]
 
 STRUCK DOWN 
 
 the ancients had left, and in among the clumps 
 of prickly gorse by the path his own feet had 
 made. 
 
 Then — as he passed swiftly along, full of Barbe 
 and the gladness of living — a figure rose suddenly 
 behind him out of the shadow of one of the great 
 stones. An arm swung, a ragged piece of rock 
 flew, at so short a range that it was almost a blow 
 and failure was impossible, and Alain lay bleeding 
 in the grass. And George Cadoual bent over him, 
 as Cain bent over his brother Abel. It was the 
 a b c oi murder — the most primitive form of 
 vengeance : the ambush and the stone. 
 
 But Alain was not dead. Cadoual had hardly 
 hoped for so much, and his choice of hiding-place 
 had provided for it. He looked down for a mo- 
 ment at his work: the horrid wound in which the 
 blood welled, and gathered, and trickled down 
 through the yellow hair to the grass, and stained it 
 purple-black for a moment, till the rain washed it 
 off: the slackened limbs, but a moment ago spring- 
 ing with full life. 
 
 Cadoual had no compunctions, however. The 
 man had been in his way. He had to go. He 
 stooped and gripped the body by the shoulders and 
 dragged it out of the path, and along till he came 
 to a burrow hidden by a clump of furze at the foot 
 of one of the stones. He backed into this on his 
 hands and knees, and drew the body in after him 
 
 [ 129]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 bit by bit till it disappeared, as the rabbit disap- 
 pears down the big snake's throat. The shaft 
 widened in its descent. The air grew cool and 
 moist, and at last he stood in the damp darkness of 
 a wide chamber with the body of Alain Carbonec 
 at his feet. 
 
 His work was not done yet: this was only the 
 ante-chamber. He paused for breath, then struck 
 a sulphur match, which gave him the appearance of 
 a corpse looking down at another one. He ht a 
 candle-end and stuck it on a boulder, and quieted 
 his twisting mouth with a cigarette while he rested 
 from his labours. Then he crept up into daylight 
 again to make sure no traces were left there. The 
 rain had already washed away the blood. He 
 picked up Alain's blue stocking-cap and crept back 
 with it in his hand. 
 
 Then he laid hold of the body again, and 
 dragged it with loose-kicking heels over the rough 
 floor to a corner where another dark passage 
 yawned. He went back for the candle, carried 
 it down the passage, and then came back for the 
 body. 
 
 And now he went warily, for there was that 
 hereabouts which might be the death of him. He 
 came to it at last: a fault in the rock, where the 
 bottom of the passage slipped away into darkness. 
 He kicked a stone down. It fell, and no sound 
 came back. He had discovered this place when 
 
 [ 130]
 
 STRUCK DOWN 
 
 he was a boy; it had given him many a nightmare, 
 and he had never been there since. 
 
 Without a moment's hesitation, he pushed the 
 body of Alain Carbonec down into the darkness. 
 Consciously, or with the instinctive grasp that 
 never leaves the sailor till the final grip is 
 loosed, the sliddering hands of the wounded man 
 caught at anything that offered. Cadoual's feet 
 were plucked suddenly from under him, his short- 
 cut shriek echoed along the vaulted passage, and 
 the two men disappeared into the darkness together. 
 
 Up on its ledge in the passage the candle 
 licked its sharp tongue to and fro as though 
 thirsting after knowledge, and burned slowly to 
 its death. 
 
 [131]
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 BURIED 
 
 WHEN Alain came to himself it was 
 to a sense of sickening pain, 
 oppressive darkness, and an 
 odour so evil that he could 
 scarcely breathe. 
 
 He could not remember what had happened, for 
 his head was still humming from Cadoual's blow. 
 
 He could not make out where he was, nor how 
 he came there. 
 
 He had no present inclination to rise and find 
 out; and that was just as well, for, as he discov- 
 ered afterwards, a too enterprising curiosity might 
 have led to a broken neck. 
 
 When he tried to lift his head he turned sick and 
 faint. He was lying on something soft and evil- 
 smelling, and about him there were strange, low 
 sounds; and, though the smell was nauseating, he 
 lay still because nothing else was possible to him. 
 
 He must have lain there in a semi-conscious state, 
 with intervals of sleep which made for healing, for 
 a very long time. The. next thing he was aware of 
 was a ghostly light which glimmered up at him 
 
 [ 132 ]
 
 BURIED 
 
 from below. He rolled over on to his chest and 
 crawled towards it, sneezing and coughing and 
 half-suffocated with the effluvium of his passage. 
 
 The light sifted dimly through a ragged archway 
 of natural rock which lay below him. He dragged 
 himself to it by degrees and warily, for the ground 
 sloped sharply, and he had no idea where he was 
 getting to. Then he pushed his head and shoulders 
 through the opening, and saw a sight that took his 
 breath away. It was as though he had come out 
 suddenly into one of those hidden galleries which 
 run round inside a cathedral just where the tall 
 shafts break into the branches of the roof, and was 
 looking down into the great silent interior; a cav- 
 ern so vast and dim that his eyes could not pene- 
 trate its immensities. 
 
 Strange, tapering columns hung like mighty 
 icicles in the upper darkness, some long, some short. 
 Their spectral white points alone were visible in the 
 dim light, the roof from which they hung was hid- 
 den from him. They were terrible, threatening. 
 He held his breath and waited for them to fall. 
 
 Below him, on his own side of the cave, other 
 similar white columns raised their smooth points, 
 like stricken pines clinging precariously to a steep 
 hill-side. 
 
 Below them was misty darkness which his eyes 
 could not pierce. 
 
 As Alain gazed with wonder and a touch of awe 
 
 [ 133 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 at the vastness and the solemn silence of the place, 
 the light which filtered in through several narrow 
 horizontal slits in the wall opposite to him grew 
 suddenly stronger. It deepened and mellowed till 
 it was pouring through the narrow slits, as through 
 the openings of a Venetian shutter, in slabs of glow- 
 ing gold, moteless and unquivering, majestic in 
 their solidity. They struck the wall above him 
 and crept slowly up towards the roof, and for all 
 too brief a time the upper part of the cavern 
 gleamed and glittered like a treasure-house. 
 
 As a boy he had spent many a day in the caves 
 at Morgat, just across the bay by Cro/on, and their 
 wonders could never be forgotten. But, compared 
 with this, Morgat was a fisherman's hut, and not to 
 be named in the same breath, lest this mighty roof 
 should fall and grind him to powder. 
 
 Far away below him another solid bar of light 
 stretched across to his side of the cavern, like the 
 single beam of a golden bridge. It disappeared as 
 he looked, and in a moment came thrusting in, again 
 and again, as though in vain endeavour to pene- 
 trate the solid rock against which it struck. 
 
 The sun, he knew, must be just dipping into the 
 sea out there. When it was gone the cavern would 
 be in darkness. He drew back into the chamber 
 in which he had been lying, and looked carefully 
 round. Since he had got in, there must be a way 
 out; but it was very dim, and he could see nothing 
 
 [134]
 
 BURIED 
 
 in the nature of an outlet. The thin screen of 
 rock between him and the larger cave glowed with 
 soft veins of colour, red and green and yellow on 
 a ground of tender rose-white. They paled 
 as he looked, with the fading of the light out- 
 side. 
 
 He scrambled through the opening and began 
 to descend the steep rock-wall. It was perilous 
 work, even for a whole head. To a less hardy 
 climber it would have been impossible. The up- 
 standing white pillars helped him. He slipped pre- 
 cariously down from one to another, and they were 
 clammy-cold to his embrace. The narrow golden 
 bar below was thrusting up to meet him. It 
 stopped and grew ruddy as he neared its glow, and 
 almost at once it began to fade. 
 
 He scrambled on till he leaned, panting, with his 
 back against the rock and his face opposite the open- 
 ing through which the golden shaft came. 
 
 It was a ragged round hole at the end of a cleft 
 like the archer's window in a castle wall, a cleft that 
 widened inwards — a funnel rather, for it seemed to 
 him that its inner opening into the cave was not 
 wider than his head, while the outer hole might be 
 the size of his fist; and where it opened into the cave 
 the rock had fallen away and left an overhanging 
 arch up which he could not swarm. As the golden 
 dazzle flickered and died he saw, as through the 
 small end of a telescope, the rocks of Grand Bayou 
 
 [135]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 and the tall white shaft of the lighthouse. Then 
 a bird waddled across the outer opening and shut 
 it all out. In a moment the obstructor was hustled 
 away by another, and he could again see sea and 
 rocks and sky; and then once more it all disappeared 
 as another plump body filled the hole. He shouted, 
 but the birds were quarrelling too much among 
 themselves to heed so feeble a sound. 
 
 The light within the cavern grew dimmer every 
 moment. His position was one of much discom- 
 fort. Whether he would improve matters by con- 
 tinuing the descent he could not tell; but in any case 
 he could not remain there like a fly on a wall. So, 
 slowly, and with Infinite precaution, he slipped and 
 scrambled downwards, down and still down, till It 
 seemed to him that he must be getting into the bow- 
 els of the earth, and then his feet came suddenly on 
 rocks and he could go no farther. 
 
 Groping with cautious hands and feet, he found a 
 flooring strewn with broken debris from the roof. 
 Now and again he came on the smooth conical 
 pillars, some whole and tapering to a point, some 
 shattered by the falls from above. In the silence 
 he heard the gentle drip, drip of water, and every- 
 thing he touched was cold and clammy. He felt 
 suddenly and strangely tired with his exertions, 
 and became aware of an aching void beneath his 
 belt which surprised him, since he did not know 
 that he had lain unconscious for nearly twenty-four 
 
 [136]
 
 BURIED 
 
 hours up there in the little chamber where the rock- 
 doves nested. 
 
 He wanted food, and he wanted rest. The first 
 he saw no means of obtaining, and his broken head 
 had no suggestions to offer beyond the desirability 
 of lying down again as soon as possible, and keep- 
 ing quiet. 
 
 How came that aching hole in the back of his 
 head? He remembered walking among the ghost- 
 stones on the cliff as he always did. Then had 
 come a crash, and then darkness and the slow 
 awakening amid that evil smell which clung to him 
 still; but where he was, how he came there, and 
 what it all meant, he had not the remotest idea. 
 
 He licked the top of one of the conical pillars to 
 quench his thirst, and when that was licked dry, 
 found another and another. When at last he 
 came upon a hollow which seemed drier than the 
 rest by reason of an overhanging ledge, he crawled 
 in, curled round like a tired dog, and fell asleep 
 again. 
 
 Up to a certain point sleep may take the place of 
 food to a hungry man; but the time comes when 
 the groaning stomach demands food, food, food, 
 and nothing else will satisfy it. Food of some kind 
 it must have, even though the quantity be small and 
 the quality unusual. The philosopher may argue, 
 the Stoic may endure; but sooner or later hunger 
 will bend or break them. Alain was neither 
 
 [ 137]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 philosopher nor Stoic. He was wakened by the 
 lamentations of his empty stomach, and for the time 
 being his whole mind was bent on filling it. 
 
 It was twilight still in the cavern, and that 
 puzzled him at first. He quickly came to learn 
 that it was always twilight there, except during 
 those brief moments when the sinking sun drew 
 level with the infrequent openings. Far above he 
 could dimly see the threatening white pendants 
 which hung from the obscurity of the roof. The 
 little light that trickled in struck full upon them, 
 and in its shifting shadows they seemed to swing 
 slowly to and fro. Whenever he glanced at them 
 they seemed just about to fall, and at first he crept 
 about with bent head and shoulders humped for the 
 crash. But they did not fall, though the ground 
 was strewn with fragments, and in time he grew 
 accustomed to them. Then he became aware of a 
 continuous low murmur up there in the roof: Coo- 
 roo! coo-roo! coo-roo! He knew it too well to be 
 mistaken; and in a moment, with the spur of hun- 
 ger within him, he was scaling the rocky height 
 down which he had come in the sunset. 
 
 He found the ascent much more difficult than 
 the descent had been. The wall rose up before 
 him with little more of a sheer at the base than 
 the lighthouse had; fortunately it was not smooth 
 like the side of the Light. On the contrary, it was 
 like a mat of twisted white ropes hanging down 
 
 [138]
 
 BURIED 
 
 the side of the cave; and again, it was like the cling- 
 ing tendrils of a gigantic creeper laced against the 
 rock, all pure white and slippery with the constant 
 dripping of water from above; and in places it was 
 as though a mountain torrent, flowing down a steep 
 slope, had frozen instantly into solid white rock. 
 
 When he came opposite the hole through which 
 the golden bar had shot, he saw that it was broad 
 day outside; and, since the sun shone full on the 
 Light, he argued that it was still morning. 
 
 While he looked, a broad-based figure came out 
 on the balcony and stood gazing steadfastly 
 towards the cliff, and he knew that Barbe was back 
 at the Light. For the moment he forgot even his 
 hunger, and stood straining eyes and heart through 
 the narrow cleft. She was nearly a mile away, 
 but the air was very clear and the sun shone full 
 upon her. It seemed to him that her face was sad 
 and anxious, and she stood so long, and looked so 
 earnestly at the cliff, that he could almost believe 
 that she knew he was there and could even see him. 
 
 "Barbe ! Barbe !" he cried in his craving for her, 
 and it seemed to him that she heard the cry and 
 raised her arms beseechingly towards him. 
 
 Not until she went inside the lantern, and left 
 the gallery bare and friendless, could he tear him- 
 self from the hole, though his stomach was raven- 
 ing like a winter wolf. As soon as she had gone he 
 set his face to the rock again, and climbed slowly up 
 
 [ 139]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 towards the opening through which he had first 
 looked down into the cavern. 
 
 Hunger and the cooing of the rock-doves pricked 
 him on, and at last he crawled through into the 
 chamber where he had found himself lying when 
 first his senses came to him. The cooing of the 
 doves was all about him. The concentrated smell of 
 their droppings of thousands of years almost suffo- 
 cated him. The nearer birds scurried past him 
 through the opening into the outer cave. He felt 
 quietly about till his knowing fingers lighted on the 
 little round eggs lying in couples in the flat plates of 
 the nests. He felt them till he found one still warm. 
 In a moment its contents were slipping down his 
 watering throat, and the angry ones inside him 
 leaped at their prey and growled over it as loudly 
 as they had growled over the lack of it. Another 
 and another followed till he had eaten his fill. 
 
 Then, to provide himself another meal without 
 that arduous climb, he wriggled out of his jersey, 
 made it into a bag by tying the arms tightly to- 
 gether, and slowly filled it with eggs, which he 
 selected with care and judged by the feel. Then, 
 with his bag in his teeth, he let himself slowly down 
 the slope again. 
 
 He stopped opposite the lookout; but Barbe was 
 not in sight. From the shadow of the Light he 
 judged it to be close on midday. She would be 
 inside preparing breakfast. The climbing had 
 
 [ 140 ]
 
 BURIED 
 
 tired him unwontedly. He said to himself that 
 he would rest awhile, and then, after another meal, 
 he would find the way out of this hole and get home 
 again. 
 
 On the whole he was glad Barbe was back at the 
 Light. She was safe there, at all events, in Pierre's 
 keeping — safer than ashore with George Cadoual 
 prowling about, and no one to look after her but 
 Mere Pleuret. She must, he knew, be sorely per- 
 plexed at his absence; but he would go straight to 
 her the moment he got out. Nom-de-Dieu! How 
 had he ever got in? He thought and thought till 
 his head grew dizzy with thinking, and yielded 
 nothing by way of return. 
 
 Then his thoughts went surging back to that 
 strange statement of Carcassone's that he and Barbe 
 were brother and sister. But he would not have 
 it. He laughed it to scorn, and his laugh rolled 
 up into the roof and echoed there tumultuously till 
 it seemed as though the sound of it would never 
 die away. 
 
 It was still muttering hoarsely in distant hollows 
 when another sound caught his ear — a sound so 
 faint that at first he took it to be but a further 
 freak of the echo. He got up and stood listening 
 intently, every nerve in his body straining towards 
 the farther darkness out of which the sound had 
 seemed to come. For full five minutes he stood 
 as motionless as one of the rock pillars around him, 
 
 [141]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 and stilled his very breathing lest it should come 
 between him and that faint sound again. Unless 
 his ears or some trick of the cavern had deceived 
 him, the sound he had heard was a human voice. 
 Very faint, very far away, maybe, but 
 
 But then, he said to himself, one never knows in 
 a cavern. It might be only the wind fluting in some 
 hollow pipe or setting some nice-poised tongue 
 a-humming. A cavern such as this holds mysteries 
 more than a man can learn in a lifetime ; and he had 
 heard tell of strange and monstrous things that 
 lived in such places — spirits even. Dieu-de-DieuI 
 but he wished he was well out of it! 
 
 He was about satisfied of his mistake, and the 
 keenness of his vigilance was beginning to relax, 
 when the sound came hollowly out of the darkness 
 once more. It was but a groaning breath, a sigh 
 of pain; but it was surely human, and he cried at 
 once, "Who is there?" and started into the darkness 
 in search of it. 
 
 As though in answer to his call the sound came 
 again, and then again. It led him round an angle 
 of the rock, and he stumbled blindly among rough- 
 strewn boulders. He followed the sounds, groping 
 with hand and foot, till at last his retractive fingers 
 lighted with a crinkling chill on the hair of a 
 man's head, and a hollow groan came up out of 
 the darkness. 
 
 "Who is it? Who are you?" he gasped in mor- 
 
 [ 142 ]
 
 BURIED 
 
 tal terror; but another hollow groan was his only 
 answer. 
 
 He bent over the head, and his hands told him 
 that the hair was stiff with blood. It was too dark 
 to see anything, though, on looking back, he could 
 distinguish the dim outline of the rock-buttress, 
 round which he had come, standing out against the 
 glimmer of the larger cavern. His first impulse 
 was to drag the man to the light, such as it 
 was, for he could render him no assistance in the 
 dark. His own safety might depend upon this 
 man, since a man who could get into the cavern 
 would probably know the way out again, though in- 
 deed it was not so with himself. 
 
 Alain put his hands under the man's arms and 
 tried to lift him; but the heavy body hung so 
 brokenly in his hands, and felt so like falling to 
 pieces, and groaned so dolorously, that he was fain 
 to let it lie. He would have given money for a 
 match. His own had been soaked and were use- 
 less, but this man might have some. He bent again 
 and searched in the other's pockets, and found 
 matches, a bundle of cigarettes and some money. 
 
 He knelt down and struck a match and held it 
 close to the man's face to lose no fraction of the 
 short-lived illumination ; and once more the one man 
 looked down at the other in the ghastly, sulphurous 
 glow, like one corpse looking at another. But this 
 time the men's positions were reversed. Half the 
 
 [143]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 match was wasted before the clear flame broke out 
 and Ht up the face of the broken one; and, bruised 
 as it was, clotted with blood, and warped with pain, 
 there was no mistaking it. 
 
 "Cadoual!" and the brief match dropped from 
 Alain's burned fingers. 
 
 The wound in his own head throbbed with sud- 
 den pain as he stooped, and it came upon him, with 
 the startling inconsequence of a flash of lightning 
 at midnight, that there was some connection be- 
 tween his presence there and Cadoual's. The mean- 
 ing of it was beyond him. He understood it no 
 more than the forest trees understand the lightning; 
 but the thought had cleft the darkness and left its 
 mark. 
 
 "Water!" murmured the broken man, and specu- 
 lations as to how he came there and in that condi- 
 tion vanished before his immediate needs. 
 
 Alain struck another precious match in order to 
 learn, if he could, if there was any water obtainable 
 in the immediate neighbourhood; but the light 
 glimmered on the near ragged roof of a tunnel-way, 
 which accounted for its dryness. 
 
 "I will get you water," he said, bending down to 
 Cadoual. 
 
 "Water! water!" came the husky whisper; and 
 Alain started off the way he had come, racking his 
 brains for something to carry the water in when he 
 should have collected it. 
 
 [ 144]
 
 BURIED 
 
 When he had groped his way back to his own 
 lair his hand came upon the bag of eggs. He 
 picked up half a dozen and returned with them to 
 the wounded man, and poured the contents care- 
 fully down his throat. The process was a wasteful 
 one, for Cadoual was barely conscious, and it was 
 too dark to see; but eggs were more plentiful than 
 matches in that place. 
 
 "Water! water!" said Cadoual, with an acces- 
 sion of energy after this meal. 
 
 So Alain gathered up the egg-shells which he had 
 kept for the purpose, and went back once more to 
 his own territory to procure the promised water. 
 
 After some cogitation he saw how to get it; but 
 it would take time and some labour, and Cadoual 
 would have to wait. 
 
 The white side of the cave, up which he had 
 scrambled to get his eggs, was damp with the 
 drippings from the roof. Each drop, no doubt, 
 had its little duty to perform in the slow building 
 of the white columns and mushroom growths and 
 corded muscles of the cave-side. Much of it ran 
 apparently to waste, however, and the white face 
 of the frozen torrent was beaded with moisture, 
 cold and damp to the touch, but almost invisible to 
 the eye. 
 
 But he had noticed an occasional drop slip sud- 
 denly across a smooth slab here and there with the 
 suddenness of a falling star. It might have been 
 
 [145]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 gathering for an hour, a day, a week — he could 
 not tell; but it was water, and water was life. For 
 himself, indeed, he could lick the shorter pillars and 
 the frozen torrent itself, and so keep his thirst 
 within bounds; but that was obviously impossible 
 for the wounded man, and even for himself it lacked 
 the full satisfaction of a flowing drink. 
 
 Back once more round the angle of the cave, 
 where his previous passage had impressed him with 
 the fact that the floor was strewn with sharp granite 
 boulders. He returned with a handful of splinters, 
 and set to work scoring a slanting groove across the 
 bottom of the smoothest damp slab he could find, a 
 tiny runlet for the capture and safe conduct of the 
 rock-sweat into an egg-shell, which he deftly 
 propped with stones where the channel broke the 
 edge of the slab. 
 
 He worked upwards, and when he looked into 
 his egg-shell after an hour's hard scoring, he was 
 cheered by the sight of a few drops of water in the 
 bottom of it. A careful downward sweeping with 
 his hand increased the supply to close on a teaspoon- 
 ful, and he carried it at once to Cadoual, whose 
 groans he had heard at intervals all the time he 
 was working. 
 
 It was no easy matter to get the precious drops 
 into the wounded man's mouth in the opaque dark- 
 ness. He could only feel his way, and every touch 
 of his creeping fingers brought forth fresh groans. 
 
 [146]
 
 BURIED 
 
 At the first taste of the water Cadoual raised his 
 hand eagerly to Increase the supply, and crushed the 
 egg-shell to pieces against his lips. 
 
 ^'Tiens!'! said Alain impatiently. "Now you've 
 done it, and now you'll have to wait till I can get 
 you some more." 
 
 "Water! water!" craved Cadoual, and Alain left 
 him, to tap the rocks wherever a smooth slab offered 
 and an egg-shell could be propped. 
 
 All the time, as he worked, his brain was groping 
 vaguely after the meaning of things: how he came 
 to be there; how Cadoual came to be there; and 
 both more or less damaged, though it was evident 
 that Cadoual's wounds were much more serious 
 than his own. 
 
 It was quite certain he had not wounded Cadoual, 
 for his own recollections left him tramping through 
 the dripping gorse bushes, anxious only to rejoin 
 Barbe as quickly as possible. After that all was 
 blank till he found himself lying in the doves' cham- 
 ber with a broken head and the smells of the ages 
 all about him. Some one had broken his head and 
 conveyed him to the cavern; and some one had ap- 
 parently done the same for Cadoual. If Cadoual 
 had not been there, and in as bad case as himself, 
 or worse, he would have felt sure it was Cadoual's 
 doing, for Cadoual was the only enemy he had. 
 Then he thought suddenly of Pierre Carcassone and 
 the violence of their last meeting, and it seemed to 
 
 [ 147 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 him that Pierre was the most Hkely solution of the 
 puzzle. Pierre was slightly mad; of that he felt 
 sure. What more likely than that, in his desire to 
 keep Barbe to himself, he had hit upon the plan of 
 waylaying them separately, felling them from be- 
 hind, and flinging their bodies into this great grave? 
 
 Ell bienf When one murders a man one should 
 make sure he is dead before burying him. If Pierre 
 could get them into the cave there must naturally 
 be some way out, and the only thing was to find It. 
 A broken head was of no great account, anyway. 
 He was inclined to think Cadoual's injuries went 
 further than that; but he had had no opportunity 
 so far of examining him. The thing to do was to 
 find the way out, and he could not conceal from 
 himself that that might be no easy matter. 
 
 The roof of the cavern gleamed suddenly irides- 
 cent in the rays of the setting sun, and the golden 
 bar came pulsing through the round hole above him, 
 and glowed like a fiery eye on the slabs and whorls 
 of the frozen torrent. He scrambled up at once, 
 with careful avoidance of his egg-shells, to get 
 another look at the outside world, and possibly of 
 Barbe, before the sun sank out of sight. 
 
 The Light stood there with the golden glory 
 streaming round it, and, as he watched, Barbe came 
 slowly round the gallery and stood looking long- 
 ingly towards the clifi^s. He clung there, with his 
 back against the damp white wall, till the sun 
 
 [148]
 
 BURIED 
 
 dipped and the lights faded out of the roof, and the 
 world outside began to grow cold and dark; but 
 until he could no longer distinguish her, Barbe stood 
 looking out towards Cap Rebel, and he knew that 
 she was thinking of him, and wondering why he did 
 not come. 
 
 It was with a choking In the throat, between a 
 sob and a curse at his helplessness, that he let him- 
 self down again to the level. He made another 
 meal off his eggs, and administered another half- 
 dozen to his fellow-prisoner. He also took the 
 opportunity of endeavouring to ascertain the extent 
 of Cadoual's Injuries, and came to the conclusion 
 that at least one arm and one leg were badly broken. 
 What more he could not make out; but, from the 
 man's groans whenever his body was touched, he 
 feared there was damage there of still greater 
 moment. 
 
 The lair Cadoual had chosen was drier than his 
 own, and he lay down beside him to sleep; but the 
 wounded man's groanlngs and his incessant husky 
 demands for water made sleep impossible, and at 
 last Alain crept back to the hole he had occupied on 
 the previous night. He fell asleep to the sound of 
 Cadoual's groans; and when he woke once In the 
 night he heard him groaning still, and in the 
 morning he was still at It. 
 
 The egg-shells he had placed here and there be- 
 low his grooves all contained more or less water. 
 
 [ 149]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 He carried the fullest at once to Cadoiial, and took 
 care this time that it was not wasted. He gave him 
 the last half-dozen eggs, and then climbed the side 
 of the cave for his own breakfast. 
 
 The light was still shining in the lighthouse, and 
 the lighthouse itself gleamed like a pearl against 
 the dark western sky in the purity of the early dawn. 
 Even as he watched, the first rays of the sun flashed 
 in the glass, and the feeble light inside showed no 
 more. While he hung there feasting his eyes on 
 it, and grinding his teeth at his impotence to get 
 at it, Barbe came slowly out of the lantern, leaned 
 over the gallery-rail, and gazed earnestly at the sun 
 and at him. 
 
 "Barbe! Barbe!" he cried, and raised his futile 
 arms towards her, and came near falling headlong 
 down the treacherous slope. 
 
 Not until she went in again did he turn to his 
 climbing, and then he scrambled up resolutely, de- 
 termined to break out of his prison that very day, 
 and follow his heart to Grand Bayou. 
 
 [150]
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 LIFE BELOW GROUND 
 
 THE rock-doves were still abed when Alain 
 crawled into their chamber; but he went 
 so softly, and slid his hand so cautiously 
 among them that even the robbed ones 
 scarcely murmured. In order to carry with him a 
 larger supply he breakfasted on the spot, chipping 
 the eggs against his teeth and sucking down their 
 contents gratefully. 
 
 And as he sat and sucked, a new idea came into 
 his head. He wanted light down below to explore 
 with. Here to his hand was fuel in any quantity. 
 His fingers, as they sought the still-warm eggs, trav- 
 elled lightly over the twigs and dried grasses of the 
 nests, which felt like the top of a haystack. The 
 pungent bed on which he lay was composed of the 
 same, mixed with the droppings of countless gen- 
 erations of birds, layer on layer, from the time of 
 the Flood. The thought of a fire suggested the 
 idea of cooking. In a moment his cunning hand 
 had a bird by the neck, and before it could utter a 
 cry the warm little body was in his bag. He cap- 
 tured four without moving his position, and with 
 
 [151]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 as little disturbance to the rest as came natural 
 to one who had been cragsman before he was sailor. 
 He lay and waited till the birds woke up and flew 
 out for their day's work, and then he set to work 
 himself, scratching out and hurling down the slope 
 great masses of the tightly packed accumulations 
 of the years. The dust came near to smothering 
 him, and the smell to choking him. He sneezed 
 and coughed, and tore and flung, till he could do no 
 more without a rest and a drink, and then he fol- 
 lowed his plunder down the slope. 
 
 The avalanche had polluted all the whiteness of 
 the rock-curtain, all his tiny channels were choked 
 with dirt, and all his egg-shell reservoirs smashed. 
 It did not matter. He would get out of his prison 
 that day. So he sought a clean cone and licked it 
 dry, and then' another and another, till his thirst 
 was quenched. 
 
 Then, taking an armful of fuel and his bag of 
 eatables, he carried them to Cadoual's hollow. 
 There he started a blaze, hedged it round with 
 stones, and in a very few minutes one of the plump 
 little rock-doves was toasting over the red-hot core 
 of the oven. His fuel, so far as it was composed 
 of dried bird-droppings, burned with a dull, 
 smouldering glow and a most villainous odour. 
 When a flat nest of twigs and grass came to hand 
 the flames shot up into a crackling flare, which died 
 all too speedily into the dull-red glow again ; but the 
 
 [152]
 
 LIFE BELOW GROUND 
 
 very sight of fire and the smell of cooking were in- 
 spiriting after a three-days' dietary of raw eggs and 
 calcareous water, and he found himself so ravenous 
 for meat, now that it was in sight, that he could 
 hardly wait till it was properly done. 
 
 The disordered senses of the wounded man 
 seemed to be stirred by these things also. Once, 
 when Alain turned from the fire, he found 
 Cadouai's eye fixed on him with a look which he 
 did not understand till later. 
 
 "Thou !" groaned the wounded man. ^^Dieii! 
 Dieuf" then closed his eyes to shut out the sight, 
 and broke once more and half-unconsciously into 
 his husky murmur for "Water! water!" 
 
 "Have an egg," said Alain, and chipped one 
 and poured it down his throat. "When we've had 
 something to eat I'll see if I can find water. Do 
 you know the way out of this cursed hole?" 
 
 But Cadoual only groaned and closed his eyes the 
 tighter. It was beyond belief and altogether in- 
 tolerable. He had killed this man and flung his 
 body into the bottomless pit, and here was the vic- 
 tim waiting on his murderer, and tending him as if 
 he were his own brother. 
 
 But even that was nothing to the pains he suf- 
 fered. Every bone in his body seemed broken; 
 every attempt at movement was an agony past the 
 bearing; every breath a horror of sharp knives 
 piercing his chest and rending his sides. He 
 
 [153]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 groaned because silent endurance was beyond him. 
 He cried for water because his throat was hard 
 and dry as a board. The bitterness of Hving was 
 so great that death would have been a relief; for it 
 was not to be believed that anything that might 
 come after could be worse than the agonies he was 
 suffering. Nothing that could happen to his soul 
 could equal the tortures of his mangled body. 
 
 Alain divided the rock-dove with his knife, and 
 inserted some choice morsels between the sick man's 
 lips. His grinding teeth sucked them in, but his 
 throat could hardly swallow them. They had no 
 taste to him; but there was nourishment in them 
 all the same. Alain, understanding something of 
 his difficulty, broke another egg down his throat, 
 and he got on better; but he ate mechanically and 
 without enjoyment, and only because nature and 
 hunger were stronger than the feeble will that was 
 in him. The stirrings of life that the food awoke 
 in him served only to increase his sufferings. 
 
 "Water! water!" was his ceaseless murmur. 
 
 As soon as he had sucked the bones of his feast, 
 Alain got up to search for water — and the way out. 
 He flung an armful of fuel on the dying fire and 
 went back into the front cavern. His eyes were 
 becoming accustomed somewhat to the dim light. 
 It was as though a great cathedral were lighted 
 only by a few narrow slits away up In the roof at 
 one end, and as if even those narrow slits were 
 
 [154]
 
 LIFE BELOW GROUND 
 
 shaded by Venetian shutters with the slats turned 
 down. In the other direction the vauhed roof and 
 massive sides melted away into the darkness. He 
 could not tell where the roof and sides ended and 
 the darkness began. They might end abruptly 
 just beyond his sight. They looked as if they might 
 run right into the bowels of the earth. 
 
 He shouted to get some idea of the size of the 
 chamber, and the tumult that followed startled him 
 as it had done when he laughed. The sound seemed 
 as If it would never die away. It bellowed down 
 the vast hollow and rolled among Its hidden arches, 
 and died, and rose like a new voice, and changed 
 its tone and Its key, and started new sets of sounds 
 that buzzed and hummed like ghostly organ pipes. 
 And Alain decided In his own mind that the place 
 he was in was a very large place, and that, unless 
 he hit upon it by chance, his search for the outlet 
 might be a matter of considerable time. 
 
 However, he went to work systematically, carry- 
 ing armfuls of fuel over the rough-strewn floor, 
 past the tunnel where Cadoual lay, to the farthest 
 point from which he could catch the glimmer of the 
 dim light in the outer cavern. The window itself 
 he could not see; but the outline of the great rock- 
 shoulder round which he had turned was faintly 
 silhouetted beyond the twilight beyond, and would 
 always enable him to find his way back. A dull- 
 bronze glow streamed across the cavern from the 
 
 [155]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 fire in Cadoual's tunnel behind the shoulder; but 
 that might die down, and could not be counted on 
 as a landmark. 
 
 Alain lighted a bundle of the slow-burning punk 
 at his fire, carried it to the great pile he had col- 
 lected, and stood back, transfixed at the amazing 
 sight that started up all round him in answer to the 
 flames. Morgat had been the wonder of his boy- 
 hood; but Morgat was a cockle-shell compared with 
 this. Such magnificence of domes and arches and 
 fluted columns had never even entered into his im- 
 agination. Columns that sprang from the floor 
 and reared themselves beyond his sight, smooth 
 and white and regular as the deftest chisel could 
 have made them; columns that hung like gigantic 
 icicles from the darkness of an invisible roof, in 
 awesome sympathy with those that sprouted from 
 the floor to meet them; and it seemed to him that 
 they grew and neared one another as he looked. 
 Some were solid throughout their whole length 
 from floor to upper darkness; some were joined 
 by the narrowest thread, so that the whole upper 
 structure seemed to stand upon a needle-point; and 
 some had not yet met, but were divided by no more 
 than a hand's-breadth. And these were without 
 doubt the most awful to look at; for, their upper 
 lengths being hidden, they seemed to swing in the 
 dancing light and threatened to fall at any moment. 
 
 The side walls here also were clothed with 
 
 [156]
 
 LIFE BELOW GROUND 
 
 strange, wild growths of the same white stone : huge 
 corded mats, festoons of ropes, delicate lacery of 
 creeper and tendril, all interwoven and overlapping 
 in fantastic profusion, all growing downwards out 
 of the upper darkness, and where they reached the 
 floor spreading out over it, as though by the super- 
 incumbent weight, in rolled-up waves and ridges. 
 Here and there the matted growth crept from pil- 
 lar to pillar, and in places the walls broke away and 
 showed great black gaps which doubtless led to 
 other caves. As far as his sight could travel, those 
 wonderful white pillars stood ranged in solemn 
 silence, some in groups and some in stately solitude. 
 He wondered vaguely if his were the first eyes that 
 had ever lighted on them. 
 
 Then, suddenly, as he gazed eagerly round, he 
 was startled by an impression of stealthy flittings 
 among the distant columns; but a moment's obser- 
 vation told him that they were only the shadows 
 of himself and the nearer pillars cast by the fire 
 upon the more distant ones, and he pushed on 
 eagerly to see what more he could before the light 
 died out. 
 
 He went on and on through the pillared aisles 
 till he was brought to a stand before a sight more 
 wonderful than all the rest. From side to side of 
 the cavern ranged a series of narrow columns, for 
 all the world like the great organ pipes in St. Louis 
 at Brest. They were all blood-red, and set so close 
 
 [157]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 together that he could see no way through. He 
 travelled from one side of the cave to the other 
 without finding an opening large enough to squeeze 
 through, but with a growing desire to see what lay 
 beyond. A moment's consideration would have 
 told him that, since the barrier seemed impene- 
 trable, there could be no egress that way; but he 
 did not stop to think of that, and time pressed. 
 
 Passing his hands round one of the lower cones 
 which was not yet fully married to its mate, he 
 pulled with all his strength against it; but It resisted 
 all his efforts. He raised a hand to the pendent 
 pillar above, and It trembled at his touch. A swift 
 pull and a run from under, and it broke off up above 
 with a sharp crack, falling with a crash and strew- 
 ing the ground with splinters, while the columns on 
 either side shivered and hummed in sympathy. 
 
 He crawled over the cone, and found himself In 
 a wide-open space without a pillar in It. The light 
 of the fire behind him set the great organ pipes 
 pulsing red as though they were filled with blood. 
 The echoes of the breaking pillar were still crash- 
 ing in the roof when. In the darkness In front, 
 there came a sudden splash as of falling water. He 
 stopped instantly with a thirst upon him which he 
 had not felt a moment before. He stood listening, 
 with bated breath and craving throat, but heard no 
 sound except the sharp cracks that still rang in the 
 distant hollows of the roof; and yet he could have 
 
 [158]
 
 LIFE BELOW GROUND 
 
 sworn to that sound of falling water, and the sud- 
 den thirst was in him still. 
 
 He pushed on again across a rougher floor. A 
 sudden leap of the flames mirrored the red organ 
 pipes, with bars of fiery gold between them, in a 
 great black pool in front. He ran forward and fell 
 on his knees and drank greedily. The water was 
 sweet and cold, and he was grateful. 
 
 The sudden fading of the light told him he must 
 hurry back; so he drank again, and turned and 
 made his way through the rent In the screen. One 
 of the objects of his search was attained. Here 
 was sweet water in abundance; and, moreover, it 
 was evident that the way out of the cavern did not 
 he in that direction. The fire had sunk into a 
 glowing heap, and he had to make his way back 
 to it with caution, lest a fall against some slender 
 pillar should bring it down upon his head. 
 
 Cadoual was still murmuring huskily for water 
 when Alain came up to him; but he had nothing 
 in which to bring water, and all he could do was to 
 crack a couple of eggs down his throat, and then 
 he went on to bring up a fresh supply of fuel. 
 
 Then he clambered up the slope to get a cheering 
 glimpse of the Light, and his heart leaped at sight 
 of Barbe sitting in the gallery where he had so 
 often sat with her. She stood up suddenly as he 
 looked, and leaned over to watch something; and 
 presently a boat — Jan Godey's boat: he knew it 
 
 [159]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 by the new white patch in the brown lug — floated 
 across the narrow disc of his view and made for the 
 Light. He could distinguish Sergeant Gaudriol's 
 uniform, and he knew that the search was afoot. 
 If only he could have done something — anything — 
 to attract their attention ! But he was as helpless 
 as a man in his coffin, and he ground his teeth and 
 clenched his fists at his impotency. Metres of solid 
 rock lay between him and the face of the cliff, with 
 only that God-given hole as a connecting link. He 
 was very grateful for it, though as yet his gratitude 
 had hardly crystallised into thought, much less into 
 words. His chief feeling was one of regret that 
 the hole was not larger. 
 
 He saw Gaudriol climb like a great blue beetle 
 up the iron ladder, and he saw Barbe waiting to 
 receive him in the doorway. He could not see her 
 face, indeed, but he knew that it was clouded with 
 grief and anxiety. He watched till Gaudriol 
 clambered slowly back into the boat, and the boat 
 skimmed swiftly out of his range. 
 
 [i6o]
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 DEATH BELOW GROUND 
 
 NOW that he had light to work by, Alain 
 determined to see what he could do 
 towards the patching up of Cadoual's 
 injuries. That the man was badly- 
 broken and suffering much pain was beyond ques- 
 tion; but, knowing Cadoual and his upbringing, 
 Alain was by no means certain that these things 
 were quite as bad as they seemed from his expres- 
 sion of them. 
 
 His examination, however, gentle as he tried to 
 make it, evoked such howls from the patient that 
 more than once he stood back and inclined to leave 
 him alone; though leaving him alone meant, at the 
 very least, condemning him to crippledom for life 
 — if he lived. As to this last, Alain could formu- 
 late no opinion. The broken leg and arm he 
 strapped up tightly with strips torn from his own 
 and Cadoual's clothes. The broken head — and 
 it was terribly bruised — he washed and bound up 
 with damp rags carried from the pool beyond the 
 red organ pipes, after he had squeezed a few drops 
 of the water into his patient's mouth. 
 
 [i6i]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 All these things were fairly straightforward, and 
 he accomplished them in spite of Cadoual's protest- 
 ing moans; but when he tried to tackle the dis- 
 organised body he had to confess himself at fault. 
 The slightest examination showed damages which 
 he did not know even how to set about curing. It 
 was a bag of broken bones that lay there, and every 
 touch evoked a scream of agony and a prayer for 
 extinction. 
 
 "Kill me! Kill me! I suffer !" moaned Cadoual 
 whenever he touched him. 
 
 To Alain it seemed, indeed, that his case was 
 hopeless, and that death would be better for him 
 than life; but death was not for him to give. 
 
 He made him a couch of layers of fuel; it was 
 decidedly high-flavoured, but softer to lie on than 
 bare rock. He fed him with eggs and scraps of 
 roasted pigeon. He carried him precarious drops 
 of water from the pool in egg-shells and rags, at 
 cost of much time and labour; for at first he had to 
 light a flare each time he went, but by degrees his 
 eyes and hands and feet grew cunning in the dark, 
 and he learned to grope his way along the cavern- 
 side to the pipes, and then along them to the 
 opening. 
 
 It really seemed as though all he did for Cadoual 
 but served to increase his suffering. Whereas he 
 had moaned before, now he cried aloud in his 
 agony; and Alain came to fear that the food he 
 
 [162]
 
 DEATH BELOW GROUND 
 
 took, while it quickened his vitahty, quickened also 
 his perception of pain. Yet he could not starve 
 the man, nor did he know how to graduate his nour- 
 ishment down to the point of keeping him in a semi- 
 conscious state. So he continued to share his meals 
 with him, and gave him water whenever he had 
 time to go for it; and all the time, no matter what 
 his hands were doing, his brain was busy on the two 
 absorbing questions: how they got there; how they 
 were to get out — and more especially the latter. 
 
 That there must be a way out was obvious since 
 they were there; but the way itself was anything 
 but obvious. Puzzling over it all, he came to the 
 conclusion that since he came to himself up in the 
 rock-doves' nest, that was the way he had got in. 
 The sun was westering, the light in the roof would 
 soon be at its best, and he climbed up again at once 
 to see what he could make of it. But, even when 
 the upper part of the outer cavern was glowing in 
 all the fervour of the sun's last rays, he could make 
 out nothing more in the little side-chamber than 
 that the roof was high above his head and was full 
 of dark shadows. There might, indeed, be open- 
 ings; but, in any case, they were quite beyond his 
 reach. In no little trepidation as to possible conse- 
 quences, both to himself and his larder, he struck a 
 match and held it aloft at arm's-length; but its fee- 
 ble light showed him. nothing miore, and he did not 
 repeat the experiment, for a spark falling on the 
 
 [163]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 tinder below would have brought about a catas- 
 trophe. 
 
 He gathered a fresh supply of eggs and flung 
 down more fuel. The birds had not yet come in 
 to roost, and he preferred to take them as they 
 slept, lest the survivors should take fright and 
 change their nesting-place. 
 
 He was thus thrown back, in his search for an 
 outlet, on the cavern itself, and he promised himself 
 that on the morrow he would try the dark arch- 
 ways of the great cave where the pillars were, and 
 follow up tunnel after tunnel till he struck the right 
 one. 
 
 Meanwhile he kept his spirits up by thinking 
 how much worse things might have been with him. 
 
 Barbe was back at the Light; that was the chief 
 thing. Her fears for him, and her discomfort at 
 his strange absence, would assuredly be great; but 
 the joy of their meeting would wipe all that away. 
 Therein, indeed, he had the advantage over her, 
 since he knew she was safe and well, and she 
 knew only that he had gone away promising to 
 return, and had never come back. But she would 
 never doubt him. Her heart would tell her that 
 if he did not come it was because he could not. 
 
 Then he had food and fire. He had Cadoual 
 also, it is true, and from many points of view could 
 very well have dispensed with him. As a com- 
 panion he was the reverse of cheerful; as an outlet 
 
 [164]
 
 DEATH BELOW GROUND 
 
 for his active sympathies he was unconsciously of 
 service. The child who takes care of a smaller 
 child is bolder than if alone. Quite by himself in 
 that awesome place, Alain's nerves might have got 
 the better of him sooner than they did, for he 
 lacked none of the superstitions of the Breton peas- 
 ant and sailor; but with Cadoual's crying 
 necessities to provide for he was too busy to think 
 about such things a moment sooner than need be, 
 and familiarity with his strange surroundings had 
 time to breed in him a certain sense of security be- 
 fore the testing-time came. 
 
 His day's work had tired him. He made up the 
 fire with a heap of damped punk, shared a dozen 
 eggs with Cadoual, and, by way of payment for his 
 trouble, smoked with vast enjoyment a couple of 
 Cadoual's cigarettes. Then he lay down on a bed 
 of the malodorous fuel which he had arranged for 
 himself in an adjoining tunnel-way, out of direct 
 reach of the sick man's ceaseless meanings, and fell 
 asleep as quickly as if he had been in his own box- 
 bed at Mere Pleuret's. 
 
 He woke in the morning to a sense of change. 
 The cavern re-echoed with strange sounds, and he 
 leaped up to see what was the matter. There was a 
 primary sound of roaring, humming, buzzing, and 
 mingled with it the thunderous blows of a mighty 
 hammer; and these were all repeated in a hundred 
 different ways by every hollow and vibrant thing 
 
 [165]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 in all the vast apartment. In the first obscure mo- 
 ments of his wakening he wondered vaguely if the 
 great red organ pipes were pouring out infernal 
 music. And across it all there drew, every now 
 and again, a great, strange shuddering sob, as 
 though the very earth itself were in travail. 
 
 He ran out to look at Cadoual, and found him 
 dumb through fear or weakness. His eyes were 
 closed, and his face seemed white and pinched in 
 the dull glow of the fire. Alain flung on an armful 
 of fuel and ran towards the front cave where his 
 peep-hole was, and there the roaring was above his 
 head and the flailing of the mighty hammer was 
 under his feet — the solid rock shook with it. 
 
 He climbed to his perch, and a shaft of sweet 
 salt air beat against his face and filled him like 
 wine. The lighthouse was a livid white streak 
 against a grey-black sky, and he could see the foam 
 flying over the lantern. The great Atlantic waves 
 leaped at it, and then came racing for the cHffs and 
 broke on them in thunder; the spray shot up like 
 rockets past his outlook, whistling in at the slats of 
 the window away up in the roof, a good hundred 
 feet above him, and came pattering down upon him 
 like rain. Every pendent slab or cone or tongue 
 that could hum or buzz was humming and 
 buzzing its loudest, and each one passed along the 
 sounds with its own variations to the vibratory 
 points of the inner cavern; and there the echoes 
 
 [i66]
 
 DEATH BELOW GROUND 
 
 picked them up and flung them to and fro in a 
 great mad medley of strident vociferation, the pain- 
 ful striving after utterance of the dumb rocks. 
 And through and over it all that strange gasping 
 sob, as though the earth were in labour. 
 
 He understood all the rest — understood at all 
 events what caused them; but that strange sound, 
 which dominated all except the thunder of the 
 waves on the rocks outside, drew him back into the 
 inner cave, and across it, step by step, among the 
 pillars to the mouth of one of the dark openings. 
 Then, like a cautious man, he went back for a light. 
 
 He could not stop to eat, though the deafening 
 vibration of everything about him set his head spin- 
 ning, and made him feel confused and weak and 
 empty, and very small and feeble. He wanted 
 nothing at the moment but to make certain of the 
 meaning of that great, gurgling sob which shook 
 the air of the inner cave as the great waves shook 
 the walls outside; for, if it was what he thought it 
 was, it might be the way that led to freedom and to 
 Barbe. 
 
 With all the fuel he could carry — and though 
 the smell of it nearly choked him, there was yet 
 a friendly sense of familiarity in it — he made his 
 way towards the sound. It came swelling up from 
 one of the dark archways, and he went cautiously 
 in. The hollow way sloped sharply downwards, 
 and a great indrawing of its breath nearly carried 
 
 [167]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 him off his feet. Then a pause, and the sob came 
 swelling out again and dazed him with its clamour. 
 He felt along by the rough wall till there came a 
 break in it, and he leaned up against the ragged cor- 
 ner till the roar and the swoo-o-o-ok bellowed out 
 of the darkness in front of him. Then he ventured 
 cautiously forward again, for he wanted to save 
 every scrap of his fuel till he came to the sound 
 itself. 
 
 Two more breaks he passed in the wall — side- 
 passages he took them to be, running into or across 
 the one he was in — and the sound grew constantly 
 louder. Then a faint light glowed in front, and he 
 stumbled into a wider space, and met the full breath 
 of that wild roaring, and was drenched with a 
 shower of spray — salt sea spray, that came hurtling 
 and hissing at him as if it had been waiting for him, 
 and spattered on the rocks alongside like bullets. 
 He dropped the useless fuel, and sat down where he 
 was, to watch and gather his wits. 
 
 Below him a great weltering body of water had 
 just sunk almost out of sight down the incline. He 
 heard it writhing and gurgling in the distance, and 
 saw as through a mist the tortured white surface, 
 through which a ghastly dark-green light seemed 
 trying to penetrate. In a moment the irresistible 
 force outside drove it up again, hissing and roaring 
 with the agonies of its passage, till the whole place 
 boiled high with curdled spume, and the spray 
 
 [i68]
 
 DEATH BELOW GROUND 
 
 lashed up to the roof, and the tortured air rushed 
 up the passages and carried the sound of it into the 
 great cavern. Then it sank away out of sight, the 
 spray poured down from the roof, and all the sides 
 of the chamber ran white with streaming lacery, 
 and the air came rushing back out of the cavern. 
 
 He groped to one side and sat with his back 
 against the dripping rock-wall. He had hoped to 
 find the sea, and he had found it; but he feared it 
 was not going to be of much use to him. 
 
 Somewhere out there the great Atlantic rollers 
 were driven in by the western gale; but until the sea 
 calmed down he could not tell whether there was 
 any possibility of his getting out by the way they 
 came in. 
 
 The free, wild rush and roar of it braced him, 
 after the ponderous environment of the cavern, and 
 he sat long enjoying it. It was the sea he loved, 
 or a bit of it; and, even in the agony of its prison- 
 house, it sang to him of wide horizons and the un- 
 walled sweep of waters. 
 
 But these things do not fill an empty stomach, 
 and he got up at last and groped his way back along 
 the sobbing passage to the great cavern, and the 
 fire, and Cadoual. 
 
 The fire had burned low again, and when he flung 
 on more fuel and looked at his patient, it seemed 
 to him that he was in much the same case. So he 
 hastened to serve him with a breakfast of raw eggs, 
 
 [169]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 and promised himself a more nourishing meal as 
 soon as he could get up to the doves' chamber, since 
 the storm would keep them all at home. 
 
 Cadoual's mouth opened mechanically to the 
 taste of food, and as his heavy eyes, all strained 
 and shot with blood, rested on Alain, he murmured, 
 "I suffer! I suffer! Kill me! Kill me ! Oh, tn on 
 Dieu! that I might die." 
 
 "Don't be a fool, man! You know I can't kill 
 you. Take another egg," said Alain brusquely. 
 
 "Kill me! Kill me! I suffer!" moaned Cadoual, 
 and never ceased to beg for death whenever Alain 
 came near him. 
 
 All day long the storm howled and beat and 
 sobbed, and all day long, with all-too-short inter- 
 vals of stupour, Cadoual moaned his impossible 
 prayer. Just at sundown a brief red gleam shot In 
 through Alain's loophole, and the gale seemed to 
 have slackened somewhat; but a glance at the west- 
 ern sky told him it was only a breathing-space, and 
 that there was plenty of more to come. 
 
 In the middle of the night Alain woke with a 
 start and lay listening. 
 
 "Kervec! Kervec! Alain Kervec!" 
 
 It was Cadoual's voice calling him — calling him 
 by the name he was not known by. He sprang 
 up and went round to the dull glow of the fire. 
 Cadoual was sitting up against the rock, a hideous 
 sight. His eyes were starting out of his head. His 
 
 [170]
 
 DEATH BELOW GROUND 
 
 teeth gritted in agony, and there was blood on his 
 lips. His one available hand was clawing the 
 rough rock-wall with a hideous rasping that made 
 Alain's flesh creep. 
 
 "Well, then, what is it?" he asked. 
 
 "Ah, v'lal" snarled Cadoual through his teeth. 
 "I cannot stand it. . . . It stabs into my heart. 
 . . . Death is too long. . . . Give me your knife 
 — your knife!" and his hand reached out towards 
 Alain with clawing fingers. 
 
 "Lie down, my friend, and wait the good God's 
 pleasure," said Alain soothingly. "I will get you 
 water." 
 
 "The knife! I will die — since you will not kill 
 me. . . . The pains of hell — Voyons! you are 
 dead — I killed you — I threw you in here. . . . Do 
 as much for me. Ha, ha ! pretty Barbe — she is not 
 for you — not for you — not for you. You are dead, 
 and it was I that killed you." 
 
 As Alain looked at him, and the wild eyes glared 
 back into his own, it was borne in upon him that 
 this was the truth — that it was by this man's doing 
 that he was parted from Barbe, by this man's hand 
 that he came there — there for all time, perhaps, 
 never to set eyes on Barbe again except through 
 the narrow loophole of the rock. He took an 
 angry step towards Cadoual, and Cadoual's eyes 
 blazed exultantly. 
 
 "Not for you — not for you. She was mine — 
 
 [171]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 mine — mine; and I killed you and dropped you In 
 the hole. You fool — you — " Then he choked 
 with blood, and the coughing seemed to rend him in 
 pieces. He drew his leg up in agony and rolled 
 over on the couch, and Alain thought he was dead. 
 But he found him still breathing; and, picking up 
 half-a-dozen egg-shells, he groped away to the pool 
 for water. 
 
 Cadoual was lying quietly with his eyes closed 
 when he got back. He went up to him and trickled 
 some water into his mouth. Before he knew it, 
 the knife at his belt was plucked from its sheath 
 and plunged into his back. It was a badly aimed 
 blow, and only caught him on the right shoulder- 
 blade; but before he had recovered from the sur- 
 prise of it, Cadoual had plunged the knife into his 
 own throat. 
 
 [ 172]
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 CONCERNING STRANGE MATTERS 
 
 ALAIN CARBONEC'S further experi- 
 ences in the great cave are so very 
 strange that if you ask me if I beheve 
 them myself, I can only reply that I 
 knew the man himself for many years; that he was 
 transparently honest and straightforward; and that, 
 often as I heard him discuss these matters, I never 
 found him. vary in the slightest detail from the 
 account he first gave me. Further, I may state that 
 I submitted his statement to a friend of mine, a 
 very eminent professor of zoology, zoonomy and 
 zootomy, whose reply was a demand to be taken 
 forthwith to that cavern. 
 
 "But," I said, "all I want to know is whether 
 these things are possible, or if they are only the 
 distorted imaginings of an overstrained brain." 
 
 "Possible?" said the Professor with some 
 warmth. "My dear fellow, everything is possible. 
 I know more about these things than any other man 
 this side heaven at the present moment" — the Pro- 
 fessor is not an Englishman, I may say — "and I 
 would like to meet the man who is bold enough to 
 
 [ 173]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 put a limit to the possibilities of Nature. When 
 can we start?" 
 
 I give you Alain's account of what befell him In 
 the great cave under Cap Rebel, just as he gave it 
 to me. 
 
 The wound Cadoual had given him as his final 
 legacy was not dangerous, but extremely painful; 
 and it was so situated that he was unable to treat 
 it as he might have done if it had been in a more 
 accessible place. The knife had ploughed along 
 the right shoulder-blade and gone in somewhat 
 more deeply at the base. He knew that it would 
 shortly stiffen up, and that his arm would probably 
 become too painful to use for a time. So with wise 
 forethought he made his preparations for an off- 
 spell. 
 
 With very great difficulty he climbed the slope 
 to the doves' chamber, filled his bag with eggs, 
 captured half-a-dozen plump little habitants, and 
 scratched down fuel enough to last him many days. 
 He accomplished the descent in safety, and con- 
 veyed his plunder by degrees to the tunnel-way; but 
 the sight of Cadoual's body lying there, and the 
 recollection of the thirst that had tortured him, 
 decided him on making a change. So, In many 
 slow and toilsome journeys, he carried everything 
 he was likely to want through the break in the red 
 organ pipes, into the pillarless hall by the pool. 
 
 [ 174]
 
 CONCERNING STRANGE MATTERS 
 
 He sought out a niche there, and formed camp 
 by starting a fire. Then he bathed his wound as 
 well as he could in the pool, and strapped himself 
 together in a rough way with long strips of his shirt, 
 which was almost in rags from his scrambles up and 
 down the slope. Cadoual had no further need for 
 clothing, so Alain took his things to replenish his 
 own depleted wardrobe. 
 
 As he anticipated, the storm burst again with 
 redoubled fury, and for two days and nights the 
 cavern was filled with the clamour of the labouring 
 rocks. The great red organ pipes, near which he 
 lay, hummed each its own particular note, which 
 rose and fell with the sobbing of the storm through 
 the sea-cave, and the wild medley that filled the air 
 set his brain throbbing till his head seemed like to 
 burst. 
 
 More than once he groped his way to his loop- 
 hole, in spite of bruises and wrenches to the 
 wounded shoulder. But the Light stood stark and 
 lonely, the gallery had no occupant, and all he 
 could see was the low, grey sky, and the wild waste 
 of slate-grey waves racing furiously for the rocks. 
 More than once he breasted and drifted with the 
 rush of air through the funnel to the sink, and sat 
 and watched the tumult down below, anxious now 
 for calm weather so that he might see if perchance 
 salvation lay that way. 
 
 When he passed the old camping-ground on the 
 
 [175]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 second day, on his way to his lookout, he stopped 
 short and rubbed his eyes. Even in this short 
 time his sight had tuned itself somewhat to the 
 twilight of the cavern. But now surely his eyes 
 had played him false, and he groped forward in 
 amazement, and felt all round with his hands to 
 make sure. 
 
 But it was no trick of his eyes. Cadoual's body 
 was gone, and he could see no sign of it anywhere 
 about. 
 
 He leaned up against the rock, panting. The 
 man was surely dead. He was cold and stiff the 
 last time he saw him; but his body was no longer 
 there. There was the couch he had lain on. There 
 were the remains of the fire, and the egg-shells 
 scattered about. No, there was no mistake; and 
 Alain leaned there gazing with wide, startled eyes 
 at the place where Cadoual ought to have been, but 
 was not. 
 
 The superstitions of his race sprang up in him 
 full blown, and flapped their wings about his brain 
 till he grewsick with apprehension. Either Cadoual 
 had come to life again, or the Evil One had come 
 and taken him away. Since he was absolutely cer- 
 tain that Cadoual Avas dead, why — nom-de-Dieu! 
 — it must be the devil; and Alain, with no practical 
 belief in the efficacy of the charm, still crossed 
 himself devoutly as the only possible protection 
 from the powers of darkness. 
 
 [176]
 
 CONCERNING STRANGE MATTERS 
 
 When he got over the shock of it he went his 
 way warily, lest the Evil One should be lying in 
 wait for him too round some dark corner; and 
 when he got back to his fire he piled the fuel high, 
 and sat quaking by it for the rest of the day. 
 
 When he fell asleep at night he woke with a start 
 lest his fire should have gone out; though why fire 
 should be any protection against the devil might 
 have been beyond his powers of explanation. 
 
 Once when he woke thus in the middle of the 
 night he got an impression of stealthy movement 
 out in the darkness beyond, and it set him shiver- 
 ing. He lay grimping to his couch, and listened 
 with every nerve that was in him. The storm had 
 ceased; the rock-voices were dumb once more; the 
 silence of death reigned through all the pillared 
 aisles. When he cautiously fed his fire the flames 
 set shadowy goblins flitting about behind the organ 
 pipes. It was a situation to try even nerves that 
 had known no shocks. 
 
 Surely something moved out beyond there. He 
 sweated cold terrors, and lay low, with bristling 
 hair and creeping back. He dared not sleep, and 
 the night passed slowly, full of vague fears. 
 
 When at last the far-away corner buttress stole 
 silently out of the surrounding darkness and showed 
 faintly against the glimmering twilight behind, he 
 knew that it was day. He breathed a sigh of relief, 
 for the day was not quite as the night, even In 
 
 [ 177]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 that dismal hole, and the night holds terrors when 
 even the day holds no great joys. 
 
 He fed his fire and started off after a further 
 supply of food and fuel. It was very dark in there, 
 but by this time he could find his way in spite of 
 that. He came to the cleft in the organ pipes, and 
 climbed through, with wide side glances for any 
 suspicious flitter among the shadows. Instead of 
 coming down on the rock, his bare foot lighted 
 on something soft and clammy cold. His flesh 
 retracted instinctively and he rolled over headlong. 
 His hand touched the thing that lay there, and in 
 a moment he was up and away among the pillars, 
 gasping with horror, sick with fear. For the thing 
 he had fallen over was Cadoual's body, or he was 
 mad. 
 
 Instinct would have led him to his lair; but 
 that awful thing lay between. He fled straight on 
 as he rose from the ground, and never stopped nor 
 cast a look behind till he had scaled the steep side- 
 wall and lay In the doves' nest, with his heart going 
 like a pump and his brain cracking with amazement 
 and horror. 
 
 It could not be — and yet it was. He had felt it, 
 and he knew. It was long before he found courage 
 even to lift his head and peep fearfully into the 
 cave below. As for going down — so crazy a 
 thought never entered his head. 
 
 It took two full days and nights of close retire- 
 
 [178]
 
 CONCERNING STRANGE MATTERS 
 
 ment, the absorption of many eggs — which fortu- 
 nately served for drink as well as meat — and the 
 absolute absence of the slightest sign or sound 
 below, to string his jangled nerves to something 
 like their usual level. 
 
 Then, with infinite caution, and every sense on 
 end with apprehension, he stole down, and crept 
 foot by foot through the pillared hall. He had 
 succeeded in half-convincing himself that his imag- 
 ination had played him a scurvy trick. He had 
 come to doubt the actual existence of the thing he 
 had felt. He had nerved himself to go and see. 
 
 Foot by foot he made his way, with many a 
 cautious halt, prepared for instant flight at every 
 step. He found that even two days' continuous 
 stay in the lighter cavern had sufficed to affect in 
 some degree the adjustment of his eyes to the dark. 
 He strained them till they shot with sparks, but saw 
 nothing. 
 
 So he came at last to the gap in the screen, and 
 there was nothing there, nor had he seen or heard 
 any suspicious thing. He climbed quickly through 
 and groped to his camp. He gathered a handful 
 of his bedding and lit it, w4th a quick all-round 
 glance as the flame leaped out. But there was noth- 
 ing abnormal in sight. His couch, indeed, was 
 scattered, and so were the thin white ashes of his 
 fires; but the disturbances of the last night he passed 
 there were sufficient to account for these things. 
 
 [ 179]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 He had brought a supply of food with him, so he 
 set to and plucked and cooked a pigeon. The smell 
 of it was very grateful to him, and did more than 
 anything else to dissipate the remnants of his fears. 
 
 By the time he had picked the last bone he was 
 satisfied that the terrors of that other night had 
 suggested to him things that were not, and he 
 started eagerly for the sea-cave to see what it 
 looked like in its ordinary condition, and whether 
 there was any possibility of escape that way. 
 
 The water lapped musically on the rough sides 
 of the basin, against which it had churned with such 
 fury the last time he saw it. The whispers ran up 
 into the roof and hummed there till it buzzed like 
 a hive. The place was filled with the gentle mur- 
 murings, and with a strange wan light that came 
 glimmering up from the water. It was a dim green 
 light, full of breaks and flutterings, and it came 
 from the farther end of the pool. He crept down 
 the incline to the edge of the water and sat down to 
 consider it. 
 
 Away in front there, where the light was strong- 
 est, there must be an opening to the sea. But from 
 the look of it the tunnel was very far down, and 
 from the dimness of the light the arch must be a 
 thick one. Could he get through by diving? It 
 seemed more than doubtful. He had no means of 
 judging the distance between the pool and the sea, 
 and the attempt to find out might cost him his life. 
 
 [i8o]
 
 CONCERNING STRANGE MATTERS 
 
 When his eyes grew more accustomed to the 
 shifting glimmer, he saw shadows ghding to and 
 fro across the disc which he took to be the inner 
 mouth of the tunnel; and presently he made out 
 waving fronds and filaments of seaweed in such 
 masses at times that the light was almost obscured. 
 
 He sat there the greater part of the day, dab- 
 bling his feet in the free sea-water, in hopes that the 
 ebb-tide might bring the mouth of the tunnel nearer 
 to him; but it never got close enough to give him 
 any ideas concerning it worth risking his life upon. 
 
 He would have gone down into the water at once 
 for a closer investigation, but the wound in his 
 shoulder had opened with his late exertions, and 
 healing lay in quiet. 
 
 He had counted so much on the sea-cave leading 
 to freedom that the disappointment depressed him 
 exceedingly. There were those other archways 
 and cross-tunnels, however, and any one of them 
 might be the one he wanted. So the following day 
 he began a systematic search, and it kept him very 
 fully occupied, which made for mental balance. 
 
 Of his labours in the transport of fuel for flares, 
 of his precarious gropings in the dark, of all he 
 saw down there of the stupendous works wrought 
 by Nature and the untold ages, I have no space 
 here to tell. I have heard him try to describe 
 them, and at such times his blue eyes had a fixed 
 and far-away look in them, and words failed him, 
 
 [i8.]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 and his summing up of the whole was usually a 
 quiet, reminiscent "Mon Dieu! mon Dieiil" which, 
 while lacking in descriptive detail, told us more 
 than many words. Descriptive detail, you see, was 
 not Alain Carbonec's strong point. But the things 
 that actually happened to himself had wrought 
 themselves into his very soul, and could never be 
 effaced; and, no matter how rough their telling, no 
 man could hear them from his lips without feeling 
 that he believed every word he spoke. 
 
 He seached in turn every opening out of the 
 great cave, and found no hope in any of them, and 
 his spirits sank very low. At the farther end, far 
 away past the red organ pipes, the cave opened 
 through narrow tunnels into other caves, and these 
 again into others; and so he might have wandered 
 for days, but dared not, lest he should never get 
 back. 
 
 In the farthest chamber he ever reached, where 
 the pillars and curtains and tendrils of rock were 
 all as green as the water in the sea-cave, and the 
 silence was so crushing that he averred he could 
 hear the rocks growing, he came on an object that 
 sent him home to his fire and tied him there for 
 two days. 
 
 In the farthest corner of that far cave he came 
 on the body of a man, sunk down on its knees and 
 sitting on its heels, chin on chest, hands in lap, in 
 the attitude of utter despair and concomitant 
 
 [182]
 
 CONCERNING STRANGE MATTERS 
 
 prayer. It was so coated with green stone, like 
 everything else thereabouts, that it might easily 
 have passed as one more stone among many. But 
 something about it drew his attention, and he exam- 
 ined it carefully, and even wasted a precious match 
 on it and an extra flare, and he says it had been a 
 man. It had doubtless been there for ages, from 
 the times before those huge red organ pipes grew 
 together in the great cave. Alain viewed it with 
 awe, and took its moral to heart. He went back 
 quickly, and for days thereafter never strayed be- 
 yond the sight of his fire or the light of the outer 
 cave. 
 
 [183]
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE STRANGEST THING OF ALL 
 
 EACH day, as soon as he rose — and some 
 nights he got but Httle sleep, as you will 
 see — Alain went first to his lookout for 
 a sight of Barbe; and if he was in time 
 and in luck he would see her come out on to the 
 gallery, and stand gazing towards Cap Rehel. He 
 knew that it was of him she was thinking; that it 
 was for him she was looking, and doubtless praying. 
 He was not a religious man, and that perhaps 
 was not his fault. At religion, as taught by the 
 priests, he had scoffed with his fellows, and held the 
 "crows" in as small esteem as they did; but as his 
 hopes and spirits sank he "became very religious," 
 as I have heard him say in his simple way. "I 
 think I prayed most of the time, and came to do it 
 at last without knowing, because I had very great 
 fear." 
 
 It was the sight of Barbe started his prayers each 
 day; for as soon as he saw her he cried, "The good 
 God have pity on us!" And if he did not see her 
 he prayed it just the same. 
 
 In spite of the conviction he had forced himself 
 
 [184]
 
 THE STRANGEST THING OF ALL 
 
 into that unpleasant return of Cadoual's body 
 was not a reality but the result of a general 
 "slackening of the ropes," there remained with him 
 a constant feeling of discomfort, which he tried in 
 vain to throw off. However hard he might work 
 during the day, his rest at night was broken by 
 dreams from which he awoke in shivering terrors, 
 by sounds which ceased when he listened for them, 
 by the feeling of proximity to some horror for 
 which he could not account and of which he could 
 not get rid. Fear clung to him even when he 
 awoke; and, as he put it, "I went with my chin 
 over both shoulders." 
 
 One night, after a better sleep than usual, Alain 
 awoke in a cold sweat and found his fire nearly 
 burned out. He was gathering a handful of his 
 bedding to brighten it, when a sound in the dark- 
 ness froze him to the marrow, and he lay listening 
 with his hand outstretched. "It seemed to me that 
 Death was creeping past me, and was very long of 
 passing." I give you his own words, for I cannot 
 improve on them. 
 
 He said the air smelt cold and damp, and he 
 shook so that he slipped the hand nearest his mouth 
 between his teeth to keep them from rattling, and 
 it bore the marks for weeks. Out there, in the 
 dark, something went slowly past him — very 
 slowly, almost without noise — and he lay biting his 
 hand and shaking with fear. 
 
 [185]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 He slept no more that night, and as soon as the 
 outer cave glimmered with the dawn he got up to 
 go and bid Barbe good-morning. As he drew near 
 to the gap in the red organ pipes all the accumu- 
 lated terrors of the past gripped him by the back 
 and wrung the life and reason nearly out of him; 
 for, crossways against the opening, just above the 
 lower unbroken cone, was Cadoual's body try- 
 ing hard to get through. If it had come right side 
 up, head in air and feet to earth, it could have 
 passed through without difficulty. But the sight of 
 it suspended in the air and straining against the 
 bars in that ghostly fashion was too much for 
 Alain. 
 
 He was at first too stricken to move. He stood, 
 with loose jaw and fixed eyes, and looked at the 
 awful thing. 
 
 Then the hanging pipes against which it strained 
 snapped suddenly up above with a ringing crack, 
 the pipes came down with a crash, and as the echoes 
 bellowed out Cadoual's body came swiftly through 
 about a yard from the ground, and Alain fell, and 
 remembered nothing more. 
 
 When he came to himself he was lying where 
 he had fallen, and nothing had touched him. He 
 crawled back to the fire and piled on fuel, and sat 
 there all day, eating nothing, thinking nothing ex- 
 cept that his mind had given way at last, which was 
 fairly good proof that it had not. 
 
 [i86]
 
 THE STRANGEST THING OF ALL 
 
 Once only did he get up, and that was to go and 
 examine the red pipes, in a half-dazed, doubtful 
 way, to see if they were really broken. There was 
 no doubt about their being broken. He went back 
 to the fire and tried to untie the knots in his brain ; 
 but the task was beyond him. At last he got up 
 heavily and lighted a sheaf of fuel; then, swinging 
 it before him to keep off the devil, he went through 
 the opening in the pipes, and, with never a glance 
 through his lookout, climbed the side-wall and lay 
 down in the doves' chamber. He was quite sure 
 now that his brain had gone, and was not a little 
 surprised that he felt so little different from what 
 he always had done. 
 
 On the third day, having seen nothing, heard 
 nothing, smelt nothing but rock-doves in all that 
 time, Alain slid down the slope and crept through 
 the pillars to the sea-cave, determined to make his 
 way out through the tunnel or die in the attempt. 
 He stripped and plunged in, and the water braced 
 him like a tonic. Then, noting exactly where he 
 wanted to go, he clambered up the rock-wall and 
 dived for the wavering disc below. 
 
 Through his half-closed eyes, as he came oppo- 
 site the light, he looked down the tunnel and saw 
 the brighter gleam of the depths of sunlit water 
 outside; but it seemed a great way off, and he 
 doubted if any human lungs could outlast the 
 passage. Furthermore, there seemed some ob- 
 
 [187]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 struction in the tunnel between him and the outer 
 light; but what it was he could not make out in the 
 short time he could wait down there. He came up 
 and sat blowing and coughing till his wind came 
 back, and then plunged for the disc once more. 
 
 There was something in the passage, and the im- 
 pression Alain got of it was of an immense red 
 cabbage rooted to the rock, with a base as wide as 
 a table-top, and strange, shadowy arms which 
 swung to and fro with the pulse of the water. He 
 had never in his life seen anything like it, and there 
 was something strangely menacing about it; but it 
 never for one moment occurred to him that such a 
 thing might be actively hostile. 
 
 Presently he dived again, and as he came oppo- 
 site the tunnel some colder thing than the water 
 lapped softly round his body. He took it for a 
 frond of seaweed, and as he tore at it with his 
 hands a slight shock went tingling through his hand 
 and body. He felt himself being drawn gently 
 towards the tunnel, and dirough his narrowed lids 
 he saw a dozen of those strange, red bulbous arms 
 stealing towards him. Another thin, slimy cord 
 coiled softly round his legs, and thrilled him with 
 prickling shocks. He kicked and tore in despera- 
 tion, and, feeling the rock wall of the tunnel-mouth 
 under his feet, doubled himself for one great effort, 
 and shot up to the surface. He crawled to a ledge 
 and lay there while the water ran out of him, and 
 
 [i88]
 
 THE STRANGEST THING OF ALL 
 
 breath came slowly back, and he felt grateful for 
 life, though he scarcely knew why. 
 
 He was still lying there when there came a ruf- 
 fling of the pool below, he heard a long-drawn 
 rustle up the rocky slope which led to the great 
 cave, and there passed before his startled eyes a 
 sinuous monster whose length he could not deter- 
 mine, but which seemed to him endless. 
 
 The light was very dim; the pool itself was 
 brighter than the void above, since all the light 
 there was came through it. The end of the mon- 
 ster was still in the tunnel leading from the sea 
 when the front of it had passed out of sight up the 
 passage leading to the great cave. It moved in 
 long undulations, and the swiftness of its oncoming 
 took it up the slope without a pause. Alain flat- 
 tened himself to his ledge and tried not to breathe, 
 lest it should turn and rend him. What it was he 
 knew not, but he believed it was in very truth the 
 devil, and he had no slightest desire to follow it into 
 the cave. 
 
 He lay on his ledge all night, naked and shiver- 
 ing, not daring to move a limb lest the monster 
 should be silently watching him. 
 
 The pool below rose to its fullest and sank to its 
 lowest, and the light faded out of it and left it all a 
 black welter of gurgles and duckings. He dared 
 not close his eyes, but lay there watching and wait- 
 ing. 
 
 [189]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 Once during the night the pool glowed sudden 
 fire, which broke against the rocky walls till the 
 place looked like a mighty cauldron, and he lay sick 
 with fear lest the Thing should choose that time to 
 return. 
 
 The wan green light stole back into the pool at 
 last, and he knew that it was morning. Outside, 
 the Light was gleaming in the early sunshine, and 
 Barbe would be in the gallery watching the coming 
 of the day and thinking of him who came not in 
 spite of all her prayers. And chilled to the marrow, 
 he lay on his narrow ledge and waited the return of 
 the devil. 
 
 Since all things come to him who waits, that came 
 at last for which Alain waited in fear and trem- 
 bling. 
 
 He heard a sound of movement in the passage, 
 and in the fluttering light he saw once more the 
 body of George Cadoual. It came swiftly along, 
 waist-high as before, head and feet drooping 
 slightly to the ground, and he saw that the mon- 
 ster held it round the waist, with huge fat lips 
 pouting above and below. He had no time to 
 notice more before it glided into the pool, and 
 went through the tunnel with a rush that sent 
 the water splashing up the sides of the cave. Then 
 Alain drew his cramped limbs together, grabbed 
 his clothes and fled to his chamber of refuge among 
 the doves. 
 
 [ 190]
 
 THE STRANGEST THING OF ALL 
 
 He was in a strange state of mind, wrung with 
 physical terror, yet to some extent mentally re- 
 lieved. Cadoual was explained at all events. 
 What this awful Thing might be he could not im- 
 agine. It seemed to belong to this world; but it 
 was monstrous beyond behef, and he shook at 
 thought of it. 
 
 He dressed himself, for he was very cold, 
 and instinct sent his hand here and there in 
 search of eggs and conveyed them to his mouth. 
 Then he lay all the rest of that day, with his head 
 overhanging the gulf, on the watch for the devil. 
 
 Let us get done with this. I am almost as sick 
 of this loathly beast as Alain Carbonec was him- 
 self. 
 
 He lay in the roost all day, and saw no sign of it; 
 and that night, too, passed without disturbance. It 
 was the afternoon of the third day before anything 
 occurred to trouble him, and he declares that during 
 these days and nights he never slept a wink — 
 which, indeed, is likely enough. 
 
 Towards sunset he saw the monster coming, and 
 from his eyrie gazed down upon it, fascinated with 
 horror, and by no means sure of his own safety. It 
 moved slowly along the level at the bottom of the 
 slope, its front erected slightly, nosing curiously to 
 and fro as it came. Head, as distinct from body, 
 there seemed to be none. The body was about as 
 thick as that of a man, and in length indeterminate, 
 
 [191]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 since it contracted and expanded in its progression 
 with extraordinary suppleness. At times it seemed 
 no thicker than the upper part of a man's leg, and 
 then, as the bulk drew up for another slow forward 
 stretch, it swelled prodigiously and grew tense with 
 the working of the mighty muscles inside, and the 
 skin, smooth and swollen, gleamed iridescent. 
 
 It was very terrible to look upon, quite apart 
 from any powers of evil it might possess. In de- 
 scribing it Alain Carbonec used the word ver-de- 
 diahle (devil-worm), and that designation was 
 doubtless accurate enough. Head, as I have said, 
 there was apparently none. The Thing ended in 
 front — to put it in Alain's own words — as it prob- 
 ably ended in the rear, in a simple rounding off of 
 the body. The other end of it he could not see, and 
 in fact he never did see the whole of the monster at 
 once. 
 
 It nosed about among the fuel which lay there, 
 and presently he saw the blunt front of it press 
 down among the rubbish, and then come up with a 
 broken rock pinnacle, which it circled round the 
 middle with two great folds of Its front skin like 
 two pouting lips. It carried this with it playfully, 
 as it had carried Cadoual's body; and then the 
 great blunt snout, still brandishing its toy, came 
 rambling vaguely up the slope, and Alain watched 
 its progress in mortal terror. 
 
 The sun just then shot in its long golden bar 
 
 [ 192 ]
 
 THE STRANGEST THING OF ALL 
 
 through the loophole; and as the beast swung its 
 head slowly to and fro it passed through the bar of 
 light. The monster dropped as if struck, and the 
 rock it carried went clattering down the slope. For 
 a time it lay still ; then the light died out and it came 
 nosing up the slope again. 
 
 Alain was sure it was after him, and his extrem- 
 ity sharpened his wits. It had ducked at the thrust 
 of the light. It might be that it had eyes, though 
 he could not see any. It might be that light 
 was obnoxious to it. It might be that the fires he 
 had kept up in the cave had been his salvation. 
 
 The beast came on, as leisurely as if it knew he was 
 there, and could not escape. It drew up the slope 
 with easy undulations indicative of tremendous 
 muscular power. It was coming. 
 
 He frantically raked together an armful of nests, 
 regardless of the complaints of the occupants. He 
 held the bundle on the slope in front of him and 
 drew out Cadoual's box of matches. As the mass 
 burst into flame he rolled it down on the menacing 
 brown head below. 
 
 The Thing dropped instantl)'^, with the flames all 
 about it. The scattered stuff below caught fire, too, 
 and Alain flung down more to help it as fast as he 
 could gather and fling. The great worm writhed 
 in silent agony, then, with a mighty heave, the head 
 went sweeping back over the body, and it disap- 
 peared like a shadow into the great cave. 
 
 [ 193 ]
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 ONE RETURNS 
 
 WHEN Barbe came out into the gal- 
 lery in the early dawn one morning 
 her eye fell at once on something 
 floating in the Pot. So familiar 
 was she with all her surroundings that no smallest 
 thing out of the common could escape her notice. 
 
 She stood gazing at that white thing circling 
 slowly round and round in the broken water, now 
 gliding quietly, now jerking abruptly and spinning 
 and darting, the sport of the waves. 
 
 It was too far away to see with any exactness; 
 but she knew it was a body, and her heart beat slow, 
 and a sick fear came over her at the thought that it 
 might be Alain come back to her In this way, even 
 as he had come the first time. 
 
 She went slowly down the ladder to her father, 
 who had just turned in. 
 
 "There is a man in the Pot," she said abruptly. 
 
 "£/i bienP'' said Pierre. "Let him stop there." 
 
 "But — " and she stopped short. To hint at 
 the possibility of it being Alain Carbonec was not 
 the way to enlist Pierre's sympathies. 
 
 [ 194]
 
 ONE RETURNS 
 
 "I want no more men out of the Pot." 
 
 Barbe flushed at the implication. "It might be 
 — one of them," she said hesitatingly. 
 
 "You'd better go and see;" and Pierre lurched 
 over with his face to the wall as an intimation that 
 the interview was ended. 
 
 Yes, truly, she would go and see. The very 
 worst could be no worse than she had come to 
 believe, and if that was Alain's body washing about 
 in the Pot, she would be more content to have him 
 resting quietly in the ground. So she slowly let 
 down the boat from its beams, securing one rope 
 while she slacked the other, till it dipped and rode. 
 Then she threw in her casting-rope, made after a 
 pattern all her own — a long, thin line raying at the 
 end into four short rope-arms, each weighted with a 
 ball of lead — a combination of lasso and bolas 
 which she had found extremely useful. Many a 
 prize had she fished out of the Pot with it, and not 
 a few bodies. There were certain positions, how- 
 ever, which she could not reach even with this long 
 arm, and in these the flotsam would swing round 
 and round for days, till the hidden forces sucked it 
 down and in due time delivered it on Plenevec 
 beach. 
 
 Barbe pulled to the inner lip of the Pot, for the 
 tide was nearly at the flood. Then she stood up to 
 watch for the bobbing white thing to come round 
 to her. It was dawdling playfully round the pool, 
 
 [195]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 now darting forward as though endowed with sud- 
 den intention, then wandering off on a side issue, 
 then twisted suddenly backward on some hidden 
 coil of the water; and Barbe stood gently working 
 her oars and gazing at it with the fixed intensity of a 
 mother eagle. 
 
 Suddenly her face relaxed and a sigh of relief 
 escaped her. Some sudden upheaval of the water 
 had turned the body completely over so that now 
 it lay face downwards, and she saw that it had 
 black hair, and her heart was glad. At all events 
 it was not the body of Alain Carbonec. 
 
 She waited till it came round to her side of the 
 Pot, then stood and flung her line, missed twice, 
 and the third time captured it and held it anchored 
 against the slow flow of the current. She had to 
 wait till the tide was at its highest before she could 
 draw the body gently in at the end of her line. 
 She bent over it, not without emotion, in spite of 
 the practice she had had. A drowned man always 
 made her heart ache ; but now the rebound from her 
 fears, and the renewed possibilities of hope, faint 
 though the hope might be, made her almost indif- 
 ferent to this stranger. So she bent and looped the 
 line round the flaccid feet and turned her boat 
 towards Plenevec. 
 
 ''''Tiens!" said one of the loungers among the 
 boats on the beach as Barbe drew into sight, "La 
 Carcassone arrives." 
 
 [196]
 
 ONE RETURNS 
 
 "The old man must be ill," said another; "or 
 maybe she wants news of Alain, and the old cur- 
 mudgeon won't speak." 
 
 "If he told all he knew — " said a third. 
 ''Par-die! it is a wise man that can hold his tongue." 
 
 "Or a guilty one." 
 
 "That's so." 
 
 "Tschut!" from an ampler-minded one. "Un- 
 less you make out that he killed them both you have 
 no right to say so. If it had been only one, 
 and that one Alain Carbonec, I'd say yes with you; 
 but why the old hunks should kill them both 
 I cannot see. More likely one of them has killed 
 the other on account of this girl, and then 
 'bolted.' " 
 
 "If that's so, I bet you It wasn't Alain did the 
 kiUing." 
 
 "It wasn't like him if he did, anyway. Voyons! 
 here comes M. Gaudriol." 
 
 Then they caught a glimpse of what Barbe had 
 in tow, and moved down in a body to meet her. 
 
 "What hast thou there, little one?" cried Gau- 
 driol when she came within hail. 
 
 But Barbe pulled steadily ashore before she 
 answered, and then she said simply, "A body out 
 of the Pot." 
 
 Gaudriol's official heart began to beat more 
 quickly, for the chances were, since there had been 
 no wreck, that light was come at last on the mys- 
 
 [ 197 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 tery that had been troubling them all. It could not 
 be Alain's body, or Barbe would not have answered 
 him so quietly. If Cadoual's — then — truly, yes, 
 his fears would be no less for Alain, but they would 
 be of a different sort. 
 
 *'Voyons!" he said softly, lest his voice should 
 tell his fears. "Let us see." 
 
 They drew the body carefully ashore, and all 
 crowded round, and then fell back as it was turned 
 over, for it was a very ghastly sight. Bruised and 
 broken, with a stab in the throat, and every evidence 
 of brutal maltreatment, no more crying witness to a 
 horrible crime ever took the stand than that silent 
 figure lying on the shingle. 
 
 "Mon Dieuf mon Dieuf" murmured the Ser- 
 geant. "It is he — Cadoual." 
 
 "He has been murdered," said one. 
 
 "Smashed all to pieces," said another. 
 
 "Mais, mon Dieuf it is brutality beyond belief;" 
 and they talked among themselves and looked 
 askance at Barbe. 
 
 "Did you know who it was, ma fille?" asked 
 Gaudriol. 
 
 "No," she said. "I saw him from the gallery. 
 But my — M. Carcassone would not go" — the by- 
 standers growled meaningly — "so I went myself, 
 and drew him out with the line. I feared it might 
 be Alain." 
 
 Gaudriol would almost have preferred that It 
 
 [198]
 
 ONE RETURNS 
 
 had been Alain; but then there is a vast difference 
 between hking and love. 
 
 Half the village was gathered round the body, 
 when the crowd was suddenly parted by Madame 
 Cadoual, who came down on It and through It like 
 a black fury. Her face was very white against her 
 coarse black hair, which had broken loose In her 
 passage; her eyes were ablaze with passion. 
 
 "They say — " she began, at sight of M. Gau- 
 drlol, and then she saw the body on the stones, and 
 she went quickly to it and fell on her knees beside 
 it. "George ! my son, my son ! Dost thou come 
 back to me like this? Tell me, then, who has done 
 this to thee?" and she bent her ear to the sodden, 
 white lips. "It is that cursed old murderer at the 
 Light," she cried, springing up with a scream which 
 sent the crowd flying back from her. "Oh ! but his 
 head shall fall for this, and that wretched girl who 
 tempted thee across there ! They shall pay for 
 this. Life for life, and blood for blood! And 
 may their souls — " And she proceeded to curse 
 them with all the vehemence of her outraged moth- 
 erhood, and Barbe shivered and went pale. 
 
 "Tiens! it is she!" cried the tigress, as some in- 
 stinct told her that the stranger girl with the 
 uncolfed hair and the beautiful face, though it was 
 pale and sad enough just now, must be the girl from 
 the Light, the girl who had stolen her son's heart 
 from her, and she launched herself at Barbe. 
 
 [ 199]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 Gaudriol had foreseen It, and stepped between 
 them just in time. He took the frantic woman by 
 the shoulders and held her, while she struggled 
 fiercely, and her working mouth volleyed curses past 
 him. 
 
 "Be quiet!" he said, shaking her. "You don't 
 know what you are saying. The girl has nothing 
 to do with it." 
 
 "Blood for blood!" shrieked the mother. 
 "Their lives for his, and everlasting torment for 
 their souls!" 
 
 "Take her home," said Gaudriol to the bystand- 
 ers. "She is going out of her mind. And carry 
 him" — with a nod towards the body — "home, too. 
 For you, ma fille, I will take you back to the Light. 
 Jan Godey, we will take your boat and tow 
 the other;" and in two minutes they were under 
 way. 
 
 At sight of them going Madame Cadoual broke 
 from her guardians and came rushing down the 
 shingle. She dashed into the water, and hurled 
 curses after them with voice and hands and eyes and 
 every fibre of her being. 
 
 "Don't look at her," said Gaudriol to Barbe. 
 "She Is mad." 
 
 He was very silent after that, preparing traps 
 for Pierre, till they bumped against the Iron ladder. 
 
 "He will be sleeping," said Barbe as she joined 
 Gaudriol in the doorway. 
 
 [ 200 ]
 
 ONE RETURNS 
 
 "Bien!'^ said he, as once before; "I like them 
 sleeping," and once more he laid his hand on the 
 sleeping man's shoulder in hopes of trapping the 
 guilt in his eyes as he woke. 
 
 "Commettt done?" cried Pierre, sitting up and 
 rubbing his eyes. "You again, M. Gaudriol? I 
 thought " 
 
 "George Cadoual has come home, fnon beau," 
 said the Sergeant. 
 
 "Ah!" snorted Pierre, "then you are satisfied I 
 didn't kill that one at all events." 
 
 "Unfortunately he is dead." 
 
 "How — dead — and come home? What do you 
 mean?" and the old man stiffened suddenly. 
 
 "He has been killed — brutally killed. Every 
 bone in his body is broken, and his throat cut." 
 
 "Mon Dietil" and he gazed back at Gaudriol 
 defiantly, and yet visibly wondering. "And how 
 did he come back, then?" 
 
 "Your daughter brought him. He was in the 
 Pot." 
 
 "Tiens! 1 remember. She asked me to go, but 
 I wanted no more men out of the Pot." He was 
 silent for a moment, turning the news over in his 
 mind. Then he looked up at Gaudriol, and asked 
 suddenly, "And the other?" 
 
 "There is no news of him," said the Sergeant, 
 with a shake of the head. 
 
 *'Voyons, done!" said Pierre musingly, after 
 
 [201 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 more thought. "Go away, Barbe. I must speak 
 with M. Gaudriol." 
 
 "No, I shall not go. You are going to speak 
 against Alain," said Barbe, with her face very pale 
 and her fists tightly clenched. 
 
 "Eh bien, it is all one!" Then to the Sergeant, 
 "You think I have had a finger in all this, M. 
 Gaudriol; but you are wrong. I know nothing 
 about it except this : George Cadoual went away to 
 Plougastel. He discovered there that Alain Car- 
 bonec was in reality Alain Kervec, son of that man I 
 killed here for his sins eighteen years ago." He 
 spoke steadily, but the cords stood out in his fore- 
 head. "Now, if Alain learned that it was Cadoual 
 who told me that — why, voyez-vous, that may ex- 
 plain some things." 
 
 Gaudriol feared it might; but he was not going 
 to let Pierre see it. 
 
 "And you told Alain it was Cadoual who gave 
 you that information when he came back that day — 
 was it not so?" he asked quietly. 
 
 "I did not see him, so I could not tell him. How 
 many more times must I tell you that? Nom-de- 
 Dieu!" began Pierre, with a touch of anger, and 
 then brought himself to with a round turn and re- 
 lapsed into sulky silence. 
 
 Gaudriol was satisfied in his own mind, from 
 what he had seen, that Pierre had nothing to do 
 with Cadoual's death. He turned and left the 
 
 [ 202 ]
 
 ONE RETURNS 
 
 room, followed by Barbe. The mystery was be- 
 yond him, and he was full of angry perplexity. 
 For now that a body had turned up, and beyond all 
 doubt a body that pointed to murder, something 
 had got to be done; but what he did not know. If 
 it had been Alain's body, now, he would have ar- 
 rested Pierre on the spot; but he could see no 
 adequate reason why Pierre should have killed 
 Cadoual, unless, indeed, he had gone out of his 
 mind and killed for the sake of killing, or for the 
 purpose of keeping Barbe free. 
 
 "You do not doubt Alain, monsieur?" asked 
 Barbe piteously as they stood at the top of the iron 
 ladder. "Alain could not do any such thing." 
 
 "I will not believe it, my child," he said kindly. 
 "At present I cannot understand it. We must hope 
 for the best." 
 
 But there was not very much hope in him as Jan 
 Godey's boat swung back to Plenevec. He feared 
 greatly for Alain, and now his fear was not that 
 he was dead. 
 
 Thereafter Barbe spent much time in the gallery, 
 and watched the Pot as a starving eagle eyes the 
 plains. 
 
 [203]
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 A BID FOR LIFE 
 
 TWO whole days Alain roosted among the 
 doves and watched for the reappearance 
 of the enemy. Then, as there had been 
 no slightest sign of him during all that 
 time, he crept cautiously down and ventured into 
 the great cave, carrying with him an armful of dry 
 nests and a match ready to fire them at a moment's 
 notice. His flesh crinkled at the thought of the 
 horrible Thing, and he went wide-eyed and stopped 
 every few steps to listen ; but the silence lay heavy, 
 and struck him with a new feeling of oppression 
 after the multitudinous murmurings and family 
 squabblings of the chambered doves. 
 
 With one eye on the arch that led down to the 
 water cave, and in momentary fear of seeing that 
 awful black snout issue from it, he made a cursory 
 inspection of the nearer parts of the cave, and saw 
 nothing to excite his fears. He got a drink at the 
 pool and clambered up to his lookout, but saw no 
 sign of Barbe. Then he went up into his nest 
 again, and slept that night in spite of the overpow- 
 
 [204]
 
 A BID FOR LIFE 
 
 ering smell and the restless flutterings of his bed- 
 fellows. 
 
 Next morning he was at the lookout by dawn, 
 and was cheered by the sight of Barbe in the 
 gallery. He saw her quit it suddenly, and presently 
 she came to the doorway, lowered the boat, and 
 rowed away as though she were coming to fetch 
 him. She had gone after Cadoual's body in the 
 Pot; but he could not follow her so far. She did 
 not return, and he went on about his business. 
 
 Bit by bit during the next three days he satisfied 
 himself that he was the only occupant of the cave, 
 and at last gained confidence enough to relight his 
 fire. By way of protection he collected an immense 
 pile of fuel and lay each night behind it. He had 
 so far kept clear of the sea cave. His experiences 
 there were still too fresh in his memory, and the 
 possibility of meeting that terrible Thing face to 
 face in the narrow passage held him back. 
 
 Then courage grew with immunity. By way of 
 occupation while he lay in hiding, he had fashioned 
 some fish-hooks out of pigeons' breast-bones, with 
 no very definite intention of using them, indeed, 
 but because he could not lie absolutely still and do 
 nothing. Bones were the only things he could 
 employ his knife on, and fish-hooks suggested them- 
 selves most naturally to him. He thought now of 
 the fish in the pool, and determined to add some to 
 his limited faring. Hooks he had ; line he made by 
 
 [205]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 unreaving some of Cadoual's jersey and twisting 
 it into a thin, tight cord. He took some scraps of 
 pigeon-flesh for bait, and an armful of fuel for 
 protection, and went cautiously down the passage 
 to the sea. 
 
 Nothing disturbed him on the road, and he was 
 soon sitting in the dim green ghmmer, bating his 
 hooks and wondering why the cave seemed darker 
 than usual, when the sun, he knew, was shining 
 brightly outside. He cast a couple of lines, and sat 
 with one in each hand waiting for the twitch that 
 should tell him the bait had been swallowed. The 
 twitch came instantly almost, and he smelt broiled 
 fish and his mouth watered. In five minutes he 
 had fish enough for a couple of days: alose weigh- 
 ing two to three pounds — a fish somewhat akin to 
 the shad. 
 
 As he sat watching the slant of his lines in the 
 glimmering water he became aware of something 
 down below which had not been there before, a 
 darker band of shadow which ran nearly the length 
 of the pool. It seemed to stream out of the tunnel 
 that led to the sea, and swung gently to and fro. 
 He peered and pondered over this for a long 
 time, but could make nothing of it in the shifting 
 light. 
 
 His mind was still occupied with it when he re- 
 turned to the great cave and broiled his fish and 
 dallied over the novel enjoyment of it, but all the 
 
 [206]
 
 A BID FOR LIFE 
 
 time kept a watchful eye on that dark archway 
 that led to the sea. And out of his much thinking 
 a strange possibility evolved itself sometime in the 
 night, and as soon as he had bidden Barbe good- 
 morning he hastened back to the sea cave to put his 
 idea to the test. 
 
 For a long time he sat and watched the dark, 
 waving shadow; and then, as it grew in consistency 
 with the growing light and showed no signs of 
 moving, he screwed himself to the point of going 
 down to see if it was what he thought it might be. 
 
 With a vivid recollection of the unpleasantnesses 
 of his last dip in the pool, he would have preferred 
 some other way of satisfying his curiosity. But 
 there was no other way, so he slowly peeled, and at 
 last went in with a plunge, but well away from the 
 tunnel and those clammy, long-reaching arms which 
 had embraced him before. 
 
 His groping hands sliddered along the shadow, 
 and sent colder chills up his spine than any the water 
 of the pool could produce. So far his idea was 
 correct. The waving shadow was the body of the 
 monster that had terrified him so. It swung to the 
 ceaseless movement of the pool. It had not moved 
 since first he saw it. It was evidently dead; and, 
 in spite of his creeping spine and polluted fingers, 
 he felt suddenly more his own man again. 
 
 Once assured that the Thing was dead, the desire 
 to know how it died followed naturally. By de- 
 
 [207 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 grees he ventured nearer and nearer to the tunnel 
 out of which the long dark body projected, and so 
 at last saw a very strange sight through his glim- 
 mering lids. 
 
 The great sinuous body was held firmly in the 
 middle by the enfolding of those transparent red 
 arms which had almost drawn him into the tunnel 
 the first day he went into the water. Myriads of 
 them seemed clasped round the long dark body, 
 and so tightly was it gripped and such a mass of 
 flabby tentacles had gathered over it that the 
 victim seemed to be embedded in the centre of its 
 destroyer. One or two of the diaphanous arms 
 waved above the thick red mass below, like look- 
 outs on the watch, and to the startled investigator 
 of this strange sea tragedy it was amazing that 
 things so apparently wanting in solidity should have 
 been able to accomplish so much. But the mon- 
 ster was dead, and his life was freed from Its ter- 
 rors, and he walked back into the great cave with 
 a spring in his step and his thoughts already busy 
 with other matters. 
 
 Now that the monster was dead and he could go 
 without fear, his mind set itself strenuously to the 
 work of getting out of prison. Outlet on the 
 ground floor, so to speak, he did not believe existed, 
 and he had given up all hope of finding. Appar- 
 ently the only other man who had penetrated into 
 the cave had died in hopeless despair with his face 
 
 [ 208 ]
 
 A BID FOR LIFE 
 
 to the blank, wall of that far inner chamber. He 
 doubted if it would be possible for him to get out 
 himself without assistance from the outside, and his 
 brain wearied itself with impossible plans for at- 
 tracting attention to his plight. 
 
 The only communication he could hold with the 
 world was through that narrow slit which gave him 
 daily sight of Barbe, a sight for which he never 
 ceased to thank God, though he did it unconsciously 
 and not in words. And even the inner opening of 
 that slit he had not been able to approach, by reason 
 of the arching of the cavern wall thereabouts. He 
 had been able to look through it only at a distance 
 and from the opposite slope. The other win- 
 dow, through which the sun shot his last rays 
 each night, was high above his head, sixty or sev- 
 enty metres at least he reckoned — say nearly two 
 hundred feet — and below it also the granite walls 
 fell away, so that nothing but a fly could have 
 crawled up them. 
 
 Even if he reached the inner end of his lookout 
 shaft, the problem of communication would still 
 confront him. But, like a wise man, he tackled the 
 business nearest to his hand, and let his brains go 
 puzzling after the rest. Meanwhile he was grate- 
 ful for hfe and the releasing of his soul from the 
 terrors that had made it weaker than water. He 
 had food in abundance, and the inexpressible com- 
 fort of fire ; and above all he had the daily sight of 
 
 [209]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 Barbe to kindle his courage and keep him from 
 despair. 
 
 To build a platform twenty feet high up to the 
 cleft was Alain's first task. That involved labour 
 but no great difficulties. The great red organ pipes 
 furnished his platform and the first steps back to 
 life and Barbe. He sacrificed them ruthlessly. For 
 days the great cave clanged with the echoes of their 
 fall. More than once they came near breaking his 
 head as he pulled and ran. Then, learning by ex- 
 perience, he made a rope of twisted garments, his 
 own and Cadoual's; and by attaching this to the 
 mighty pendicles and hauling from a distance he 
 managed to secure them without danger to his life. 
 
 More than once, when lying by his fire, he had 
 heard a solemn plunk, plunk, in the pool behind the 
 pipes. He had said to himself that there were fish 
 there, and promised himself some. Through the 
 crash of the first pillar he heard a sudden swish of 
 falling rain behind him, and turned in time to see 
 the firelit surface of the pool thrashed with a storm 
 of drops from above, which the noise had shaken 
 down. It was many days before the same thing 
 happened again, and the plunk, plunk also ceased. 
 Nevertheless, having conceived a quite understand- 
 able dislike for fish from the sea cave, he set his 
 lines in the pool, and succeeded in catching some 
 little creatures, almost transparent and so strangely 
 shaped that he was not quite sure whether they 
 
 [210]
 
 A BID FOR LIFE 
 
 were fish at all. He cooked them, however, and 
 found them first-rate eating, and after that he took 
 them regularly. 
 
 It took a week's hard labour to break and carry 
 into the outer cave as many organ pipes as he 
 thought he would need, and another full week to 
 pile them crosswise like a child's castle of bricks, 
 and to wedge them securely with broken pieces, so 
 that he could run up and down v/ithout fear of a 
 general collapse. But on the fourteenth day he 
 was peering through the hole, with his head in the 
 inner side of it, and Barbe seemed somewhat nearer 
 to him than she had been before. 
 
 He had been close upon five weeks in the cave, 
 though he had lost any exact account of the time, 
 and only now were the first steps accomplished 
 towards his liberation. 
 
 The further problem of signalling through his 
 hole had still to be solved, and he knew all the diffi- 
 culties. The face of the cliff looked seaward, and 
 not once in a year did any of the Plenevec men fre- 
 quent it, for they took neither the birds nor their 
 eggs. Anything he pushed through the hole might 
 lie unseen on the rocks below for all time, if it did 
 not fall into the sea and get washed away, or into 
 some ledge to become a nest for the clustering sea- 
 fowl; and how thickly they swarmed on the face 
 of the cliff the constant eclipse of his lookout 
 showed. They were thicker than bees in a hive 
 
 [211]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 — kittiwak.es, guillemots, and great croaking cor- 
 morants — and how to get a message through them 
 was now the great puzzle of his life. 
 
 He could not make a flag of his clothes and push 
 it through, because he had no pole, nor anything 
 remotely resembling one. At last, after days and 
 nights of anxious deliberation, he hit on an idea 
 which seemed to offer possibilities. 
 
 He wanted a rope long enough to hang down 
 the face of the cliff, with something at the end 
 to attract attention, and, if he could manage 
 it, some message explaining his position. But he 
 had not so much as a piece of string in his posses- 
 sion, and if he tore up every rag he had it would 
 not be enough. He thought it all out, and pre- 
 pared first his message and its accompanying indi- 
 cator. 
 
 The message Alain scratched or painted on a 
 square piece of Cadoual's shirt by means of pig- 
 eon's quills and pigeons' blood. That was easy, 
 though it took some time. It told where he was, and 
 suggested relief by the letting down of a man from 
 the cliff-top to the upper window of the cave; then a 
 rope let down inside, and he would be free. This he 
 made up carefully into a small packet, weighted 
 with a piece of rock, and tied with strips from his 
 blue cotton blouse. Then he took the cotton blouse 
 and ripped at it till the back alone was left, forming 
 a flag roughly three feet long by two feet broad. 
 
 [212]
 
 A BID FOR LIFE 
 
 The message he tied to one corner of the flag and 
 laid it in the shaft of the lookout ready for the 
 rope, and then proceeded to make the rope — 
 surely as odd a rope as ever was made. 
 
 The only things the cave afforded in unlimited 
 quantity, besides water and air, were rock-doves. 
 His rope, therefore, was to be made of rock-doves. 
 He nipped their soft necks and brought the plump 
 little bodies down into the cave a score at a time. 
 He prepared from the remains of his blue cottons a 
 large quantity of strips to tie them with, and pro- 
 ceeded to attach the upper end of his flag, at the 
 bottom of which was the message, to the neck of the 
 first dove's body. Its feet he tied to the neck of 
 the next one, and so on till out of his twenty doves 
 he had a rope something like a kite's tail nearly 
 fifteen feet long. The rest was only a matter of 
 continuance. 
 
 When the rope of rock-doves was thirty feet long 
 he arranged the procession carefully on the ledge 
 of his lookout, and slowly and cautiously, and only 
 after several failures — for the rock-doves were 
 soft, and would persist in doubling up into a heap — 
 he succeeded in pushing the message through the 
 hole in the face of the clifi^. It knocked over a 
 matronly little guillemot which was roosting there, 
 and she flew off with a surprised grunt, and fol- 
 lowed it down the cliff under the impression that 
 she had laid an unusually fine specimen of an 
 
 [213 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 egg, possessed of unheard-of powers of locomo- 
 tion. 
 
 His great fear was that, after all, his work would 
 be useless by reason of the clouds of sea-birds pre- 
 venting his flags from being seen. He strung a blue 
 pennant at the end of every twenty birds, and laid 
 a stone on the floor to keep tally; and when there 
 were ten stones on the floor, and two hundred rock- 
 doves had been worked into the rope, he stopped 
 and anchored it to his platform, as it had been 
 anchored in sections every night. 
 
 This work, and the possibility of something 
 resulting from it, kept him in cheerful spirits. His 
 greatest deprivation was that he could barely catch 
 sight of Barbe now, because the hole was always 
 three-quarters filled by the body of a rock-dove; 
 for the joinings of his rope must not scrape the 
 rock lest they should chafe through, and a rock- 
 dove stands more chafing than does a cotton rag. 
 
 The blue flag and the packet of hope jerked 
 hopefully foot by foot down the rough side of the 
 cliff, and swung gently to and fro at the end of 
 their curious rope, scaring even the oldest inhabi- 
 tants into momentary anger. Then the packet 
 and the flag descended gently into a pocket of the 
 rock where the cormorants dwelt apart by reason 
 of their nasty habits and abominable smell. A par- 
 ticularly filthy old dame, whose plumage was abso- 
 lutely rusty with age, had taken up housekeeping in 
 
 [214]
 
 A BID FOR LIFE 
 
 that special spot and held it against all comers. She 
 croaked out such horrible curses when any one came 
 near her that all the rest sat at a respectful distance 
 with their wings uplifted in amazement, as if struck 
 with sudden paralysis, while the old lady nearly 
 burst herself trying to lay an egg in this beautiful 
 new nest; and when she turned round and saw the 
 packet she mistook that for the egg, just as the 
 guillemot had done. She sat on it conscientiously 
 for many days, and made her mate — he was her 
 fifth, and considerably younger than herself — bring 
 her fish while he was still ravenously hungry him- 
 self, which put him into a very bad temper. He 
 was always hungry, and so was she; and at last he 
 got tired of it, and they had words, and I believe 
 it led to a separation. In spite of all her efforts, 
 she failed to hatch out Alain's packet, and her hus- 
 band took to making remarks about it, as a hungry 
 cormorant will; but she was too self-willed to leave 
 it, and for anything I know she is sitting on it yet, 
 and still hoping that something may come of it. 
 
 For some days the rope of dead birds swung 
 gently to and fro against the face of the cliff, and 
 some of the blue pennants fluttered in the wind. 
 But they were invisible a quarter of a mile away, 
 even when the birds were not there; and it was a 
 rare minute when that happened. 
 
 Then the skua-gulls discovered that dead rock- 
 pigeon, slightly "high," was a very dainty dish;
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 and, the news spreading, they soon made an end of 
 that forlorn hope, and even came skirling round the 
 hole for more, so adding insult to injury. When 
 Alain hauled in the slack of his odorous rope which 
 lay in the lookout cleft, he found only one clean- 
 picked skeleton and the head of another tied to its 
 legs, and he knew that his first attempt was a fail- 
 ure. This depressed him not a little, and he racked 
 his brains as to what to try next. 
 
 He had scrambled up to the top of his platform 
 one evening to see the sun go down behind the 
 Light, and was still sitting looking wistfully out 
 when the lantern shot forth its first beam with a 
 suddenness that made him start, although he had 
 been waiting for it. Perhaps it was the thought 
 that came with it that made him start. The lantern 
 winked cheerfully at him; why should not he wink 
 back at the lantern? It would be a very small 
 wink, certainly; but the watchers in the Light 
 might see even a very small light against the un- 
 usual background of black cliff, where they would 
 never see his signals in the daytime. 
 
 This idea filled him to bursting-point. That first 
 night he could not bring himself to calm and proper 
 consideration of it; but he thought, and thought, 
 and thought, and before morning he saw a possible 
 way. 
 
 The problem was to burn a flare, large enough 
 to stand a chance of attracting attention, through 
 
 [216]
 
 A BID FOR LIFE 
 
 a hole no bigger than one's fist, and situated fifteen 
 feet away at the end of a narrowing funnel. The 
 blaze must be as good as it was possible to make 
 it; moreover, it must be to some extent continuous, 
 and not a simple flash in the pan, and it must go on 
 night after night till it was observed. All these 
 considerations which seemed impossible to com- 
 pass with the materials at his disposal, exercised his 
 wits to the utmost. 
 
 It took some days of hard thinking and futile 
 experiment before his difficulties were all sur- 
 mounted and the way was clear. Fuel he had in 
 plenty, but of a loose and scrappy character, alto- 
 gether too short for his purpose unless he could 
 manipulate it. If he only had oil! He set to 
 work to get it. The pool in the sea cave was full 
 of fish, and some of these held a fair quantity of 
 oil just under the skin. Since his discovery of the 
 dead monster there he had not cared to eat anything 
 that came from that pool; but now he set to work 
 and fished for his hfe, and caught close on fifty the 
 first day. There were some mullet among them, 
 and he found he got more oil out of them than out 
 of any of the others. He let them all lie for a day, 
 and then squeezed them between two stones in a 
 slight hollow under an overhanging rock, where the 
 drip from the roof could not get to them. 
 
 His fifty fish yielded him oil enough in his little 
 pan to stir with the point of his finger, and another 
 
 [ 217 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 fifty were maturing on the rock alongside. As oil 
 it was poor stuff enough; but when he dropped 
 some on his fire it sputtered and flared, and there 
 was no doubt about its burning in the way he in- 
 tended to use it. 
 
 He now flung down from aloft a great quantity 
 of fuel, and carefully picked out of it all the most 
 combustible portions and laid them on one side. 
 Out of the refuse, which consisted chiefly of dried 
 bird-droppings and short twigs and grasses, he 
 made a small experimental cake, kneading it up 
 with oil, and flattening it out on the rock with his 
 hands. Then, sprinkling a roll of the longer stuff 
 with oil, he rolled it up inside the cake like a long 
 sausage, bound it carefully with tiny strips torn 
 from Cadoual's clothes, and set it by the fire to dry, 
 while he went on with his fishing and grinding and 
 the tearing of garments into strips. 
 
 When the roll was dry he lighted it, and watched 
 it burn with a bright crackling flare that fulfilled 
 all his hopes and made his heart beat high. If 
 he could make enough torches like that to push 
 through the hole when lighted, it seemed to him 
 impossible that so unusual a sight should fail to 
 attract attention sooner or later. His only fear 
 was lest the superstitions of the countryside should 
 set the light down to spirits, and cause the Head 
 to be avoided even more than it was now. 
 
 If Barbe saw it he believed she would under- 
 
 [218]
 
 A BID FOR LIFE 
 
 stand, or at all events would be so exercised in her 
 mind that she would not rest till she found 
 out what it meant; for she had known Cap Rehel 
 all her life, and he was quite sure Cap Rehel had 
 never before winked back at the Light. Every day- 
 he saw her come out on to the gallery and stand 
 looking wistfully at the Head, as though she knev/ 
 it held him prisoner and prayed it to release him; 
 and he counted on Barbe more than on all the rest. 
 
 He worked harder now than he had ever 
 worked before, for the wage he worked for was 
 his life. The pool of oil grew deeper each day. 
 The sea cave swarmed with fish, for he flung all 
 the pounded remains back into it, and the uncaught 
 lived in clover till their own time came. Then 
 when they had yielded their precious oil they in 
 their turn went to feed their comrades. 
 
 As soon as he had oil enough to make a proper 
 start he set to work on his torches. Each one was 
 two feet long, for their frailty permitted of no 
 more, and the end of each he narrowed so that it 
 fitted into the hollowed top of the next one, like the 
 joints of a fishing-rod. Each as it burned out was 
 intended to light the next, and so to keep up an 
 unbroken flare so long as he continued to fit torch 
 to torch and push them through the hole. 
 
 Beyond the time he needed for eating and sleep- 
 ing and watching for Barbe, he did nothing but fish, 
 grind oil and make torches; and he made and dried 
 
 [219]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 about ten a day, and stacked them in a dry archway 
 ready for use. By the time his stock of torches 
 had grown to close on one hundred and fifty he had 
 been, as nearly as he could calculate, two months in 
 the cavern — though, indeed, it seemed to him little 
 short of two years — and he decided to make the 
 grand experiment. 
 
 It was with a jumping heart that he carried up a 
 score of the frail things to the top of his platform, 
 for if this attempt failed he had nothing to fall back 
 upon. 
 
 Barbe, he knew, took first watch as a rule, from 
 lighting up till twelve. One hour, therefore, after 
 he saw the first flash of the lantern he would light 
 his first torch, and go on burning them till the 
 twenty were finished. If Barbe came out into the 
 gallery any time within that hour, and looked 
 towards the dark headland, she would hardly fail 
 to see the unaccustomed spark upon it. 
 
 He told himself very many times, however, that 
 it might not be the first night that she would see it, 
 nor the second, nor the third; but surely in time it 
 would catch her eye and set her wondering. In the 
 meantime, as he had torches for only seven nights, 
 he went steadily on with his work, and no minute 
 of his time was wasted. 
 
 He was at the lookout at sundown, and his 
 heart was gladdened with the sight of Barbe 
 standing in the gallery and gazing earnestly at 
 
 [ 220 ]
 
 A BID FOR LIFE 
 
 Cap Rehel, as she always did. He was tempted 
 to light up at once; but prudence told him that 
 the red sun-rays on the whitened cliff would hide 
 any flare he could make, and that he must wait till 
 all was dark. 
 
 She went inside as the sun dipped, and presently 
 the lantern shot forth its first beams, and he sat 
 watching it. The vivid reds and golds faded slowly 
 in the west, till sea and sky became the colour of 
 dead ashes and mingled into one, and the light 
 blazed bravely against its sombre background. He 
 thought he could see Barbe moving to and fro in 
 front of the light, and he gazed and gazed with his 
 heart in his eyes, as though by the very intentness 
 of his looking and the yearning that was in him 
 he would draw her eyes towards him. Then at 
 last, with a hand that shook with the thought of all 
 that depended on it, he lighted his first torch at 
 the fire, pushed it blazing merrily along the ledge 
 towards the hole, fitted the butt into the head of 
 the next one, and that into the next, and the next, 
 till the flare passed out of his sight and he heard it 
 crackling outside. 
 
 A wild shriek of dismay went up from the birds 
 just settling to roost in the nooks and crannies of 
 the cliff', and it was music to his ears, since it told 
 him that his torch was burning. They screamed 
 and wheeled, attracted yet fearful, and the min- 
 gling of their screams with the crackling of his 
 torch filled his soul with hope. 
 
 [221 ]
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 A GLEAM OF LIGHT 
 
 MADAME CADOUAL'S outraged feel- 
 ings demanded life for life and blood 
 for blood, and would be satisfied with 
 nothing less. Her son had been mur- 
 dered : some one must die for it. To a nature such 
 as hers that was perhaps not an unnatural craving. 
 What she really wanted was, of course, the forfeit 
 of the life of the man who had taken the life of her 
 son; but blind rage has no discriminations, and, 
 failing the right man, any other man's life would 
 have blunted the edge of her venom just as well. If 
 she could have felt that some one had been made to 
 suffer for the crime, her soul would have been com- 
 forted, or at all events her rage would have known 
 some appeasement. As it was, however, no one 
 had been brought to book, and her anger had noth- 
 ing but itself to feed upon. The diet seemed to 
 suit without satisfying it. It only waxed the fiercer 
 as the days passed and nothing was done. 
 
 She raved at Sergeant Gaudriol to the point of 
 apoplexy because he still declined to arrest Pierre 
 
 [222]
 
 A GLEAM OF LIGHT 
 
 Carcassone unless she could show him more reasons 
 for it than he could see himself. 
 
 She journeyed to Plouarnec and laid the matter 
 before the authorities there. The authorities sent 
 for Gaudriol, and, after hearing all he had to say, 
 took his view of the case. 
 
 Madame Cadoual sent to Paris for detectives, 
 and for many days Plenevec suffered their pertinent 
 and impertinent inquisition, and resented it. In 
 the result the detectives told madame that there 
 was no evidence sufficient to justify the arrest of 
 Pierre, and that, in their opinion, the very gravest 
 suspicions attached to one Alain Carbonec, who had 
 disappeared on the same day as her son. She bade 
 them find Alain Carbonec, and they spent much 
 time and money in the attempt, and finally gave it 
 up. She gave them the rough edge of her 
 very sharp tongue, and they returned to Paris well 
 satisfied with their holiday on the coasts of Bre- 
 tagne. 
 
 To Barbe this was a time of extreme bitterness 
 and suffering. Nothing but death could account 
 for Alain's absence and silence. If he were alive 
 she felt sure he would have managed in some way 
 to let her know it. She would sooner have known 
 that he was alive, even though he had killed George 
 Cadoual, as Pierre did not fail to inform her was 
 the fact. But she did not believe it — unless, in- 
 deed, the two men had fought, which after all was 
 
 [ 223 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 not unlikely. If they had, she was quite sure that 
 Alain fought honourably, and that George Cadoual 
 deserved all he got. But it was Alain himself in 
 the flesh that she craved with a yearning that made 
 her sick, and the belief that she would never see him 
 again wrung her, body and soul. 
 
 That great frowning headland, if It could speak, 
 could tell the story, she thought; and day after day, 
 as she sat in the gallery, her eyes dwelt upon it with 
 a sorrowful intensity that would have won a re- 
 sponse from anything less adamantine. 
 
 How often she had held her breath at sight of 
 him coming down those cliffs like a fly down a pane, 
 and again when she watched him climb slowly up, 
 with death at his heels and a cold hand gripping 
 her heart, till he stood for a moment at the top and 
 waved her another adieu and disappeared over the 
 crest ! 
 
 Ah, if only the good God and the pitiful Virgin 
 Mother would hearken to her prayers and bless 
 her with the sight of him coming once more ! How 
 she would reverence them, pray to them, thank 
 them all her life long! She would make a special 
 pilgrimage to Notre Dame de Folgoet. She would 
 go all the way on her bare feet. She would burn 
 candles innumerable before the shrine, if she had 
 to sell her hair to do It. She would do anything 
 that could be asked of her, if only Alain might 
 come back. 
 
 [224]
 
 A GLEAM OF LIGHT 
 
 He did not come, but she spent much time watch- 
 ing the way by which he used to come ; and, all un- 
 known to her, Alain sat watching her, as hungry for 
 her as she for him. Only fifteen feet of rock and 
 a mile of water between them, but for the time be- 
 ing these things separated them as completely as 
 death itself. But death leaves no loopholes of 
 escape, and Alain, as we know, had a loophole, and 
 was working might and main to turn it to account. 
 
 The detectives from Paris came across to the 
 Light, and departed as wise as they came. Pierre 
 put out as many spines and bristles as a sea-por- 
 cupine, and Barbe's hollow-eyed sadness held them 
 equally at arm's-length. 
 
 Popular opinion in Plenevec favoured the detec- 
 tives' deductions, while resenting their methods of 
 arriving at them. All that had passed between 
 Cadoual and Alain and Barbe and Pierre was public 
 property by this time, and even the bucolic mind 
 could find therein no adequate reason why Pierre 
 should have killed Cadoual. Very much the re- 
 verse, in fact. 
 
 "One would not have called the poor George 
 amiable, par exemple; but, all the same, he was 
 rich, voyez-vous! And that Is what one looks for 
 in a son-in-law." So it was quite inconceivable 
 that Pierre should have put Cadoual out of the 
 way. 
 
 While as regards Alain, in spite of their liking 
 
 [225 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 for him: "Two men to one girl always makes for 
 trouble, you understand; and when one of them 
 tries to injure the other, why — voila Vaffaire!" 
 And so, if Alain had their sympathy, no man or 
 woman among them all but believed that he had 
 killed Cadoual, quite possibly in fair fight, and had 
 fled the country. 
 
 So the days passed sadly for Barbe, and the 
 nights were long, and hopeless of brighter morn- 
 ings. All her duties about the Light were per- 
 formed with mechanical exactitude; but life had 
 lost its flavour, as the sea and sky had lost their 
 colours and the stars their friendliness. 
 
 She and Pierre spoke no more than was abso- 
 lutely necessary. Alain was dead, and she set it 
 all down to Pierre's account, and could never for- 
 give him. She knitted no more blue stockings now, 
 but sat in the gallery with listless hands, thinking 
 of Alain and recalling all his words and looks, and 
 all the little details of his lover-like comings and 
 goings through the Race. She could see the strong 
 white arm whirling through the air and reaching 
 through the water, the upturn of the eager face, 
 the impatient shake of the yellow curls. There 
 was the rock to which the brown hand clung at last 
 while he panted below it, out of sight, but, oh, so 
 near to her throbbing heart! And he was gone. 
 She would never see him more, and she would live 
 all her life alone — more alone than if she had never 
 
 [226]
 
 A GLEAM OF LIGHT 
 
 known him. Yet how sweet It was to have known 
 and loved him, and to know that he had loved her! 
 Better far to love the dead Alain all her life than 
 never to have known him and to have married a 
 George Cadoual. 
 
 Barbe was sitting brooding thus one night after 
 lighting up, with her eyes fixed vacantly on the 
 shoreward darkness, when a glint of light caught 
 the corner of her eye. She thought it was the flash 
 of a belated sea-bird's wing in the light that 
 streamed from the lantern; but it remained — a tiny 
 spark where she had never in all her life seen a 
 spark before. 
 
 She had known Cap Rebel for twelve years; but 
 never had she seen a light half-way up it before. 
 She watched it curiously, and crossed herself de- 
 voutly, and prayed for protection from all evil 
 spirits. It remained a tiny, steady flicker, and it 
 seemed to stop in one place all the time — though 
 she could not be positive of that, for at times, when 
 she watched it very intently, she was not quite sure 
 that it did not swing gently to and fro. It disap- 
 peared at last as suddenly as it had come, and she 
 waited for a long time watching earnestly. But 
 it came no more, and she wondered about it all 
 night and all the next day, and put it down to 
 spirits and felt the Light lonelier than ever. 
 
 The thought came to her that it might be Alain's 
 spirit wandering about the gloomy Cap he used to 
 
 [227]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 frequent when he was ahve. She found a measure 
 of comfort therein. If she could have been assured 
 of it she would have been solemnly happy. Better 
 his spirit than nothing. 
 
 The following night she was on the lookout for 
 the light on the Head, and when it winked suddenly 
 out of the darkness her heart leaped to it, and she 
 sat eyeing it wistfully and wondering much. 
 
 She said nothing about it to Pierre either that 
 night, or the next, or the next again. But when for 
 seven consecutive nights the spark had never once 
 failed to appear, she felt she must speak about it 
 with somebody; and when Pierre tumbled into his 
 bunk next morning, she lowered the boat and pulled 
 once more across to Plenevec. 
 
 Barbe had been thinking of the strange light all 
 night, as she thought about it every night, and she 
 started out full of excitement; but her strokes grew 
 longer as she neared the shore. She had run in 
 as near to the Head as she dared go, to see if there 
 was any sign of anything unusual about it; but the 
 sea-birds clustered and swung as thick as ever, and 
 there was no slightest indication of their ever hav- 
 ing been disturbed. Could she possibly have de- 
 ceived herself about the light? Would Sergeant 
 Gaudriol believe her? Would he think it a matter 
 of any consequence? She was half-inclined to go 
 back when she stood at last on his doorstep, and 
 when she screwed up her courage to knocking-point 
 
 [228 ]
 
 A GLEAM OF LIGHT 
 
 It was such a hesitating tap that the Sergeant might 
 well have been forgiven if he had slept through it. 
 But Sergeant Gaudriol was accustomed to half- 
 hearted summonses of the kind, and sprang up at 
 once to see what trouble stood on his doorstep now. 
 
 Barbe caught a glimpse of the big silver-laced 
 hat through the inch-opened door as he asked, 
 "Who is there ?" 
 
 When he saw who it was he begged her patience 
 for two minutes, and when the door opened wide at 
 the end of that time he was the Sergeant Gaudriol 
 of our acquaintance, en grande tenue from head to 
 foot. 
 
 "Hola, petite! What hast thou ?" he asked, with 
 quick kindliness. "Anything wrong out there?" 
 and he looked at her searchingly. He had not seen 
 her for some weeks, and the sadness of her face 
 touched him sharply. Grand Bayou Light held 
 many possibilities. 
 
 "Nothing wrong, M. Gaudriol; but there is 
 something I do not understand " 
 
 "How then? What is it?" 
 
 "Each night, for the last seven nights, there has 
 been a light on the side of Cap Rebel " 
 
 "How? A light on Cap Rebel?" 
 
 "And never in all my life have I seen a light 
 there before," she said, much strengthened by the 
 Sergeant's genuine surprise. 
 
 "And what does Pierre say about it?" he asked. 
 
 [229]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 "He has not seen it, and I have not told him. It 
 comes each night about an hour after we Hght up. 
 It stops for an hour, and then it goes." 
 
 "And you think? " 
 
 ''Mon Dieu! I know not. But — it is curious !" 
 
 "And you have thought it might have something 
 to do with Alain Carbonec — is it not so?" 
 
 "In fact, yes, I have wondered — You see — 
 well, Alain must have gone up Cap Rehel the very 
 last thing we know of him; and I have sat and 
 watched the cliffs, and wished they could speak and 
 tell me what became of him. Then — this !" 
 
 The Sergeant nodded thoughtfully, with his eyes 
 resting absently on her face. It was a far cry to 
 his own courting days; but his liking for her and 
 Alain made him understand, if dimly. 
 
 "You have not been to the Head in the day- 
 time?" he asked. 
 
 "I came past just now, but the birds are as thick 
 as ever, and I could see nothing out of the com- 
 
 mon." 
 
 He nodded thoughtfully again. He was turn- 
 ing over in his mind the possible causes of the phe- 
 nomenon. There had been a time when a light on 
 Cap Rebel would have had a very distinct meaning; 
 but that time was very long ago, and the building 
 of the Light had swept it all away. Then, know- 
 ing the villagers as well as he did, he did not be- 
 lieve a man of them would go anywhere near Cap 
 
 [ 230 J
 
 A GLEAM OF LIGHT 
 
 Rehel by night if he could help it. Why, some of 
 them even believed that the sea-birds were the souls 
 of mariners enticed ashore by those old false lights, 
 and drowned there, and that the shrill cries of 
 the drowning men, as they clawed the iron feet of 
 the cliffs, lived again in the wild screaming of the 
 birds. Undoubtedly, a light on Cap Rebel was 
 curious and worth looking into, in view of the curi- 
 ous things that had happened in the neighbourhood 
 of late. 
 
 "I will get Jan Godey to drop me at the Light 
 to-night as he goes out," said the Sergeant at last, 
 "and he will pick me up in the morning as he comes 
 in. Then we will see, ma fille. What time did 
 you say it comes?" 
 
 "About an hour after I light the lamps." 
 
 "I will be there." 
 
 "I cannot thank you, monsieur." 
 
 "Don't try, my child. We will find out what it 
 means, never fear. Won't you have some coffee?" 
 
 But she thanked him again, and sped down to 
 her boat, lest Pierre should miss her. 
 
 Jan Godey's lugger crept up to the lighthouse 
 along the path of the setting sun that night, and 
 Alain Carbonec saw it from his prison loophole, 
 and his heart beat hopefully. 
 
 Jan tied his boat to the ladder with a long play 
 of rope, bade his crew of one man and a boy wait 
 for him, and followed Sergeant Gaudriol through 
 
 [231 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 the doorway. The Sergeant had told him simply 
 that he wanted to go to the Light. After thinking 
 the matter over on the way out, he asked Jan to 
 come upstairs with him. He was curious to hear 
 what he would say about the strange light. There 
 was always the bare possibility that something was 
 going on behind the official back, though he did not 
 think it likely. But, as we have seen, it was a part 
 of Sergeant Gaudriol's creed that a man taken un- 
 awares sometimes spoke the truth by accident, and 
 he believed himself quite capable of judging by 
 Jan's conduct whether he knew anything about the 
 matter or not! 
 
 Pierre received his unexpected visitors with much 
 surprise. 
 
 "How then, M. Le Sergeant?" he said through 
 the stem of his pipe. "Who's missing now ?" 
 
 "It's all right, Pierre," said Gaudriol. "It Is 
 Mademoiselle Barbe I wish to see this time." 
 
 "Ah ! you have some news?" 
 
 "We shall see. Where is she ?" 
 
 "Up above. You'd better go to her." 
 
 The two men climbed the ladders to the lantern, 
 and found Barbe just lighting the lamps. 
 
 "One moment, M. Le Sergeant, and I have 
 finished. Won't you sit down here?" said she, as 
 they bade her good-evening, and she showed them 
 where to sit with their feet through the rails and 
 their backs against the lantern. Before placing 
 
 [232 ]
 
 A GLEAM OF LIGHT 
 
 himself beside Jan, who had never been up there 
 before, and was filled with wonder at all he saw, 
 Gaudriol stepped back alongside Barbe, and in a 
 whisper bade her say no word of what he had come 
 for. 
 
 Presently Pierre's curiosity as to what was going 
 on above his head in his own house, and unknown 
 to him, brought him up into the gallery also. He 
 stood looking at them, with his pipe in his mouth 
 and a puzzled scowl on his face, and then said 
 gruffly, "Well, may I be crucified ! Have you two 
 taken a notion to roost here all night?" 
 
 "Just for a while, my friend. Jan, here, has 
 never been up the Light before, and it amuses him." 
 
 "Humph !" growled Pierre, and decided to wait 
 and see what was the meaning of it all. The 
 silence was irksome to him, and presently he put 
 out a feeler. 
 
 "No news of Carbonec yet?" 
 
 "No news," said the Sergeant. 
 
 "You'll never see hi?ti hereabouts again," said 
 Pierre. "He's in America by this time." 
 
 "That is always possible." 
 
 "There's no doubt he met Cadoual over there" 
 — he nodded towards Cap Rebel — "and put his 
 knife into him, and then bolted. Which was the 
 most sensible thing he could do." 
 
 "That is always possible," said the Sergeant once 
 more; "but, for me, I do not believe it." 
 
 [233]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 "How then? How do you explain matters, 
 M. le Sergeant?" 
 
 "I have not got that length yet, mon beau; but 
 time may unravel the skein." 
 
 Just then Barbe, gazing out over the rail at the 
 farther side from Pierre, started as the tiny spark 
 flashed out on the black breast of Cap Rebel. She 
 stood gripping the rail and waiting intently for the 
 first sign that it had caught her companions' notice. 
 
 Gaudriol had already seen it, but, true to his 
 principles, waited to surprise Jan Godey's, and pos- 
 sibly Pierre's, first words on the subject. 
 
 Jan saw it first, since Pierre had his back to the 
 rail. 
 
 "What's that?" said Jan in a scared whisper, and 
 drew his feet inside the railings. 
 
 "What then?" asked Gaudriol. "What is it?" 
 and Pierre turned to look also. 
 
 "Nom-de-Dieu! he said softly, in very genuine 
 surprise. "I never saw the like of that before." 
 
 "It's a light," said the Sergeant. 
 
 "A light on Cap Rebel, and half-way up!" said 
 Pierre in a whisper which told its own tale. "Then 
 it's the devil himself that's holding it. Mon Dieu! 
 what is it, then?" 
 
 Jan Godey did not speak, because his teeth were 
 chattering so. 
 
 "Suppose we go and see what it is?" suggested 
 Sergeant Gaudriol. 
 
 [234]
 
 A GLEAM OF LIGHT 
 
 "Fm on duty. Can't leave the Light," said 
 Pierre promptly. 
 
 "I — I — I — must get on to the fishing," said Jan 
 Godey. 
 
 "Bienf" said the Sergeant. "Cut away, then, 
 Jan. I never thought you had the courage of a 
 mouse. Now I know it." 
 
 "But no, M. le Sergeant. Anything in reason if 
 you will. But devil's lights, and spirits, and such- 
 hke things ! No; I leave them to other people. I 
 want none, I thank you." 
 
 "All right, Jan. Call for me in the morning. 
 I'm going to stop here and think how that light 
 got there." 
 
 "I'm going to bed," said Pierre. 
 
 "Better show Jan down to his boat, or he'll 
 break his neck," said the Sergeant. "He's making 
 the lighthouse shake as it is." 
 
 "Eh bienf bon soir, messieurs!" said Jan, in a 
 huff, and disappeared inside the lantern with Pierre 
 at his heels. 
 
 "What can it be, M. Gaudriol?" asked Barbe in 
 a whisper. 
 
 "I cannot tell, child, yet. But we will try and 
 find out. It is no Plenevec man who is making that 
 light — if it is any man at all. They will all be like 
 friend Jan. But there is courage in numbers. To- 
 morrow night I will be there by the Head with a 
 
 [235]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 dozen men, if I have to drive them with my sword. 
 How long do you watch?" 
 
 "Till midnight." 
 
 "Then you will permit me to keep you company, 
 ma'm'selle, and you won't object to my smoking? 
 And we will talk — voyons, we will talk of Alain 
 Carbonec." 
 
 The following night found the Sergeant, as good 
 as his word, with a dozen men in two boats lying off 
 Cap Rebel. 
 
 The story of the devil's light had not lost in its 
 travels, and the Sergeant had come near to having 
 to live up to his threat of using his sword before 
 he succeeded in getting the men to join him. Curi- 
 osity on the subject was at fever heat, indeed, and 
 suggestions as to the meaning of the mysterious 
 light were as plentiful as stones on Plenevec beach; 
 but their superstitious fears ran just a point or two 
 ahead even of their curiosity, and not a man of 
 them but was screwing his rusty memory for long- 
 forgotten prayers and wishing himself well out of 
 the adventure. 
 
 They lay like two darker shadows on the dark 
 swell of the sea, whose waves slipped smoothly 
 under them and made no sound till they broke in 
 thunder and lightning on the feet of Cap Rebel. 
 The silence and the darkness lay heavy on them, 
 their fears heavier still, and the waiting tried to 
 the utmost that which Gaudriol's jeers and threats 
 
 [236]
 
 A GLEAM OF LIGHT 
 
 had with difficulty evoked in them. Now and 
 again a growling whisper passed from one to an- 
 other, and they sat with their eyes gkied to the black 
 cliffs, waiting for the devil to light his lamp. 
 
 Sergeant Gaudriol's observance of them had 
 more than satisfied him that not a man of them 
 knew anything about the light, or was in any way 
 responsible for it. Every man had his own opinion 
 on the matter; but on one point they were all 
 agreed, and that was, that if the light was anything 
 like what Jan Godey said it was, it was no human 
 hand that hghted it. And of ghosts and spirits 
 every man of them was as full as he was of cider, 
 which at best is no great augmenter of courage. 
 
 They were beginning to feel as if it must be get- 
 ting on towards daylight, and those who were not 
 in the Sergeant's boat were muttering audible 
 curses and casting treasonable doubts on the whole 
 matter, when the light suddenly thrust out through 
 the solid black rock in front of them and held them 
 all spellbound, while the wakened birds screamed 
 and swooped round the flare like evil spirits the 
 bold mariners had been thinking of. 
 
 "Voila, mes amis! Now what do you say?" said 
 the Sergeant. "Is that a light or is it not?" 
 
 "It is the devil," said Jan Godey conclusively. 
 
 *'»Sf, si, it is the devil without doubt," said the rest 
 in whispers. 
 
 The flare burned quickly and wastefully, the 
 
 [ 237]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 flames forking up and the burning embers falling 
 down. 
 
 "It burns," said the Sergeant. "If it were the 
 devil there would be no burned chips. It is human; 
 but what it is I can't make out. Can you take us 
 in right under it, Jan?" 
 
 "Mon Dieuf no, Sergeant. We should be 
 smashed into pieces." 
 
 "BienI Can you put a mark exactly opposite 
 to it?" 
 
 "I can anchor a float with a stone. It will be 
 somewhere near the place at flood in the morning." 
 
 "Do so, then, mon beau, and in the morning we 
 will go up to the top and see what we can do." 
 
 They watched the light till it disappeared as sud- 
 denly as it had come, and then rowed back home, 
 with ghosts and evil spirits and things that flap in 
 the dark hovering thickly all about them. 
 
 There was much talk that night in Plenevec, and 
 the lights in the windows were later of being put 
 out than usual, and not a man of them went to the 
 fishing, for the devil was abroad — or at all events 
 on Cap Rebel — and till he was laid they would 
 have no comfort. Some talked of sending to 
 Plouarnec for a priest; but Sergeant Gaudriol bade 
 them instead bring stout ropes in the morning, 
 and they would find out for themselves what was 
 the meaning of the sign. 
 
 ^''Nom-de-Dieu! if Sergeant Gaudriol expects me 
 
 [238]
 
 A GLEAM OF LIGHT 
 
 to go down after his devil, why, he's very much 
 mistaken. If he must poke into such things, let 
 him go down himself, with his sword and his 
 cocked hat, and talk to the devil to his heart's con- 
 tent. For me, ma foil I have no desire that way. 
 A priest now, and holy water — " And so said 
 every man among them. 
 
 [ 239 J
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 *rWIXT HEAVEN AND — 
 
 BARBE had watched the light on the cliff 
 the night before with the keenest curi- 
 osity. She had abundant faith in 
 Sergeant Gaudriol, and felt certain he 
 would get to the bottom of the mystery in some 
 way or other. She had seen the boats steal out in 
 the twilight, and she waited eagerly for the light 
 on the Head to appear. Suppose it should fail 
 them this night? If it did she would think it was 
 some evil thing that feared detection; but if it 
 burned as usual she would be confirmed in the belief 
 that it was endeavouring to attract attention. So 
 she waited in great excitement, and the minutes 
 seemed hours. She began to fear it was not com- 
 ing, when it suddenly shot out and startled her as 
 much as it did the men in the boats, and she drew a 
 breath of relief. 
 
 Now what would they do? She heard nothing, 
 saw nothing. The light burned its usual time and 
 disappeared, and nothing whatever happened. She 
 hardly slept a wink for thinking of it, and startled 
 Pierre into a bad temper by slipping silently 
 
 [240]
 
 TWIXT HEAVEN AND 
 
 through the lantern to the gallery before his watch 
 was up, to stand there searching the shadowy cliffs 
 with anxious eyes. Had the men in the boats done 
 anything? Was the mystery explained? She 
 fairly ached to know. 
 
 A single soft pencil of rosy light stole up the grey 
 curtain behind Cap Rebel, like a holy finger calling 
 a sleeping world to life and worship. The eastern 
 dimness fluttered, softened, melted at the touch of 
 the unseen fires, and the new day came like the silent 
 unfolding of a majestic flower, glory after glory, 
 till the great golden heart of it blazed up behind 
 the cliffs, and Barbe was bathed in its splendours. 
 
 It was a perfectly still morning. The tide was 
 running up to the flood, soundless and smooth as 
 glass. The boiling Pot seemed still asleep, the 
 white clouds of birds on the Head showed no sign 
 of life, and where sea met land there was no fringe 
 of foam. 
 
 As Barbe stood there in the morning glory, gaz- 
 ing earnestly towards the cliffs, there came along 
 the breath of the dawn — or so it seemed to her — 
 and so real was it that she gripped the rail with 
 both hands and panted with the wonder of it — a 
 muffled, tremulous whisper : 
 
 ''Barbe! Barbe! Barbe!" 
 
 So real was it that she threw out her arms 
 towards the sound, crying, "Alain ! Alain !" And 
 then stood wondering at the sound and at herself. 
 
 [241 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 Could it be real, or was it only the outcome of 
 her own great longing? She could not tell; but it 
 had seemed very real to her. 
 
 The moment she was free from necessary house- 
 hold duties she lowered the boat while Pierre still 
 slept, and pulled quickly across to Plenevec. She 
 no longer acknowledged Pierre's right to control 
 her actions. He had said she was not his daughter. 
 Very well, then ! It suited her to live at the Light, 
 since she had nowhere else to go ; but she considered 
 herself at liberty to leave it if she chose at any mo- 
 ment, so long as her going did not interfere with 
 the proper discharge of its duties. 
 
 She passed Jan Godey pulling out of the bay as 
 she pulled in. "Did you learn anything last night, 
 Jan Godey?" she cried. 
 
 "No, nothing," said Jan, and pulled out to his 
 float. 
 
 "M. le Sergeant is not there," an old woman told 
 her as she knocked at Gaudriol's door. "He is 
 gone with everybody else up the cliff to catch the 
 devil." 
 
 Barbe hurried after them. She found all Plen- 
 evec on top of Cap Rebel, and a heated dis- 
 cussion in progress as to the fit and proper person 
 to be let down by a rope to see if anything was to 
 be found out about the mysterious light. 
 
 Unanimous opinion Indicated Sergeant Gaudrlol 
 himself as that person; and the old man acknowl- 
 
 [ 242 ]
 
 'TWIXT HEAVEN AND 
 
 edged the suitability of the choice, but confessed 
 his doubts as to his fitness for the job — which, In- 
 deed, offered no Inducements to any one. Even 
 an expert cragsman would find It no pleasure-trip; 
 and, Dieu-de-Dieuf one did not need to break one's 
 neck to prove that there was a devil. If M. le 
 Sergeant was anxious to make his personal acquain- 
 tance, why, now was his chance ! He might rail 
 and storm and jeer, and call them every name under 
 the sun; but there was nothing in the law that could 
 compel them to go down there on any such fool's 
 errand. No, parbleu! — thousand times, no! 
 
 There was the cliff, and out there was Jan Godey 
 in his boat, hanging gallantly on to the float. The 
 ropes were there, and the brave, strong men to hold 
 them at the top, and slack and pull to order; but 
 the leading role was still vacant. 
 
 Sergeant Gaudriol was beginning to think he 
 would have to doff his plumage and go himself, 
 though he felt very doubtful about ever coming up 
 again, for the whirling clouds of birds and the 
 seething gulf made his head swim as it was, when 
 Barbe came panting up the slope behind. 
 
 "Tiensf La Carcassone," said one to another. 
 "She'll go If you ask her, M. le Sergeant." 
 
 "Go where?" asked Barbe as she joined them. 
 "I will go anywhere M. Gaudriol wants me to 
 go." 
 
 "But I don't want you to go, ma fille. I want 
 
 [243 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 one of these hulking lumps to go; but they are all 
 afraid. It seems I must go myself." 
 
 "Down there?" asked Barbe. 
 
 "But yes," chorused a dozen of them. "Down 
 there in a rope among the birds to look for the devil 
 that makes the light." 
 
 "And who will hold the ropes?" 
 
 They were all ready, willing, even anxious to 
 hold the ropes. They were bold and gallant men 
 enough at the right end of the ropes; but at the 
 wrong end, and on such a questionable quest — ma 
 foi, that was quite another affair. 
 
 "I will go, M. Gaudriol," said Barbe. "My 
 head is steady with being up in the Light, you see. 
 If they will make me a loop big enough to sit in, and 
 a thin cord for signals, I will go." 
 
 They would make her twenty loops if she wanted 
 them, and give her all the signal-cords she could 
 hold. 
 
 "I was afraid I would not be in time," she said 
 naively as she watched them testing the loop. "I 
 was afraid some one else would have gone." 
 
 They looked at her in very great surprise, and 
 saw that there was a red flush on the pallid tan of 
 her face, that her eyes were shining like jewels set 
 in velvet cases, and that her lips were almost smil- 
 ing. 
 
 "But, ma fille — " began the Sergeant. 
 
 "It is Alain, M. le Sergeant. He called to me 
 
 [244]
 
 'TWIXT HEAVEN AND 
 
 this morning," she said, and the old man shot a 
 quick look of surprise at her. 
 
 "Mow Dieu! she is mad," said a woman; and 
 that was the opinion of the rest. 
 
 "The good God will take care of her," said an- 
 other, who was prepared to hang round her own 
 man's neck as a dissuasive if he had offered to go 
 — which he had not the slightest intention of doing. 
 
 "But yes, it is true, they are under His care," said 
 another. 
 
 "But, ma fille — " began Sergeant Gaudriol once 
 
 more 
 
 There is no need, M. le Sergeant," said Barbe. 
 "It is for me, this," and she caught up the thin line 
 and bade one of them knot it round her right wrist. 
 
 "Foyonsf she said. "What are the signals?" 
 
 "One for up, two for down, three for right, four 
 for left," said the man who was knotting the line. 
 "To stop her, shake the cord." 
 
 "Bienf Now, messieurs, I am ready;" and she 
 stood inside the loop, gathered it up in her two 
 hands, and stepped to the edge of the cliff. Those 
 who saw her say that her face shone with a glory 
 like the face of the Holy Mother in their child- 
 hood's dreams; but it may have been only the glory 
 of the morning sun and of the great hope that was 
 in her. 
 
 She set her feet firmly against the slope, with her 
 back to the sea, and settled her weight down into 
 
 [245 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 the bight of the rope against the steady pull of 
 twenty strong hands. 
 
 " Allans !" and the rope ran slowly from hand to 
 hand, and then all that the silent half-circleof watch- 
 ers saw was the groove it cut in the close, rough 
 turf of the cliff-edge, and beyond that the flawless 
 blue of the sea, and between these the whirling 
 cloud of birds that rose and circled and swooped, 
 and screamed curses at the invader of their soli- 
 tudes. 
 
 The faces up there on the cliff were pale and 
 anxious, and they whispered to one another that 
 she had gone to her death, unless indeed the good 
 God held her safe because she was mad; and Ser- 
 geant Gaudriol's face was black. But, if they could 
 still have watched the face that swung there be- 
 tween sea and sky, they would have seen it glowing 
 with a radiance as bright and steady as the lamp 
 that swings before the altar and goes not out by day 
 or night; and the light was not the light of the sun. 
 
 When, for seven nights, Alain Carbonec had 
 burned his toilsomely constructed flares and reaped 
 no reward, his spirits sank somewhat. He went 
 on doggedly, making more, however, and burned 
 twenty each night, and told himself that the contin- 
 uance of the light was bound sooner or later to 
 catch somebody's eyes and lead them to investigate 
 it. Their superstitious fears, he knew, would stand 
 in the way of that; but Gaudriol was a man, and 
 
 [246]
 
 'TWIXT HEAVEN AND 
 
 when Gaudriol heard of the strange hght on Cap 
 Rehel, Alain did not believe he would rest till he 
 found out what it meant. Every spare moment he 
 could snatch from his torch-making he spent at the 
 lookout, watching for the slightest indication of re- 
 sults. When the peephole was occupied by the 
 torch he could, of course, see nothing. 
 
 He scrambled up his platform in the early morn- 
 ing of the day after Gaudriol and his men had 
 watched the light from their boats, and his eyes 
 lighted on Barbe just as the first sun-rays were play- 
 ing on her and flashing back from the glass of the 
 lantern behind her, so that she seemed wrapped in 
 the golden glory. In a passion of longing he bur- 
 rowed into the funnel towards her and shouted: 
 
 "Barbe! Barbe! Barbe!" 
 
 The cry rumbled up into the roof behind him in 
 murmurous thunders, and some of it, fined to a 
 point by the tenuity of its passage, escaped through 
 the hole in front, travelled tremulously along the 
 still morning air to Barbe, and reached her like a 
 whisper from another world. He saw her throw 
 out her arms towards him, as though she had in- 
 deed heard, and his heart leaped with hope. He 
 watched her drop the boat and row swiftly towards 
 the shore out of his sight, and he sat at his lookout 
 and waited. 
 
 I 247 ]
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 INTO THE BLESSED LIGHT OF DAY 
 
 BARBE as she swung in the rope between 
 sea and sky was nearer heaven than 
 earth. Her thoughts were all for 
 Alain, and never a one for herself. 
 Her love filled all her being, and shone out from her 
 face, and fear had no place in her. 
 
 Alain was there — somewhere: where, and in 
 what case, she could not stop to think. He had 
 called to her, and she had come. 
 
 The face of the cliff caved away just there, and 
 her descent was smooth and easy. The guillemots 
 and kittiwakes and skua-gulls rose around her In 
 shrieking clouds. They swooped and fluttered at 
 her to knock her off her perch. She kicked at them 
 playfully with her bare feet, and waved them off 
 with her hand. How wonderful was their free, 
 beautiful flight! How pitilessly cold the glassy 
 stare of their inhuman eyes ! If she fell they would 
 swoop down and peck at her dead body, the beauti- 
 ful, soulless things. 
 
 Then she passed some long, level black rifts in 
 the cliff, and a cloud of rock-doves swept past her 
 
 [248]
 
 INTO THE BLESSED LIGHT OF DAY 
 
 and went up into the sky. Could Alain be in 
 there ? 
 
 At the top of her voice she cried, "Alain! 
 Alain!" 
 
 There was no response but the louder shrieking 
 of the angry birds. She went lower and lower, 
 and the rocks curved out to meet her. She must 
 be half-way down now, and still no sign of 
 Alain. 
 
 Then the rope stopped running as the men bent 
 on another one up above. Then came a jerk and a 
 shower of earth as the knot ground through the 
 groove, and she was descending again, and her eyes 
 swept every inch of the cliff-face for a sign. It 
 looked all smooth and white from the Light; but 
 here, close at hand, she saw that the rocks were 
 grey and black and old and scarred, and that it was 
 only the birds that had whitened it. Every level 
 inch was covered with their droppings; and she 
 smiled as she passed at their tiny housekeepings, 
 and at the stolid bravery of the little matrons who 
 only glanced up at her apprehensively and cuddled 
 down the tighter on their eggs. 
 
 She glanced down at the water. It was draw- 
 ing very close, ana so far not a sign of what she 
 sought. Surely she had come too far. To cover 
 all the ground she must move along to right or left. 
 Which? It did not matter, since both were equally 
 unknown. One meant up, two meant down, 
 
 [ 249]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 three — She was not sure. She gave three tugs at 
 the cord, and presently commenced to drag slowly 
 along the cliff to the left. The rope caught now 
 and again on rough points of rock, and freed itself 
 with a jerk that nearly flung her out. It scoured 
 the face of the cliff and swept it bare of birds, and 
 away above her head her eye fastened on a scorched 
 and blackened patch with a blacker round hole in 
 the middle. 
 
 Her heart leaped into her throat, and for a mo- 
 ment her head swam, and the ragged cliff reeled and 
 swung in front of her. She clung with both hands 
 to the rope till things grew still again; for that 
 round black hole was where the light came from — 
 she was sure of it. And that was the end of her 
 quest. For a moment longer she hesitated. What 
 would the scorched hole yield her? Everything — 
 or nothing? 
 
 She tugged sharply at the guide-rope, and was 
 drawn slowly up towards the hole. Her head was 
 level with it, and she shook the cord vigorously. 
 She looked into the hole. It was black as a coal. 
 And out of it there came a strange hollow voice 
 crying, "Barbe! Barbe!" as of one shut in behind 
 the panels of a bed. 
 
 She could not speak for the fluttering of her heart 
 in her throat again. She had to swallow it very 
 many times before she could gasp, "Alain! Alain! 
 Is it thou?" 
 
 [250]
 
 INTO THE BLESSED LIGHT OF DAY 
 
 "God be thanked!" said the hollow voice. 
 "Come closer, Barbe." 
 
 "Is it indeed thou, Alain?" 
 
 "Truly, truly I, my beloved." 
 
 "And where art thou?" 
 
 "Inside the cliff — a cavern " 
 
 "And how can I get thee out?" 
 
 "Wait !" he said. "Listen, my Barbe I Up above 
 there are openings in the cliff " 
 
 "I saw them." 
 
 "Pass a rope through them with an axe at the 
 end of it, and make the other end fast up above, 
 and I will be with thee in half an hour. You 
 understand?" 
 
 "I understand. Can I not touch thy hand, 
 Alain?" 
 
 "There are four metres of rock between us, dear 
 one. Hasten with the rope, and I will be with 
 thee." 
 
 "I go. Adieu, Alain! Come quickly — 
 quickly!" 
 
 She pulled once at the cord and the hole was be- 
 low her. She saw the black rifts above her on the 
 right. She was past them. Strong hands grasped 
 her under the shoulders and drew her up over the 
 cliff, and she fell prostrate among them like one 
 bereft of life. 
 
 The women were still slapping her hands when 
 her eyes opened.
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 "Ah, la voilaf" said one; then Sergeant Gaudriol 
 bent over her, and she sat up. 
 
 "Can you tell us what you saw, ma fille?" he 
 asked, as one tries to Induce a child to tell Its little 
 story. 
 
 "It is Alain, monsieur." 
 
 "Alain! Alain Carbonec!" said the Sergeant, 
 and eyed her keenly to see If she were in proper 
 possession of her wits, and all the throng gathered 
 round her with ejaculations of surprise and incre- 
 dulity. 
 
 She stood up, somewhat shakily, for her nerves 
 were relaxed after the too great strain. 
 
 "Alain Is there — in a cavern In the rock. He 
 spoke to me through a small opening." 
 
 "Could you see him, my dear?" asked one doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 "I could not see him. He said there were four 
 metres of rock between us. There are some larger 
 holes just under the cliff up here. He told me to 
 send down a rope through those holes with an axe 
 tied to it, and to make the end fast up above, and 
 he would be up in half an hour." 
 
 "Allans, done!" cried Gaudriol, flaming to the 
 work. "What, in the name of Heaven, are you all 
 gaping round here for? An axe — a rope! Who's 
 got an axe ? What a set of fools not to have an axe 
 among you ! Off you go — you, Jean-Marie — go 
 like the deuce and bring an axe." And Jean-Marie 
 
 [252]
 
 INTO THE BLESSED LIGHT OF DAY 
 
 started off down the slope at a fisherman's gal- 
 lop. 
 
 "Tiensf Jean-Marie!" shouted Gaudriol after 
 him. "Bring also wine and bread and some cog- 
 nac. A/o;/ Dietif mon Dieu! the poor fellow has 
 been down there for two whole months, and God 
 knows if he's had anything to eat in all that 
 time." 
 
 The men busied themselves getting the fresh 
 rope ready and making it fast. The women 
 talked among themselves in murmurs. The chil- 
 dren sat and gaped at it all. Gaudriol stood by 
 Barbe. 
 
 "You are quite sure, my child?" 
 
 "So sure, monsieur, that I am ready to go again 
 to bring him up." 
 
 "Nay, you have done enough. You have done 
 well. They will all be ready to go so long as it 
 is a man they are after, and not a ghost." 
 
 Presently Jean-Marie came toiling back with his 
 load, and cast himself panting on the turf. He had 
 not run so far and so fast since he was a very small 
 boy. 
 
 "Now, who goes?" cried Gaudriol. 
 
 They were all eager to go, and the Sergeant 
 made his ow^n selection. 
 
 "You, LoTc Breton; you are the strongest, and he 
 may need help. Now, where are these holes? Can 
 you show us, ma chere?" 
 
 [253]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 Barbe thought for a moment, then pointed mid- 
 way between the grooves in the turf. "Just about 
 midway between them," she said. 
 
 They dropped the rope with the axe tied to it, 
 and LoTc Breton stepped into the loop of the other 
 rope. 
 
 "Hold tight, you boys," he said, with a big grin; 
 "I'm heavier than the little one;" and down he went 
 out of sight. 
 
 They had to swing him to the right in answer 
 to his signals. Then the check came up the 
 rope. 
 
 "He has found the holes," they said; and, as the 
 rope jerked to and fro in the groove, "He is swing- 
 ing into them;" and when it hung taut and still, 
 "He is there." 
 
 The other rope to which the axe was tied jerked 
 lightly, and they said, "He is putting it through 
 the hole." 
 
 Then above the screaming of the birds they 
 heard the sound of hammering on the rock. LoTc 
 was thoughtfully chopping away the granite slats of 
 the window. Then silence, and a breathless wait- 
 ing that seemed endless. 
 
 At last a shout from below, and in a moment a 
 strong pull at the guide-rope, and with a cheery 
 sing-song the men ran away up the slope, and a 
 pallid face and a pair of half-closed blinking eyes 
 
 [254]
 
 INTO THE BLESSED LIGHT OF DAY 
 
 and a tangle of pale-yellow curls rose above the 
 edge of the cliff, and Alain Carbonec had come back 
 to life and his fellows. 
 
 Barbe ran to him with a cry, half-pity, half-joy, 
 and the rest hung back, for in truth he seemed half- 
 ghost and hardly human. But the way he kissed 
 Barbe was human enough, and he laughed aloud 
 for joy as he wrung the Sergeant's hand, and the 
 others gathered round him. 
 
 "Eat, mon gars!" said Gaudriol, offering him 
 bread and wine and cognac all at once. 
 
 "A mouthful of bread and a sip of wine," said 
 Alain. "I have not tasted bread for two months. 
 Mon Dicttf how good it is. Merci, monsieur, just 
 a drink of wine. It is good also." 
 
 "You have had to eat down there?" asked 
 Gaudriol. 
 
 "Surely, or I should not be here. I have had 
 rock-doves and fish, and water to drink; but one 
 tires of them. Who'll give me a pipe? and a 
 dozen pipes were thrust at him. "It's six weeks 
 since I smoked the last of poor Cadoual's ciga- 
 rettes." 
 
 "Ah, yes — Cadoual!" said the Sergeant, and the 
 mention of his name jarred on them all. "Will 
 you tell us about it, mon beau — here on the spot? 
 What does it all mean? How did you get down 
 there?" 
 
 [255]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 '*But yes, I will tell you — as soon as I've tasted 
 the smoke. How good it is! And the sun and 
 you all. Mon Dieu! mon Dietif but It is good to 
 be above the earth again, my friends." 
 
 He was very greatly changed. His bright face 
 and yellow hair and merry eyes and voice had made 
 one think of sunshine and breezes. Now they were 
 like moonlight on a quiet night. His skin was 
 pallid under the tan; his hair was visibly whitened; 
 his eyes blinked at the light; his very voice had 
 changed. He looked, Indeed, like the ghost of the 
 Alain Carbonec they had known. 
 
 Presently, sitting there In the midst of them, 
 with his back to the sun, he told them all that had 
 happened to him from the time he found himself 
 lying among the rock-doves to the hearing of 
 Barbe's voice outside his lookout. And when he 
 told the story of the devil-worm they drew up closer 
 one to another, and shivered In the sunshine, and 
 the children's eyes held the shadows of many evil 
 dreams to come. 
 
 "It Is a very strange story," said Sergeant Gau- 
 drlol when he had finished; "but I believe every 
 word of It." 
 
 "It is all just as I have told you, M. le Sergeant," 
 said Alain, who saw no reason why he should not 
 believe. 
 
 "I know," said the old man thoughtfully; "but 
 we have others to convince." 
 
 [256]
 
 INTO THE BLESSED LIGHT OF DAY 
 
 "How, then?" said Alain. 
 
 "Madame Cadoual believes it was you who 
 killed her son." 
 
 "What !" and he sprang up, blazing with wrath. 
 "I killed him — I ? And it was he who did his best 
 to kill me, and told me so ! Dieu-de-Dieu! but that 
 is too much !" 
 
 "Not a soul among us believes it, my boy," said 
 the Sergeant, and acquiescent murmurs ran round 
 among them. "But we have to deal with a woman 
 gone crazy with grief, and — well, you know what 
 she is. First she tried to fix it on Pierre Carcas- 
 sone ; then she got down detectives, and they rooted 
 about all round, and gave it as their opinion that it 
 was not Pierre, but you. They thought, you see, 
 that you had bolted, and — you know — it is always 
 the absent one who is to blame." 
 
 ^'Eh bien! I am returned, and I have been all 
 the time where Cadoual himself put me. No 
 thanks to him that I am still alive, ma foil" 
 
 "There must be some easier way into that place," 
 said Gaudriol, incubating his ideas. "He could 
 never have got you in the way you came out." 
 
 "That's certain. I could never have got out if 
 LoTc had not opened the window." 
 
 "And, par-did where is LoTc? I had forgotten 
 all about him." They had all forgotten all about 
 him. 
 
 "He went down the rope to see where I had come 
 
 [257 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 from," said Alain. "He'll come back when he's 
 tired — If he doesn't get lost. You can ramble for 
 days down there." 
 
 "We must find that other way in," said the Ser- 
 geant. "That may tell us tales. Show us, mon 
 gars, exactly where you were walking when — you 
 know " 
 
 Alain jumped up and led them round the cliff. 
 "Now, voyonsi" he said, casting about, "here is 
 where I always came up. Then along here. So — 
 through the bushes — " and he stopped and looked 
 round. "To the best of my knowledge, M. le Ser- 
 geant, It was somewhere about here. You must 
 remember I was not noticing particularly. I was 
 just going along, thinking of — of where I had been, 
 and more of where I was going — " He looked at 
 Barbe, who smiled back at him. 
 
 "Now, my friends," said Gaudrlol, "scatter and 
 search every Inch of ground. Much may de- 
 pend on It." 
 
 They broke and searched as eagerly as though 
 they looked for treasure; and the children searched, 
 too, chattering and laughing and squealing at the 
 pricklings of the gorse, with no Idea that they were 
 looking for the life of a man. 
 
 But their efforts came to nothing, and It was 
 only when they were about giving up the search 
 that accident revealed what endeavour had failed 
 to discover. The youngsters had soon grown tired 
 
 [258]
 
 INTO THE BLESSED LIGHT OF DAY 
 
 of finding nothing, and had taken to subdued sky- 
 larking among the great stones of the menhir. The 
 ghostly atmosphere and the place forbade more 
 than surreptitious punches and unexpected pushes 
 into favourable clumps of gorse, and the consequent 
 rushes of retreat and pursuit; and it was one such 
 successful attack that led to the finding of the upper 
 cave. 
 
 Jannick Godey, son of Jan, coming stealthily 
 round one of the stones, found Master Herve Bu- 
 vel standing with his back to him. Jannick dived 
 headlong into that tempting back, and Herve dis- 
 appeared with a subdued howl into the bushes in 
 front of him; but instead of rising full of wrath 
 and prickles, as Jannick hoped and expected, Herve 
 had gone completely out of sight. Jannick's pent- 
 up fear and breath were just on the point of coming 
 out in a roar when Herve stuck up his head 
 among the gorse and gasped, "A hole!" It was 
 a hole they had been told to look for, and Jan- 
 nick's roar of fear turned at once into a shout of 
 triumph. 
 
 "Via! M. le Sergeant, we have found It. I 
 found it myself, and put Herve Buvel in to make 
 
 sure." 
 
 "Good boy!" said the Sergeant. "Let us see 
 the hole, then," 
 
 "It is here, M. le Sergeant, and it Is deep," 
 squeaked Herve; and Gaudriol planted a heavy 
 
 [259 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 official foot in the gorse and drew him out. Behind 
 the bush the foot of the huge stone was hollowed. 
 The burrow ran into the earth with a steep slope, 
 and looked anything but inviting. 
 The other searchers gathered round. 
 
 [260]
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 FROM PRISON TO PRISON 
 
 L 
 
 4 i I ET me try it, M. Gaudriol," said 
 
 Alain, pushing through. "My 
 eyes are used to the dark;" and he 
 disappeared into the hole. 
 
 Some of the younger men were making to follow 
 when Sergeant Gaudriol stopped them. 
 
 "No," said he; "the fewer the better. If it is 
 the place, we want to see it as the last users left it." 
 
 Alain's head came up behind the gorse, and he 
 crept carefully back into the daylight. 
 
 "It looks as if it might be the place," he said. 
 "It opens out; but I cannot see much, and there may 
 be openings down below." 
 
 "We will return with lights," said Gaudriol. 
 "Can I get in? There is not too much room, ma 
 foir 
 
 "If you take off your hat and coat you might 
 manage," said Alain, somewhat doubtfully, as he 
 measured M. Gaudriol's bulk with his eye. 
 
 "I'd take off my shirt and my skin to get what I 
 want," said the Sergeant warmly, for he saw that 
 there would be trouble, and possibly danger, for 
 
 [261]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 Alain unless evidence could be found to confirm 
 his story. 
 
 "Understand, all of you," he said, looking 
 round, "no one enters there till I give permission. 
 Ah, mon beau," as LoTc Breton came swinging 
 along, "what did you find down there?" 
 
 "But, M. le Sergeant, it Is a wonder beyond 
 words; and to think we have none of us knew of it. 
 There are caves and caves. I dared not go far 
 lest I should get lost." 
 
 "Away over there," said Alain, pointing inland 
 towards the far-away tower of Landroel, "is a cave 
 from which I could find no outlet. Against the end 
 wall there is a man kneeling in prayer. The water 
 drips on him for ever, and he is turned to green 
 stone. He wandered there till his heart failed him, 
 and then he knelt, and prayed, and died. But I 
 will go down with you any time you like, M. le Ser- 
 geant, and show you all the things I have told 
 you of." 
 
 "To-morrow, then," said Gaudriol. "We have 
 had enough for to-day; and you, mon gars, deserve 
 a day above ground. And how, in the name of 
 Heaven, do you expect me to get down there?" 
 
 "It is quite easy," said Loic. "Over the cliff 
 and you swing Into the hole I made with the axe, 
 and then you slide down the rope for seventy or 
 eighty metres, and there you are." 
 
 "And how do you get back?" 
 
 [ 262 ]
 
 FROM PRISON TO PRISON 
 
 "Same way," said LoTc; "just climb the rope 
 
 and " 
 
 "Humph !" said Sergeant Gaudriol. "Well, we 
 
 shall see." 
 
 He insisted on Alain and Barbe going to his own 
 house, in spite of Mere Pleuret's protestations. At 
 sight of Alain come back from the dead she flung 
 her arms round his neck and wept over him 
 as glad to see him, almost, as if it were indeed 
 her own boy come home again. But Gaudriol's 
 thoughts were all of the future, and the three of 
 them sat into the small hours of the morning dis- 
 cussing the matter. The Sergeant questioned Alain 
 minutely till every smallest point was clear to him; 
 and Barbe sat holding his hand and gazing at the 
 sputtering sticks, content with life since he was by 
 her side. 
 
 Next day Alain did the honours of his prison- 
 house to such members of the community as cared 
 to risk their lives over the passage. He showed 
 them all the wonders of the place, from the waver- 
 ing remains of the devil-worm in the sea cave to 
 the petrified green man in the farthest cavern, and 
 their amazement at all they saw was very great. 
 
 Barbe was anxious to go, too; but just as she was 
 stepping to the cliff-edge after the rest Gaudriol 
 stopped her. 
 
 "Come with me," he said. "We have work to 
 do, you and I;" and he led her along to the open- 
 
 [263]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 ing below the great stone. "Do you know what is 
 going to happen, ma filleP^ 
 
 "No, monsieur." 
 
 "Alain will probably be arrested to-day for the 
 murder of George Cadoual." 
 
 "Oh, mon Dieu! mon Dieu!" wailed Barbe, 
 with startled eyes. "I thought his troubles were 
 over." 
 
 "On the contrary, they are but beginning, if I 
 know anything of Mere Cadoual. She is bursting 
 with venom and thirsting for blood. But we will 
 save him, you and I. He has done his part; we 
 will do ours. Now, help me in here." 
 
 It was a very tight fit; but he managed to creep 
 in at last with clothing sufficient left on him for 
 decency. He had brought candles, and with their 
 assistance they made minute examination of the 
 cave. He bade Barbe step lightly, disturb noth- 
 ing, and miss nothing. 
 
 It was Barbe who made the first discovery. 
 
 ^^Tiens! here is something," and she picked up 
 from a corner a blue stocking-cap. "It is Alain's. 
 I know it by the edging." 
 
 "Good! But it proves nothing. Allans, ma 
 fille/" and they groped over the floor inch by inch. 
 
 "Miss nothing!" said the Sergeant time after 
 time. "Nothing is too small;" and it was he who 
 made the next find — the fag-end of a cigarette. 
 
 "Good!" said he. "I would like some more of 
 
 [264]
 
 FROM PRISON TO PRISON 
 
 those;" and in time they found two more similar 
 scraps. 
 
 They groped and spied, every faculty sharpened 
 to a fine point; but it looked as if all the discoveries 
 had been made. Their attention so far had been 
 concentrated on the floor. M. Gaudriol, straight- 
 ening his back by way of a change, exclaimed sud- 
 denly, ^^Foila, que'qu' choseP^ at something which 
 caught his eye on the level. It was a ring of hard- 
 ened wax, where a candle had burned to death. He 
 examined it carefully, and then proceeded, with in- 
 finite labour and caution, to dig out with his knife 
 the projecting slab of rock on which the candle 
 had stood, so keeping the wax ring intact. 
 
 "That may be of value," he said. "It remains 
 to be seen." 
 
 Not another thing could they find, until they 
 went step by step down the tunnel and came near 
 to falling through the rift into the lower cave. 
 They stood and peeped cautiously into the appar- 
 ently fathomless darkness. 
 
 "That is how they got in," he said, and dropped 
 a stone. It made no sound, and they recoiled at 
 thought of the bottomless depths, and crept back 
 to the twilight and so up into the day. 
 
 Their search had not yielded much ; but Gaudriol 
 was disposed to think these things might be enough. 
 He could not be sure, however; for he had had 
 long experience of examining magistrates and pub- 
 
 [265]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 lie prosecutors and eountry juries. He knew the 
 craving the ordinary man has to see every crime 
 paid for and cancelled, so to speak, by an adequate 
 penalty; and he knew the unrest and feeling of in- 
 security engendered by unrequited crime in the 
 minds of both the people and the law. He had 
 seen men condemned on circumstantial evidence, 
 and their innocence come to light after they had 
 expiated the crimes they had never committed; and 
 he remembered that the detectives from Paris had 
 given it as their opinion that it was Alain Carbonec 
 who was guilty of this crime. Certainly one of 
 their strongest arguments was the fact that Alain 
 had disappeared; but the Sergeant saw that a skil- 
 ful prosecutor might weave, out of the simple facts 
 of the case, a mesh of incrimination from which 
 Alain might find it difficult to escape. He knew 
 that Madame Cadoual would spring at the chance 
 of making some one pay for her son's death; and 
 that even though there might be an element of 
 doubt in the matter, she would still be more satisfied 
 to have Alain pay the penalty than to have no pen- 
 alty paid at all. For himself, he believed every 
 word of Alain's story; but unfortunately it was not 
 he who had to be satisfied in the matter. 
 
 When they got back above ground he examined 
 their finds and made pronouncement on each. 
 
 "Those are Cadoual's cigarettes. No one else 
 hereabouts smokes the like of them. That candle 
 
 [266]
 
 FROM PRISON TO PRISON 
 
 was a wax one. They are not common. I must 
 look into that. The cap, you say, is Alain's. 
 The big stain at the back is blood. That is all 
 right ! I think these things will help, ma mie, and 
 I will see that they are rightly used." 
 
 Matters turned out just as the Sergeant had fore- 
 seen. It was after mid-day when the men came up 
 out of the cavern. Gaudriol himself had gone back 
 to the village with his treasure-trove; but Barbe 
 sat herself down on the edge of the cliff to wait 
 for Alain. She would have liked to go down into 
 the wonderful cavern, and she knew she could man- 
 age the descent well enough; but the thought of 
 climbing two hundred feet up a rope rather ap- 
 palled her. 
 
 The men came up over the brow one by one, 
 Alain last of all, and she saw his eyes lighten with 
 the look she loved as they fell upon her. He came 
 quickly to her and put his arm round her, and they 
 all went down the slope together. 
 
 "Little sister!" he whispered in her ear, with a 
 glad laugh which behed his words, and brought the 
 colour into her face. 
 
 The men were full of the things they had seen 
 below ground. They all talked at once, twenty- 
 five to the dozen, and no one listened for a moment 
 to any one else. Alain and Barbe were the only 
 silent ones, and that because their speech had no 
 need of the uncouth clothing of words. 
 
 [267]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 As they came along the row of houses which con- 
 stitute Plenevec, they saw, standing in front of Gau- 
 driol's house, the old Sergeant himself, looking 
 graver and fiercer than usual, and two other gen- 
 darmes; and beyond them Pierre Carcassone came 
 striding up the shingle. 
 
 "How then?" said LoTc Breton. "What do the 
 big moustaches want now?" 
 
 "Oh, Alain!" gasped Barbe. "They have come 
 for you !" 
 
 "For me, child?" he said, with a laugh. "What 
 do they want with me?" He thought it was only 
 her fears for him that prompted the words. 
 
 "M. Gaudriol said it would be so," she said, 
 clasping her hands more tightly round his arm and 
 speaking very quickly. "It is Madame Cadoual. 
 She will try to make out that you killed her son." 
 
 "How then? I killed Cadoual?" 
 
 "We know it is not so, and we have found things 
 in the cave below the stone which will prove it. Do 
 not lose heart, Alain. M. Gaudriol and I will be 
 at work " 
 
 Here the strange gendarmes came forward, and 
 Gaudriol followed slowly behind. 
 
 "Which of you is Alain Carbonec?" asked one. 
 
 "I am," said Alain, stepping forward. 
 
 "Our instructions are to convey you to Plouar- 
 nec, mon gars, to answer for the murder of George 
 Cadoual." 
 
 [268 ]
 
 FROM PRISON TO PRISON 
 
 "But George Cadoual was not murdered, mon- 
 sieur," said Alain quietly; "therefore it is not " 
 
 "All that is quite possible, mon gars; but we 
 have our instructions, and we must carry them out, 
 you understand." 
 
 "Assuredly," said Alain; and he turned to Barbe 
 and kissed both her pale cheeks and looked once 
 into her eyes. "It will be but for a very short time, 
 my dear one, and then " 
 
 And to Gaudriol he said, "M. le Sergeant, you 
 do not believe this of me ?" 
 
 "Not for a moment, my boy. I know you too 
 well. You will be back here in no time, and happi- 
 ness will await you." 
 
 "I am at your service, messieurs," said Alain, and 
 he and the two gendarmes walked off along the 
 road to Plouarnec. 
 
 "Dieii-de-Dieu!" said Pierre, striding up to the 
 group that stood looking after them. "Tell me, 
 some one, was that Alain Carbonec or was it his 
 ghost?" 
 
 No one answered him for a moment. On some 
 of them his presence grated harshly. It required 
 an impatient "Eh bien! are you all dumb?" from 
 Pierre before he got a reply, and then it was Gau- 
 driol who said : 
 
 "Yes, it is Alain Carbonec. He has been shut up 
 inside the rocks for two months, and now they have 
 taken him to prison for a crime which he never 
 committed." f 269 1
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 "Ah, truly!" said Pierre, and nodded his head in 
 a way which suggested a doubt on that subject. 
 "Bien! now you will come home, I suppose?" to 
 Barbe. 
 
 "No," said she, with a decided shake of the 
 head; "I shall stop here." 
 
 "As you please; but if you don't come back now, 
 you don't come back at all." 
 
 "I will not come back at all." 
 
 Then Pierre went back to his boat, which Jan 
 Godey had tied to the iron ladder as he passed the 
 Light the previous night. 
 
 [270]
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE TRYING OF BARBE CARCASSONE 
 
 THEN began for Alain Carbonec and 
 Barbe Carcassone such a time of trial 
 and suffering as only a vindictive 
 woman, who has gained the ear of the 
 law, can inflict on an innocent man and the heart 
 to whom he is dearer than all the world. 
 
 As soon as she heard of Alain's resuscitation, 
 Madame Cadoual went straight to Plouarnec and 
 demanded audience of M. Besnard de Sarras, the 
 examining magistrate. She told her story with 
 such explicitness of detail and such emphasis of as- 
 sertion, stating as fact what was at most only possi- 
 bility, and backing it all up with the statements of 
 the Paris detectives, that M. de Sarras had no 
 option but to order the immediate arrest of Car- 
 bonec. 
 
 Doubtless, in her own heart, Madame Cadoual 
 believed all her assertions. She had thirsted for 
 vengeance; she had raged and chafed at the dis- 
 appearance of the man at whom all the facts 
 pointed. Now, when he was suddenly delivered 
 into her hands, she did not waste a moment. The 
 
 [271 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 volcano within her blazed into new life, and M. de 
 Sarras was overwhelmed in the molten flow. 
 
 He briefly examined the accused, listened to the 
 extraordinary story which was the only evidence he 
 opposed to madame's sworn statements, and duly 
 committed Alain to the assizes. 
 
 Barbe was heart-broken. Gaudriol was deeply 
 chagrined. Alain's preliminary examination had, 
 of course, taken place in private, and afforded him 
 no chance of doing more than tell his own story; 
 and the story he told was so surprising that the 
 magistrate received it with a doubt which he hardly 
 took the trouble to conceal. 
 
 Gaudriol saw M. de Sarras, and did his best to 
 get him to look into the prisoner's side of the case. 
 M. de Sarras told him plainly that the matter as it 
 stood was beyond his powers to deal with ; it must 
 go before a jury. It would only be a question of 
 another month's detention; and, said the magis- 
 trate with a shrug, after the experiences Carbonec 
 had gone through, that would be the merest 
 bagatelle. 
 
 That month between iVlain's arrest and his trial 
 at Plouarnec was the longest and dreariest Barbe 
 ever spent, and there was that in it, too, for the 
 trying and testing of her soul which none but she 
 and one other ever knew. 
 
 She had thought, when she believed Alain dead, 
 that sorrow could bite no deeper. She had yet to 
 
 [272]
 
 THE TRYING OF BARBE CARCASSONE 
 
 learn that death is not the worst that may threaten 
 or befall one, and her heart was still to be wrung 
 white with anguish for him and for herself. 
 
 Not for one second did she believe him guilty. 
 But night after night she and Gaudriol went over 
 the facts of the case; and even Gaudriol, as sure of 
 Alain in his own mind as Barbe was herself, could 
 not but acknowledge to himself, though never to 
 her, that the facts against him were terribly strong, 
 while those that made for him seemed painfully 
 weak. 
 
 Barbe lived with Mere Pleuret. The old lady 
 had insisted on it. But every evening, when Ser- 
 geant Gaudriol's duties were over, barring rare and 
 unexpected calls, she went to the old man's cottage 
 and sat with him over his fire, while he smoked 
 thoughtfully, and assured her that all would be well 
 with Alain, with so much insistence that she began 
 at last to have her doubts about it. She walked the 
 six miles to Plouarnec almost every day, in the hope 
 that the rigidity of Alain's seclusion would be re- 
 laxed; but it was not, and she never once set eyes on 
 him till he was brought into court on the day of 
 his trial. 
 
 And now that befell Barbe which occasioned her 
 distress of mind so great that the remembrance of 
 it never left her. The outward and visible sign of 
 it remained all her life long in a deepening of the 
 understanding in her grave, dark eyes. She passed 
 
 [273]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 into the furnace a girl, with all the vague fears 
 and hopes of maidenhood before her. She came 
 out of it a woman who had looked sorrow in the 
 face, and had wrestled for her life, and — saving 
 grace — for the life of another dearer than herself, 
 and for whom she had been willing to throw her 
 own life away. It was only by the mercy of God 
 that the sacrifice she was ready to make was not 
 consummated. She never forgot it. 
 
 Gaudriol had sought out for Alain's defence a 
 certain young advocate, one Noel Bernardin, whose 
 acumen had greatly impressed him in other trials. 
 It was not without difficulty, however, that he suc- 
 ceeded — or, at all events, was instrumental — in 
 winning him to the cause, for Bernardin was a ris- 
 ing man and much run after. 
 
 Noel Bernardin came of the old Huguenot fam- 
 ily down near Saintes in the Lower Charente. His 
 mother was a Scotswoman, one of the Kerrs of Dal- 
 keith. His father was, of course, that General 
 Bernardin who fell in the Hell Trench at Grave- 
 lotte, when the fate of France and Prussia hung by 
 a hair. After the General's death Madame Ber- 
 nardin spent much of her time among her own peo- 
 ple in Scotland, and young Noel finished the Eng- 
 lish side of his education at Merchiston, in Edin- 
 burgh, and learned there many things not found in 
 books, which stood him in good stead. Without 
 this training — well, the bullet at Gravelotte which 
 
 [274]
 
 THE TRYING OF BARBE CARCASSONE 
 
 sent him to Merchiston made for the salvation of 
 Barbe Carcassone and Alain Carbonec. 
 
 These things are necessary to explain him. From 
 his father he inherited the hot blood of the Ber- 
 nardins, which had never thinned nor cooled even 
 under the refining influences of Huguenot teaching 
 or persecution. From his mother he got a clear, 
 logical head, a warm heart, and great tenacity 
 of purpose. From Edinburgh he went to Paris, 
 and flung himself into the student life in all its 
 phases, good and bad, as heartily as he had learned 
 to fling himself into the games on the Merchiston 
 fields. 
 
 Whatever Noel Bernardin did he did with all 
 his might, and when he set his heart on a thing it 
 rarely escaped him. He was at this time a brilliant 
 lawyer, as good-looking as he was clever, and was 
 making a great reputation at the Paris Bar. His 
 thoroughness was something to wonder at, and his 
 honesty was such that his fellows first predicted 
 failure for him, and then marvelled greatly at his 
 success. 
 
 It was he who refused a fee of twenty-five thou- 
 sand francs from the Jew banker Roussillon in that 
 somewhat scandalous case of his; and he refused it 
 because, in the first place, he did not like the look 
 of his would-be client; in the second place, because 
 he had already formed his own opinion on the mat- 
 ter, and believed Roussillon quite capable of all that 
 
 [275 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 was imputed to him, and more, which is saying a 
 good deah And when the man was sent into retire- 
 ment for a long term of years the only fault Ber- 
 nardin found in the matter was that the sentence 
 was not twice as long. 
 
 But Paris is a trying place for hot young blood, 
 a furnace whose fires scorch and devour more than 
 they cleanse; and, in spite of — perhaps to some 
 extent as the effect of, or at all events in the rebound 
 from — the strict training of his earlier years, Noel 
 Bernardin, when he came to years of indiscretion, 
 went the pace with the rest. His mother died just 
 before his majority, and with her went the only 
 possible brake on his fast-spinning wheels. But he 
 had the worldly wisdom to keep the two phases 
 of his life distinctly and wide apart. In the 
 courts he was the clear-headed, strenuous advocate, 
 who never lost a case if law and logic and infinite 
 striving could win it. For the rest — well, perhaps 
 the less said the better. He did as others did. 
 
 Gaudriol had written to him in Paris. The old 
 man's heart was in this business. It was as tender 
 a heart as one may sometimes find below a grizzled 
 moustache and an official uniform. He liked Alain 
 and he loved Barbe, and he was determined to see 
 them through this business. He had his savings, 
 for the possibilities of spending were small in 
 Plenevec, and no opportunity had ever presented 
 itself before by which he would get more enjoy- 
 
 [276]
 
 THE TRYING OF BARBE CARCASSONE 
 
 ment out of his money. So he got Noel Bernar- 
 din's address in Paris from the clerk of the court at 
 Plouarnec, and wrote to him begging him to under- 
 take the defence of an innocent man on trial for 
 his life. 
 
 Bernardin, by a fortunate chance, was holiday- 
 making in the neighbourhood of Roscoff. He 
 claimed the He de Batz as an original discovery 
 of his own, and found much entertainment in its 
 beauties, natural and feminine; and few possessed 
 a keener eye for both than himself. GaudrioFs 
 letter followed him there, and he determined, good- 
 humouredly, to run over to Plenevec and take a 
 look at the matter, and see if it was interesting 
 enough to amuse him. It was only a cross-country 
 jaunt, and that bit of the coast was new to him. So 
 the old Sergeant was delighted one afternoon by the 
 sight of the elegant figure of M. Noel Bernardin 
 strolling unconcernedly along the shingle, absorbing 
 the local colour of Plenevec. 
 
 "Ah, monsieur, you do me too great honour!" 
 said the old man, hastening up to salute the young 
 one. 
 
 "You are Sergeant Gaudriol?" said Noel. 
 
 "At monsieur's service," with another salute. 
 
 "Your letter caught me at Roscoff, so I thought I 
 would just run over and have a chat with you. 
 Now, what's it all about?" 
 
 "If monsieur will do me the great honour of 
 
 [277]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 accompanying me to my house I will explain it 
 fully;" and they went in together. 
 
 "The facts are strong against you, my friend," 
 said Bernardin at the end of a long talk. "They 
 are purely circumstantial, of course, and inevitably 
 so under the circumstances; but things don't look 
 bright for your man. I know what country juries 
 are: they always convict on circumstantial evidence 
 sooner than let a crime go unpunished." 
 
 "I know it," said Gaudriol gloomily. "But this 
 man is innocent, monsieur. I would stake my life 
 on it." 
 
 "If the innocents convicted by country juries on 
 circumstantial evidence could all return and haunt 
 the men who condemned them there would be some 
 pretty lively times," said the barrister, tapping his 
 gold pencil between his teeth. 
 
 Was it worth his while to break into his holiday? 
 After all, it was only the possible life of a common 
 fisherman. There was not much glory in it at best, 
 and if there was one thing he hated, it was trying to 
 drive light into the dark brains of country jurymen. 
 It was Hke driving nails into a fog. Then he had 
 some big cases coming on which would take up all 
 his time. No, on the whole, he did not think it 
 was worth his while. 
 
 He was on the point of saying &j when a tap 
 came at the door, and in answer to the Sergeant's 
 "Entrez!" Barbe Carcassone's face glimmered in 
 
 [278]
 
 THE TRYING OF BARBE CARCASSONE 
 
 on them, and the slim girlish figure stood outlined 
 against the sunshine outside. 
 
 "Come in, ma fille," said Gaudriol, as she stood 
 hesitating at sight of the tall stranger. "It is of 
 your affair we are talking. This gentleman can 
 save Alain if he will " 
 
 "Oh, monsieur!" and Barbe's great eyes rose to 
 Noel's, blazing and swimming with the tumult of 
 her feelings, and her hands clasped up towards him 
 as though he were the Holy Mother herself. 
 
 Noel Bernardin's eyes dwelt on her with great 
 appreciation. There was something worth looking 
 at in Plenevec after all. He looked again into the 
 dark eyes and the sweet, anxious face, and then he 
 said, "BienI I will undertake it. But, you under- 
 stand," to Gaudriol, "it will not be easy." 
 
 Barbe ran to him and would have kissed his 
 hand. "You give me life, monsieur. You give me 
 hope. I was in despair. They will not even let 
 me see him. I go each day, but they will not ad- 
 mit me. And he is innocent — as innocent as I 
 myself " 
 
 "We must prove it, mademoiselle. I will come 
 back to-morrow, and you shall tell me all you 
 know, and show me all these curious places. It 
 is as strange a story as ever I heard" — and to him- 
 self he added, "and you are the prettiest girl that 
 I ever set eyes on." 
 
 He went back to Roscoff, and thought all the way 
 
 [ 279]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 of nothing but Barbe's lovely, eager face and those 
 great eyes of hers into which a man's soul tumbled 
 and lost itself; and all that day Barbe thought of 
 him — when she was not thinking of Alain — and 
 magnified him into a demigod, who had only 
 to speak and stretch out his hand and Alain would 
 be free. For the bitter knowledge still lay ahead 
 of her that our earthly demigods are mostly made 
 of clay. 
 
 I have seen Barbe Carcassone in later times, and 
 even then there was a charm about her which is 
 difficult to describe, but which haunted one like a 
 dream. She had a sweet, oval face, in which the 
 tender softness of the girl was just moulding into 
 the firm, chaste lines of the woman. The cheek- 
 bones were, perhaps, just a trifle high, showing her 
 Celtic origin; the brow was broad and placid, the 
 nose straight and wonderfully delicate, the mouth 
 just ripe, and the curving lips just full enough to 
 indicate the feeling that was in her. When I saw 
 them they met a trifle more firmly than they prob- 
 ably did at this time — before she had learned her 
 lessons. But it was her eyes that held you captive, 
 and never let you forget them. They were large, 
 and of a very deep blue, black almost at times with 
 the intensity of her feelings, and at times a velvety 
 violet. They were rather deep-set, and look- 
 ing into them, you thought of dark, shaded pools in 
 whose depths you might surprise the glimmer of 
 
 [ 280]
 
 THE TRYING OF BARBE CARCASSONE 
 
 quiet stars. There was in them at all times — when 
 I saw them — a trustful glow which made for the 
 rekindling of one's faith in humanity, and a quiet 
 appeal which was infinitely pathetic and touching: 
 the wistfulness of a girl who seeks to know, with 
 the tender depth of the woman who has known. 
 She was only a peasant girl; but there have been 
 queens with infinitely less grace and few with 
 greater beauty. 
 
 Noel Bernardin had seen his share of beautiful 
 women. He had had his tender thoughts of them, 
 and more. But Barbe set his blood on fire as no 
 other woman had ever done ; and, far from attempt- 
 ing to fight the flame, he fed it with both hands. 
 
 He went back to Roscoff that first day very full 
 of thought. Perhaps he was pondering the points 
 of the case he had undertaken. Perhaps he was 
 thinking of other things. ^^Mon Dieuf mon 
 Dieuf" he murmured more than once. And again, 
 "What a find!" And yet again, "But she is in- 
 credible !" 
 
 Strange, indeed, that so meek and quiet a thing 
 should kindle so fierce a fire in so experienced a 
 man ! But it was so. Barbe's fresh young beauty 
 swept him like a devouring flame; and before it 
 all his higher feelings, his early training, his self- 
 control, disappeared like a drop of water on a red- 
 hot bar. Perhaps the strange chance that had 
 thrust her thus upon him had something to do with 
 
 [281]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 it. God knows, opportunity brings about as many 
 a fall as inclination or intention. 
 
 He rode over again next day, having secured a 
 horse from the hotel at Roscoff, and had another 
 long interview with Sergeant Gaudriol and Barbe; 
 but I doubt if his knowledge of the case was greatly 
 increased thereby, for he was looking at Barbe most 
 of the time and thinking of her all the rest. 
 
 No one, however, could be two minutes in Barbe 
 Carcassone's company, and discuss the case of Alain 
 Carbonec, without seeing that all her heart was 
 given to that fortunate unfortunate, and that every 
 hope of her life was bound up in him; and so Noel 
 Bernardin saw that he must tackle the matter from 
 a business point of view. So he flung himself heart 
 and soul into Alain's case, as was his way with 
 whatever he undertook; and in this case a twofold 
 cord drew him swiftly on. Conflict was life to 
 him; a fight against odds, when he had faith in his 
 cause, a great and fierce joy; and in this case he 
 promised himself a fee commensurate with his 
 services — a fee beyond the capacity of Sergeant 
 Gaudriol's bank account to pay — a fee dii diable. 
 
 Day after day he rode over to Plenevec, till he 
 knew everything that was to be known which bore 
 in any way on the case. He learned all about 
 Cadoual and Pierre and Alain and Barbe, and their 
 relations one with another. He went down into 
 the great cavern with LoTc Breton, and marvelled 
 
 [282 ]
 
 THE TRYING OF BARBE CARCASSONE 
 
 at what he saw there. Under Barbe's guidance 
 he inspected Cap Rehel from the top and from 
 the bottom, and wormed himself after her into the 
 cavern under the stone, and subjected it to the 
 minutest scrutiny, but found nothing that had 
 escaped the previous searchers. The fee he would 
 demand depended on his winning his case, and 
 he spared no pains to that end; and day by day, 
 and hour by hour, the fire within him burned more 
 fiercely, till at last the flames broke out. 
 
 It was only three days to Alain's trial. Noel 
 Bernardin and Barbe Carcassone had been viewing 
 the way by which Alain had been in the habit of 
 scaling the cliff from the sea, and Bernardin had 
 shuddered at thought of anything without wings 
 going either up or down. 
 
 "Sit down here and listen to me," he said, when 
 they had done, and his eyes burned on her face; 
 and, all aflame as he was, he found it diflScult to 
 begin when Barbe's innocent wells of truth rose to 
 meet the fire of his own. 
 
 "What is it, then, monsieur?" she said with a 
 gasp, for his voice and his look startled her. 
 
 "You want me to save Alain Carbonec?" 
 
 "Mais, mon Dieu, monsieur! Can you doubt 
 it?" 
 
 "Well, I will save him if man can save him. But 
 — my fee will be a high one." 
 
 "Anything, monsieur — everything in our power, 
 
 [283]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 if you will only give us time to pay it. I would 
 give my soul for Alain." 
 
 "It's not your soul I want. It is you yourself — 
 you." 
 
 ''''Comment, monsieur! I myself? Mon Dieu! 
 what can you mean?" 
 
 "I want you, Barbe, you yourself, all to myself." 
 
 "But, mon Dieu, monsieur ! I belong to Alain." 
 
 "It is no good belonging to a dead man." 
 
 "But Alain is not dead." 
 
 "He will be unless I save him." 
 
 She stared at him wild-eyed — the horror of it 
 biting into her heart like an icy tooth, and her blood 
 chilled as his meaning forced itself upon her. 
 
 "Well?" said Bernardin. "What do you say? 
 Is he to live or die?" 
 
 "Mon Dieu! mon Dieu!" and she rocked to and 
 fro in her anguish for Alain and for herself. "Will 
 no less satisfy you?" 
 
 "Nothing less. I want you, Barbe — you. You 
 have set me on fire. You will come to Paris with 
 me " 
 
 "Oh, mon Dieu! mon Dieu!" 
 
 "Everything you want shall be yours, and of the 
 best that money can buy: dresses and jewels, horses 
 and carriages — everything. My God !" he blazed, 
 "there is no woman in all Paris to compare with 
 you." 
 
 "I want only Alain — Alain!" she wailed. 
 
 [284]
 
 THE TRYING OF BARBE CARCASSONE 
 
 "And I want only you. I will save Alain to get 
 you. I won't save him for you." 
 
 ^^Mon Dieuf mon Dieuf" she moaned, and cast 
 herself on the turf at his feet, and clawed at it with 
 her trembling little brown hands. "Spare us, mon- 
 sieur, spare us ! . . . All our lives we will bless you 
 . . . and we will work to pay off the debt." 
 
 He sat down beside her, and put his hand gently 
 on her shaking shoulder, which shook the more at 
 his touch. 
 
 "See, Barbe!" he said. "I cannot help it. You 
 have possessed me body and soul. I would go 
 through hell itself to win you." 
 
 Her coife had slipped — she had bent to the 
 fashion since she had come to live on shore — and 
 the dark hair rippled out from its confining cap. 
 His wandering fingers touched it caressingly. 
 His whole body shook, and the wind whistled 
 in through his nostrils. He held his breath as 
 though he held something else in with it, and she 
 shivered and crept along the earth away from 
 him. 
 
 Perhaps some touch of the better nature that was 
 somewhere in him rose at sight of her utter des- 
 peration. Perhaps the violence of his passion upset 
 his brain for a moment. 
 
 "I will marry you, Barbe," he said hoarsely. 
 "You shall be my wife!" and at the moment he 
 meant it, for at the moment there was no thing in 
 
 [285]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 heaven or earth that he desired but the lovely young 
 thing that lay there under his hand. 
 
 "I shall die," moaned Barbe, 
 
 "On the contrary," he said, coming back to 
 himself, "you shall begin to live and learn what 
 life is like. Now, listen to me, Barbe ! You shall 
 swear to me by the Holy Virgin that you will speak 
 of this to no person whatever, and that when Alain 
 Carbonec is free" — Barbe shivered and moaned 
 again — "you will come to me at my bidding." 
 
 "Swear it !" he said again, as she remained prone 
 and silent. 
 
 "£/z bienf" and he got up, "then, as sure as you 
 live, Alain Carbonec's head goes into the basket;" 
 and he turned to go. 
 
 She heard the pressure of his foot on the turf. 
 It was the foot of Death striding on Alain. Her 
 white face rose and looked after him in mortal 
 agony. She scrambled to her knees — to her feet — 
 and ran after him — ran after him to pluck back 
 Death from Alain at a price which Alain would 
 not care for life. But to her the one thing was to 
 save his life — even at the cost of her own. And 
 she said to herself as she ran, "When Alain is free 
 I will throw myself into the sea. I will kiss him 
 once when he is free, and then I will throw myself 
 into the sea." 
 
 "I will swear!" she panted behind Bernardin. 
 
 He turned and took her two hands in his and 
 
 [286] 
 
 4
 
 THE TRYING OF BARBE CARCASSONE 
 
 looked Into her twisted face. "By the Holy 
 Mother?" he said. 
 
 "By the Holy Mother!" 
 
 He bent and would have kissed the brown hands, 
 but she snatched them from him and bent and sped 
 away along the hillside Hke one who had sinned, 
 and shunned the sight of man; and Bernardin stood 
 and watched her, and then turned and went on into 
 the village. 
 
 L287]
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE TRIAL OF ALAIN CARBONEC 
 
 ALL Plenevec went to Alain Carbonec's 
 trial; and if the jury had been drawn 
 from the Plenevec men Barbe's heart 
 might have been eased of part of its 
 fears. But the trusty panel was all Plouarnec, and 
 Plouarnec knew not Alain, and sat there proud and 
 grim, with determination in its conscious eye, pre- 
 pared to do its duty to the last letter of the law, and 
 with perhaps somewhat of a bias against the ac- 
 cused, or at all events a leaning towards the belief 
 that if he were found guilty the reproach of an 
 undiscovered crime would be wiped out. 
 
 When the court had taken its place with all due 
 ceremonies, Alain was led in by the same two 
 gendarmes who had arrested him that day at Plene- 
 vec. He was pale still, but no longer pallid. He 
 seemed, in fact, in better bodily case than when 
 he first issued from his prison in the rock. His 
 bearing was easy and confident, as of a man satis- 
 fied of his own innocence and trustful of the law to 
 give him justice. The unjust Imprisonment by his 
 
 [ 288 ] 
 
 I
 
 FHE TRIAL OF ALAIN CARBONEC 
 
 fellows had tried him less hardly than the nerve- 
 shattering experiences of the caves. 
 
 His eye swept round the room and settled in- 
 stantly on Barbe's. A smile of pleasure flashed 
 into his face, and Barbe's pale face filled respon- 
 sively with momentary colour. But it passed and 
 left her pale and anxious as before. Noel Bernar- 
 din sat with a face like a hawk, and waited for the 
 fray to begin. He looked once at Barbe, and then 
 sat back in his seat and watched the jury. 
 
 "Tell me your name, your age, your profession, 
 and where you Hve," said the president of the court 
 to Alain. 
 
 "Alain Carbonec, twenty, sailor, Plenevec." 
 
 "Listen to the charges brought against you." 
 
 The clerk of the court proceeded to read them. 
 
 "You have heard the crime of which you are 
 accused," said the president. "Answer clearly the 
 questions I shall put to you." 
 
 "I am ready, monsieur. I have committed no 
 crime, and I have nothing to fear." 
 
 "We shall see. For the present confine yourself 
 to answering my questions. You knew George 
 Cadoual?" 
 
 "Yes, monsieur." 
 
 "On what terms were you with him?" 
 
 "On good enough terms at first. We were part- 
 ners in the boat." 
 
 "And afterwards?" 
 
 [289]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 "Not so good. He was not too easy to get on 
 with. 
 
 "You quarrelled?" 
 
 "Occasionally, of course." 
 
 "What did you quarrel about?" 
 
 Alain hesitated. 
 
 "Answer," said the president. 
 
 "Eh hien! monsieur, it is known. We both loved 
 Ma'm'selle Barbe of Grand Bayou;" and Barbe 
 jumped at the mention of her name and went mo- 
 mentarily red again. 
 
 "And which of you did the young lady favour?" 
 
 "Myself." 
 
 "You are sure?" 
 
 "Quite sure, monsieur." 
 
 "Did you ever come to blows?" 
 
 "We have done." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "He used insulting words about her one night, 
 and I struck him." 
 
 "What words?" 
 
 "Monsieur ... I wiped them out. . . . They 
 are forgotten." 
 
 "Bienf You had other reasons for hating 
 Cadoual." 
 
 "I do not think so." 
 
 "He found out your real name, and told Pierre 
 Carcassone who you were." 
 
 "That is true. But I did not know it till he told 
 
 [290]
 
 THE TRIAL OF ALAIN CARBONEC 
 
 me so himself — in the cave, you understand. He 
 told me that and other things to try and make me 
 angry enough to kill him." 
 
 "How then? He asked you to kill him?" 
 
 "He was in terrible pain — all his bones broken, 
 you understand — and he cried to me night and day 
 to kill him and end his trouble." 
 
 "And how came he there with all his bones 
 broken?" 
 
 "That, monsieur, I do not yet understand. He 
 told me it was he who threw me into the cave. 
 But I did not believe him, for I could not see why 
 he should be there himself in that case." 
 
 "How did you think you got there?" 
 
 "Candidly, monsieur, I thought it was Pierre 
 Carcassone who put me there;" and Pierre in the 
 audience smiled grimly. 
 
 "Ma'm'selle Barbe's father?" 
 
 "Yes, monsieur." 
 
 "And why should he put you there?" 
 
 "I do not think he wanted either of us. You 
 see, monsieur, Cadoual being there too made me 
 think it must have been some one else who put us 
 both in there. If I had been alone I might have 
 believed it was Cadoual who did it; but I could not 
 see why he should be there, too, if he did it him- 
 self." 
 
 "Quite so. Very ingenious. And how do 
 you suppose he got there?" 
 
 [291 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 "That I know no more than how I got there 
 myself, monsieur. I swam ashore from the Light 
 after returning the boat." 
 
 "Why had you taken the boat?" 
 
 "To take ma'm'selle ashore." 
 
 "You had carried mademoiselle away from her 
 father?" 
 
 "Yes and no, monsieur, if you will permit me. 
 Pierre, you see, said he was not her father, and if 
 that was so he had no right to keep her." 
 
 "Who did he say was her father?" 
 
 "He said she was the daughter of Paul Kervec, 
 whom I then heard of for the first time as my 
 father." 
 
 "He said you were sister and brother, in fact?" 
 
 "Exactly, monsieur." 
 
 "But you took her away all the same." 
 
 "As her brother I had better right to care for her 
 than a man who said she was not his daugh- 
 ter, and who hated the man whose daughter he said 
 she was." 
 
 "And did you believe she was your father's 
 daughter?" 
 
 "Mon Dieu! no, monsieur, not for a moment." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "We did not feel to one another hke that." 
 
 "But you took advantage of the position to re- 
 move her?" 
 
 [292]
 
 THE TRIAL OF ALAIN CARBONEC 
 
 "Assuredly. Would you not have done the 
 same?" which raised a ripple in the court. 
 
 "Don't trouble yourself about me. It is you who 
 are being tried — for your life, remember. Now, 
 continue. You took back the boat; you swam 
 ashore. What next?" 
 
 "I climbed the Cap by my usual road, and went 
 along the Head among the stones. The next thing 
 I remember I was lying in darkness with great pain 
 in the head, and then by degrees I came to myself, 
 and found I was in the upper cave among the doves' 
 
 nests." 
 
 "AndCadoual?" 
 
 "I knew nothing of Cadoual. It was two days 
 before I found him in the cave below, with all his 
 bones broken." 
 
 "And when you found him?" 
 
 "Mon Dieu, monsieur I I did what I could for 
 him, as any one else would have done. I bound 
 him together as well as I could. The leg and the 
 arm and the head I could manage, but the break- 
 ages inside his body I could not get at and could not 
 understand." 
 
 "He was stabbed in the throat." 
 
 "That was later. He suffered horribly, and 
 begged me night and day to kill him and put him 
 out of his pain. That I could not do, of course. I 
 fed him and gave him water and did what I could. 
 Then one night when I was tending him he plucked 
 
 [293]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 my knife from my belt and stabbed me In the back 
 — here" — and he put his hand up behind under his 
 right shoulder-blade — "and then plunged it into 
 his own throat." 
 
 "That is a strange story. Do you expect us to 
 beheve it?" 
 
 "It is the truth, monsieur." 
 
 "You say he told you it was he who threw you 
 into the cave." 
 
 "He said that when he wanted to make me mad 
 enough to kill him." 
 
 "Did you believe him?" 
 
 "I did not. I believed he said it only to anger 
 me." 
 
 "Do you believe It now?" 
 
 "I do not know, monsieur. It Is possible. I 
 know absolutely nothing of how I came into the 
 cave." 
 
 "You know there is a cave under the menhir on 
 the Head?" 
 
 "We found it the day I got out of the cave." 
 
 "You had never seen it before?" 
 
 "Never, monsieur. If there is an opening from 
 it into the lower cave, that Is doubtless the way I 
 was thrown in. It could not have been by the way 
 I came out." 
 
 "There is such an opening." 
 
 "Ah ! then that explains that part of It." 
 
 "And you cannot explain how Cadoual got Into 
 the cave?" [ 294 ]
 
 THE TRIAL OF ALAIN CARBONEC 
 
 "No, monsieur, I have no idea." 
 
 "However you got in," said the president insin- 
 uatingly, "the rest is simple enough and not un- 
 natural. Each of you thought the other had put 
 him there, and you fought about it. Was it 
 not so?" 
 
 "No, monsieur. Cadoual was in no condition to 
 fight; he was in pieces." 
 
 "He was able to stab you, however?" 
 
 "It was his last effort. The pain had crazed 
 him. He had made up his mind to die. I would 
 not kill him, so he tried to kill me as well as 
 himself." 
 
 "And you can cast no further light on the mat- 
 ter?" 
 
 "None, monsieur. I have told all I know." 
 
 The surgeon was called who had examined both 
 Cadoual's body and Alain's wound. He stated 
 that the breakages of Cadoual's bones and head 
 were the result of a fall from some great height. 
 
 "And the wound in the throat?" asked the 
 president. 
 
 "That, of course, was from a knife." 
 
 "From your observations would you say it was 
 caused by another or self-inflicted?" 
 
 "It is impossible to say for certain. Ordinarily, 
 however, a blow from one in front would land on 
 the left side — that is to say, the side facing the right 
 side of a right-handed man." 
 
 [295 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 "Is the prisoner right-handed?" 
 
 "He is." 
 
 "And if Cadoual had inflicted the wound himself 
 it would ordinarily be on the left side also, would 
 it not?" 
 
 "Ordinarily yes, but not invariably so." 
 
 "Or, again, if the prisoner had struck round 
 from behind?" 
 
 "It might fall anywhere, of course." 
 
 "Quite so. What do you say about prisoner's 
 own wound?" 
 
 "It could not possibly have been self-inflicted. It 
 is a blow from above downwards. It ripped open 
 the shoulder-blade and went in below." 
 
 "Supposing they had fought together?" 
 
 "Then prisoner must have turned his back to 
 receive the blow. Moreover, it is impossible 
 Cadoual could have fought. Almost every bone 
 in his body was broken." 
 
 "Could he have made such an exertion as pris- 
 oner states?" 
 
 "As a supreme — a final — exertion, he might." 
 
 "The wound in prisoner's head?" 
 
 "It might have been from a fall or from a direct 
 blow from behind. It would produce slight con- 
 cussion of the brain." 
 
 "Can you incline one way or the other — to the 
 fall or the blow ?" 
 
 "I incline to the blow, for this reason: a fall 
 
 [296]
 
 THE TRIAL OF ALAIN CARBONEC 
 
 down an incline, such as I understand is the alter- 
 native, would produce an abraded wound, tending 
 up or down, according to whether he fell head first 
 or feet first. This blow shows no such symptoms. 
 It was a blow straight from behind, straight in 
 towards the centre of the head, so to speak." 
 
 "How soon would such a blow produce uncon- 
 sciousness?" 
 
 "Instantly, and it might last for hours or days." 
 
 "So that a person receiving such a blow could do 
 nothing after it?" 
 
 "Not until he recovered consciousness." 
 
 "Returning for a moment to Cadoual's wounds: 
 could a man so broken inflict such a wound- as that 
 in prisoner's head?" 
 
 "Certainly not — not after he was broken." 
 
 The president intimated to the surgeon that he 
 had finished with him; but as he was stepping down 
 Bernardin desired to ask him a question. 
 
 "You examined the body of Cadoual. Had any 
 attempt been made to cure his breakages?" 
 
 "Yes, undoubtedly; and it caused me great sur- 
 prise. The arm and leg had been, and indeed still 
 were, tightly bandaged to keep the broken bones in 
 position." 
 
 "Could Cadoual by any possibility have done 
 that himself?" 
 
 "Not unless he was left-handed, and then I doubt 
 if his broken ribs would have allowed him to do so." 
 
 [ 297 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 A score of voices in the audience exclaimed that 
 Cadoual was right-handed, and the president 
 threatened to clear the court. 
 
 The evidence so far was in prisoner's favour. So, 
 evidently, was popular feeling. 
 
 Madame Cadoual, a smouldering volcano in 
 black, was briefly examined, and stated that her son 
 and prisoner were on bad terms because of that 
 girl at the Light. Her son had started one morn- 
 ing for Landroel to do some business, and she had 
 never seen him again till his body came ashore. She 
 had employed detectives from Paris, and they had 
 given it as their opinion that Alain Carbonec was 
 responsible for the murder. She never took her 
 eyes off Alain, and they flamed and blazed as 
 though they would scorch him out of existence. 
 
 One of the Paris detectives — the other was man- 
 hunting in Algeria — told of their researches in 
 and round Plenevec, and how they had come to the 
 conclusion that the missing man was the murderer. 
 But when Bernardin took him in hand the smart 
 gentleman from Paris had a bad five minutes. With 
 questions that struck like blows in the face, the 
 barrister ripped to pieces the other's assumptions 
 and laid bare the poverty of the land. 
 
 "Can you produce one single iota of fact that 
 you yourself discovered which in any way connects 
 Alain Carbonec with the death of George 
 Cadoual?" asked Bernardin in a scornful voice. 
 
 [298]
 
 THE TRIAL OF ALAIN CARBONEC 
 
 "The fact that Carbonec disappeared on the 
 very same day as M. Cadoual — " began he from 
 Paris. 
 
 "We know all about that. Nothing else? Thank 
 you. I will not detain you;" and the detective 
 regretted he was not in Algeria with his colleague. 
 
 Then : "Pierre Carcassone !" called the presi- 
 dent, and Pierre stepped forward and took the 
 oath. 
 
 "You objected to prisoner coming to the Light 
 after your daughter?" 
 
 "Yes, monsieur." 
 
 "You forbade him to come?" 
 
 "Yes, monsieur." 
 
 "But he continued to come all the same?'* 
 
 "He did." 
 
 "And in the end — what?" 
 
 "I took my own way of separating them." 
 
 "You did not know the prisoner was Paul Ker- 
 vec's son?" 
 
 "Not till Cadoual told me." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "I made use of it. I told them they were brother 
 and sister." 
 
 "That was not true?" 
 
 "Mon Dieu, monsieur!" — with a shrug — "it 
 might have been. It was good enough to use, any- 
 way." 
 
 "Prisoner, however, took advantage of the rela- 
 
 [299]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 tionship you ascribed to your daughter and himself 
 to take your daughter away?" 
 
 "He did." 
 
 "He took her away in the Hghthouse boat to 
 Plenevec. What happened when he came back 
 with the boat?" 
 
 "We quarrelled. He jeered at me for what he 
 called the failure of my plan, and told me I had 
 lied." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 "I struck him." 
 
 "You fought?" 
 
 "No. He went away down the ladder and swam 
 ashore." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 "I followed him as soon as I got the boat down." 
 
 "What was your idea in following him?" 
 
 Pierre hesitated, and then said in a quiet, matter- 
 of-fact way, "I intended to kill him." 
 
 "Well? Continue." 
 
 "He was ashore before I got there. He dressed 
 and climbed the Head, and I followed him." 
 
 "You climbed the Head? Continue." 
 
 "It was new to me, and I was a long time after 
 him. When I reached the top I could not see him 
 at first. Then of a sudden I caught sight of his 
 head coming up out of a hole in the ground close 
 by one of the stones. His back was towards me, 
 and I lay down behind another stone and watched." 
 
 [300]
 
 THE TRIAL OF ALAIN CARBONEC 
 
 "What did you see?" 
 
 "His head was bleeding. He seemed stupid. He 
 looked about till he found his cap; then he kicked 
 the grass and bushes about with his feet, and then 
 he went into the hole again." 
 
 "How long were you behind him?" 
 
 "It might be a quarter of an hour or more." 
 
 "The surgeon tells us Carbonec would be uncon- 
 scious for a considerable time after the blow he had 
 received." 
 
 "I know nothing about that. I tell you only 
 what I saw." 
 
 "After that?" 
 
 "He did not come out again, and I went away, 
 and got back to the Light." 
 
 "Now, tell me; did you, while quarrelling with 
 prisoner, tell him who gave you the information 
 as to his name and parentage?" 
 
 "I did. It slipped out." 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 "He said I was a fool and Cadoual was a bigger 
 one." 
 
 The president had done with him. But Bernar- 
 din had not. 
 
 "You come here," said he, "telling us that you 
 tried to separate Carbonec and your daughter by 
 a He which you knew to be a lie " 
 
 "It was as likely true as not," said Pierre gruffly. 
 
 "When you brought the children ashore eighteen 
 
 [301 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 years ago, after murdering the father of the one 
 and the mother of the other, you took them to Ser- 
 geant Gaudriol and said, "This is my child, and 
 this is his. Is it not so?" 
 
 "Ma foi, monsieur! Eighteen years is a long 
 time to recall one's very words." 
 
 "Have you ever during these eighteen years 
 hinted, in any way or to any one, that Barbe was 
 not your daughter?" 
 
 "I never had occasion to do so." 
 
 "And you wish us to believe that for eighteen 
 years you have fed and cared for the child of the 
 man you murdered?" 
 
 "She was useful to me." 
 
 "For many years she could not possibly be useful 
 to you, and you could easily have got some one who 
 would have been, and who also would not have had 
 the disadvantage of being Kervec's child." 
 
 To that Pierre had nothing to reply beyond a 
 shrug. 
 
 "You say you climbed Cap Rebel from the sea, 
 and went back the same way. Doubtless you can 
 show us whereabouts you climbed, and could do it 
 again. I ask the court to send you in custody of 
 two gendarmes and an officer of the court to climb 
 it again in their presence. If you succeed and come 
 back alive — But you will not. Your mouth is 
 full of lies. When Sergeant Gaudriol went over 
 to the Light to Inquire into the disappearance of 
 
 [302 ]
 
 THE TRIAL OF ALAIN CARBONEC 
 
 Carbonec you told him you had not seen him when 
 he returned with the boat. Was that true?" 
 
 "Obviously not, in view of what I have stated." 
 
 "You lied to an officer of the law in the pursuit 
 of his duty?" 
 
 "He was trying to fix on me a crime I had not 
 committed." 
 
 "So you lied to him?" 
 
 "He showed he did not believe me." 
 
 "It is to his credit. No sensible man would 
 believe you. I have here," said Bernardin, "the 
 record of your daughter's birth, which took place 
 six months before you parted with your wife when 
 you started on your last voyage to Newfoundland. 
 This story of Barbe being Kervec's daughter was a 
 lie, and you knew it to be a lie, and used it simply 
 as a means to an end — namely, the getting rid of 
 Kervec's son, whom we know as Alain Carbonec. 
 Your evidence now given is a lie from beginning 
 to end — with the same end in view. You come 
 here with a mouthful of lies, capped by the state- 
 ment that you followed Carbonec with the inten- 
 tion of killing him, and you expect the jury to 
 believe a single word you say. Faugh ! You are 
 rotten — putrid. In the sight of all honest men 
 you stink. In the sight of God " 
 
 "Gently! gently!" said the president. 
 
 "It is not easy, M. le President," said Bernardin 
 with warmth, "in the presence of carrion such as 
 
 [303]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 this — come here to swear away the life of an inno- 
 cent man to satisfy an old grudge against the 
 father " 
 
 "May God strike me dead," cried Pierre, foam- 
 ing at Bernardin's words, "if " 
 
 Then, in the sight of all of them, his eyes fixed 
 wide in a stare of frozen horror on something be- 
 hind the barrister — something which was invisible 
 to any but himself. His face grew white, and 
 then the colour of lead. The arm he had flung 
 up in vehement assertion dropped to his side. He 
 swayed for a second, and fell with a crash like a 
 falling tree. When they picked him up he was 
 dead. 
 
 L 304 ]
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE GOLDEN WAY 
 
 YOU may find twenty men this day in 
 Plenevec who saw Pierre Carcassone 
 fall and die, and they tell of it yet 
 with bated breath. For, you under- 
 stand, one does not see the good God stretch out 
 His hand like that every day in the week — happily 
 for some folk ! 
 
 The court adjourned while the doctors gathered 
 over Pierre's body like birds of prey, and debated 
 as to the actual cause of his death. But if all the 
 doctors in Christendom had proclaimed it anything 
 whatsoever other than that which it so manifestly 
 was — the direct reply to Pierre's blasphemous chal- 
 lenge — no single man in Plouarnec or Plenevec 
 would have listened to them. For doctors are but 
 men, after all, and this was the finger of God. It 
 was like ants arguing about a thunderbolt, as Noel 
 Bernardin tersely put it when he got over the first 
 shock. 
 
 Barbe had sat through it all, growing colder and 
 colder, till her very heart was chilled with fear, 
 
 [ 305 ]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 and her face was like the face of a Madonna carved 
 in white marble. She did not believe a word of 
 what Pierre said ; but she saw how terribly it must 
 tell against Alain if the jury believed it. And she 
 sat with her dark eyes fixed on them, and learned 
 every line of their faces, and saw them in her 
 dreams for many years after. Bernardin's voice 
 rang in her ears. His fiery words stirred her heart 
 and chilled it, for every word brought the end 
 nearer. She heard the crash of Pierre's fall. They 
 told her he was dead, and in spite of the horror of 
 it, and in spite of herself, her heart cried, "Thank 
 Godl" and the colour came slowly back into her 
 face. 
 
 Alain had stood watching her until Pierre's lying 
 evidence forced his attention. Then he watched 
 Pierre, and his eyes blazed as he saw the net the 
 unhappy man was trying to weave round him. He 
 was watching him intently to the moment when he 
 fell. And when they told him he was dead his 
 heart, too, cried, "Thank God!" For it seemed 
 to him that God had indeed spoken for him. 
 
 All the time the doctors were discussing Car- 
 cassone, Noel Bernardin sat with his arms folded, 
 staring before him with gloomy eyes which saw not. 
 It was his attack that had provoked the man to his 
 death; but it was not of Pierre Carcassone he was 
 thinking. He did not give one thought to him. 
 
 When the court met again, an hour later, the 
 
 [306]
 
 THE GOLDEN WAY 
 
 president intimated that the prosecution would call 
 no more witnesses. 
 
 "I call Sergeant Gaudriol," said Bernardin 
 quietly. "My client is innocent, and I will prove 
 his innocence beyond all questioning." He was 
 very pale, and spoke very gravely, and was evi- 
 dently labouring under strong emotion. 
 
 The old Sergeant stepped up. 
 
 "You searched the cave under the stone on Cap 
 Rebel. What did you find there?" 
 
 "These," said Gaudriol, and produced from a 
 cardboard box three cigarette ends, a ring of wax 
 on a flat stone, and Alain's stocking-cap. 
 
 "Tell the jury, if you please, what these things 
 tell you." 
 
 "The cigarettes are the same as George Cadoual 
 smoked, and no one else in Plenevec could afford 
 them." 
 
 Ordinarily the president would have said, "Yes, 
 the prisoner took them from Cadoual's pocket and 
 smoked them after felling him." Gaudriol was 
 prepared for that, and waited for it. 
 
 "Continue," said the president. 
 
 "M. Cadoual always smoked with a holder," 
 said Gaudriol. "His humour was such that he 
 could not smoke as others do. If he tried he bit 
 the cigarette to pieces. If you wish, M. le Presi- 
 dent, you can have twenty confirmations of both 
 these facts." 
 
 [307]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 The president only bowed and murmured, "Con- 
 tinue." He had had enough of the business, and 
 desired only to see the end of it. 
 
 "If M. le President will have the goodness to ex- 
 amine those cigarette ends, he will see that they 
 have been smoked with a holder." 
 
 The fag-ends were handed up to the president, 
 who glanced at them and passed them to the 
 jury. 
 
 "I say, therefore," said Gaudriol, "that it was 
 George Cadoual who was in the habit of using that 
 cave — not Alain Carbonec. Next I produce a ring 
 of wax, the remains of a candle — that is it, M. le 
 President. I found that also in the cave. The 
 wax is similar to the candles used in the Cadoual 
 household. It is of a quality used nowhere else in 
 Plenevec. M. Cadoual, therefore, had light in his 
 cave." 
 
 M. le President might have had something to 
 say on that head also; but he only bowed wearily 
 and said again, "Continue." 
 
 "This," said Gaudriol, handing up the blood- 
 stained cap, "is Alain Carbonec's cap. The dark 
 stain is the blood from the wound on his head. 
 He was struck from behind, probably by a stone, 
 dragged into the cave, and flung through the open- 
 ing in the long passage into the lower cave. Why 
 and how Cadoual came to follow him, God only 
 knows." 
 
 [308]
 
 THE GOLDEN WAY 
 
 No word from the president, and Sergeant Gau- 
 driol's evidence stood unopposed. 
 
 The prosecution dechned to address the jury, and 
 Bernardin took the same course. Without leaving 
 the box the jury pronounced Alain Carbonec "Not 
 Guilty," and the two gendarmes fell back and left 
 him a free man. 
 
 A buzz of satisfaction ran round the court; but 
 the sense of what had just happened was upon 
 them all, and it scarcely rose above a murmur. 
 
 Alain strode across to Barbe and took her 
 white face between his hands, and looked into her 
 eyes, and kissed her on both cheeks. He thought 
 the strained whiteness of her face, on which her 
 eyes looked like two great black stains, arose from 
 the shock of her father's sudden death. 
 
 There was only one man in the room who knew 
 what it meant, and what anguish of heart lay be- 
 hind it; and he rose quickly, and his face was 
 almost as pale as hers, and he spoke through his 
 clenched teeth. He came straight to them, and 
 took Barbe's cold little hand in his, and felt the 
 agonised throb beat through the coldness of it as 
 she lifted her heavy eyes to his and waited his 
 pleasure. 
 
 "She is yours, Carbonec," he said, and the sharp 
 ring of his voice was gone, and it came huskily 
 through his teeth. "God has spoken. Take her, 
 and be very good to her," and he placed Barbe's 
 
 [309]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 hand in Alain's and turned and went. And Alain 
 never knew why Barbe reeled and almost fell. He 
 had turned to load Bernardin with his thanks for all 
 he had done for him, when the twitch of Barbe's 
 hand drew him to her. Before he looked up again 
 Bernardin was gone. 
 
 Morally, Bernardin had been guilty of an atro- 
 cious wrong, but it was never accomplished. At the 
 very moment when the prize for which he had been 
 willing to sell his soul was in his hand, God spoke 
 and turned him from his purpose. I like to think 
 that, even without that, he might, when it came to 
 the point, have refused the sacrifice to which Barbe 
 had pledged herself. And I like, too, to think that 
 perhaps his training at Merchiston and the Scottish 
 strain in his blood might have helped towards that 
 end. 
 
 Of the depth and strength of his feeling for 
 Barbe there could be no doubt. Years afterwards, 
 when he had attained to a high position in the land, 
 and was happily married and had his children 
 growing up about him, I have seen him fall sud- 
 denly silent at a casual mention of Barbe Carcas- 
 sone's name; but I had seen Barbe myself, and 
 I was not surprised. One did not soon forget 
 her. 
 
 The Plenevec men gathered round Alain and 
 Barbe, and gave them hearty congratulation, and 
 Barbe's face was no longer white, for all the 
 
 [310]
 
 THE GOLDEN WAY 
 
 warmth of the new-given Hfe beat in it and shone 
 through her eyes. 
 
 "And who tends the hght to-night?" asked 
 Sergeant Gaudriol, returning from an ineffectual 
 chase after Bernardin. 
 
 "Ma foi! I forgot the light," said Alain. 
 
 "I will tend it," said Barbe valiantly. 
 
 "I go with you," said Alain. 
 
 "But no," she said, with a charming timid- 
 ity, "that could not be, Alain." 
 
 "Jllons done, you two!" cried the jovial Gau- 
 driol, beaming on them like a ferocious tiger who 
 sees his meal approaching. "Come straight away 
 to the Maire, and we will have you married at once, 
 or something else will be coming between you. The 
 good God intended you for one another from the 
 very first, and we're bound to help Him if we can." 
 
 The neighbours in their enthusiasm clapped the 
 official uniform on the back, a thing no man had 
 ever dreamt of doing in his life before, and Gau- 
 driol did not resent it. 
 
 Alain looked at Barbe with a great eagerness in 
 his eyes; and Barbe looked up into them, and put- 
 ting her hand trustfully into his, said, "I am 
 ready," and the neighbours shouted aloud and 
 streamed out in a vociferous throng to the Maire's 
 office. And, under the peculiar circumstances of 
 the case, M. le Maire consented to marry them 
 on the spot, and did so, and thereby saved himself 
 
 [311]
 
 BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU 
 
 from possible indignity and the smashing of his 
 windows. 
 
 The sun seemed hesitating for his evening plunge 
 when the crowd which escorted them came crunch- 
 ing down the shingly beach at Plenevec. Perhaps, 
 after all, he was only waiting to see these two, who 
 had suffered so much, and were at last united, and 
 desired to add his mite to the proceedings. He 
 did his best, and it was up a shimmering pathway 
 of gold that Alain Carbonec rowed his bride home, 
 while all the people stood on the beach and watched 
 them go. 
 
 Barbe waved her hand to them and then turned 
 her face to the Light and to her husband, and Alain 
 saw nothing of the black throng behind, but only 
 the face of his girl-wife; and her face shone in the 
 glory of the setting sun, as it had shone that other 
 morning in the glory of the rising sun. But, then 
 and always, there was in it for Alain a glory and a 
 brightness that no suns could put there, and which 
 shone for him in foul weather as in fair, and shone 
 for him alone. 
 
 Barbe sat quite still, with her hands in her lap, 
 till they had passed out of the bay and were 
 approaching the Plenevec side of the Pot. Then 
 she kicked off her unaccustomed shoes and drew 
 off the suffocating stockings, and the little round 
 toes worked comfortably. And Alain^ with a joy- 
 ful laugh, drew in his oars and stepped cautiously 
 
 [31^]
 
 THE GOLDEN WAY 
 
 over to her, and knelt before her, and kissed first 
 her feet, and took advantage of her jump of alarm 
 to fold his arms about her and draw her down to 
 him in the bottom of the boat. And he kissed her 
 — hair, and eyes, and ears, and mouth, and shield- 
 ing hands and arms, everywhere where a kiss could 
 be planted. 
 
 "Little sister! Little sister!" he cried. "You 
 are mine, mine, mine — the gift of the good 
 God " 
 
 "The good God has been very good to us, 
 Alain," she said, all rosy red with joy at his vehe- 
 mence. 
 
 "We will never forget it," said her husband. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 [313T

 
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