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THE MERMAID

 "Lady, I fain would tell how evermore Thy soul I know not from thy body, nor Thee from myself, neither our love from God. "

A Love Tale

by

L. DOUGALL

Author of Beggars All, What Necessity Knows, Etc. 

New YorkD. Appleton and Company1895Copyright, 1895, by D. Appleton and Company. 

CONTENTS. 

BOOK I. 

CHAPTER PAGE

 I. --THE BENT TWIG 1

 II. --THE SAD-EYED CHILD 4

 III. --LOST IN THE SEA 11

 IV. --A QUIET LIFE 19

 V. --SEEN THROUGH BLEAR EYES 24

 VI. --"FROM HOUR TO HOUR WE RIPE----" 34

 VII. --"A SEA CHANGE" 41

 VIII. --BELIEF IN THE IMPOSSIBLE 49

 IX. --THE SEA-MAID'S MUSIC 56

 X. --TOWED BY THE BEARD 65

 XI. --YEARS OF DISCRETION 71

BOOK II. 

 I. --THE HAND THAT BECKONED 75

 II. --THE ISLES OF ST. MAGDALEN 85

 III. --BETWEEN THE SURF AND THE SAND 90

 IV. --WHERE THE DEVIL LIVED 101

 V. --DEVILRY 109

 VI. --THE SEA-MAID 118

 VII. --THE GRAVE LADY 122

 VIII. --HOW THEY LIVED ON THE CLOUD 126

 IX. --THE SICK AND THE DEAD 136

 X. --A LIGHT-GIVING WORD 141

 XI. --THE LADY'S HUSBAND 149

 XII. --THE MAIDEN INVENTED 155

 XIII. --WHITE BIRDS; WHITE SNOW; WHITE THOUGHTS 166

 XIV. --THE MARRIAGE SCENE 173

BOOK III. 

 I. --HOW WE HUNTED THE SEALS 183

 II. --ONCE MORE THE VISION 188

 III. --"LOVE, I SPEAK TO THY FACE" 193

 IV. --HOPE BORN OF SPRING 201

 V. --TO THE HIGHER COURT 208

 VI. --"THE NIGHT IS DARK" 216

 VII. --THE WILD WAVES WHIST 227

 VIII. --"GOD'S IN HIS HEAVEN" 236

 IX. --"GOD'S PUPPETS, BEST AND WORST" 249

 X. --"DEATH SHRIVE THY SOUL!" 254

 XI. --THE RIDDLE OF LIFE 263

 XII. --TO CALL A SPIRIT FROM THE VASTY DEEP 271

 XIII. --THE EVENING AND THE MORNING 283

THE MERMAID. 

_BOOK I. _

CHAPTER I. 

THE BENT TWIG. 

Caius Simpson was the only son of a farmer who lived on the north-westcoast of Prince Edward's Island. The farmer was very well-to-do, for hewas a hard-working man, and his land produced richly. The father was aman of good understanding, and the son had been born with brains; therewere traditions of education in the family, hence the name Caius; it wasno plan of the elder man that his son should also be a farmer. The boywas first sent to learn in what was called an "Academy, " a school in thelargest town of the island. Caius loved his books, and became a youthfulscholar. In the summer he did light work on the farm; the work was of aquiet, monotonous sort, for his parents were no friends to frivolity orexcitement. 

Caius was strictly brought up. The method of his training was that whichrelies for strength of character chiefly upon the absence of temptation. The father was under the impression that he could, without any laboriouseffort and consideration, draw a line between good and evil, and keephis son on one side of it. He was not austere--but his view ofrighteousness was derived from puritan tradition. 

A boy, if kindly treated, usually begins early to approve the onlyteaching of which he has experience. As a youth, Caius heartily endorsedhis father's views, and felt superior to all who were more lax. He hadbeen born into that religious school which teaches that a man shouldthink for himself on every question, provided that he arrives at aforegone conclusion. Caius, at the age of eighteen, had already donemuch reasoning on certain subjects, and proved his work by observingthat his conclusions tallied with set models. As a result, he was, ifnot a reasonable being, a reasoning and a moral one. 

We have ceased to draw a distinction between Nature and the forces ofeducation. It is a great problem why Nature sets so many young people inthe world who are apparently unfitted for the battle of life, andcertainly have no power to excel in any direction. The subjectivereligion which Caius had been taught had nourished within him greatstore of noble sentiment and high desire, but it had deprived him ofthat rounded knowledge of actual life which alone, it would appear, teaches how to guide these forces into the more useful channels. Then asto capacity, he had the fine sensibilities of a poet, the facileintrospection of the philosophical cast of mind, without the mentalpower to write good verse or to be a philosopher. He had, at least inyouth, the conscience of a saint without the courage and endurance whichappear necessary to heroism. In mockery the quality of ambition wasbestowed upon him but not the requisites for success. Nature has beenworking for millions of years to produce just such characters as CaiusSimpson, and, character being rather too costly a production to throwaway, no doubt she has a precise use for every one of them. 

It is not the province of art to solve problems, but to depict them. Itis enough for the purpose of telling his story that a man has beenendowed with capacity to suffer and rejoice. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE SAD-EYED CHILD. 

One evening in early summer Caius went a-fishing. He started to walkseveral miles to an inlet where at high tide the sea-trout came withinreach of the line. The country road was of red clay, and, turning fromthe more thickly-settled district, Caius followed it through a wide woodof budding trees and out where it skirted the top of low red cliffs, against which the sea was lapping. Then his way led him across a farm. So far he had been walking indolently, happy enough, but here the shadowof the pain of the world fell upon him. 

This farm was a lonesome place close to the sea; there was no appearanceof prosperity about it. Caius knew that the farmer, Day by name, was achurl, and was said to keep his family on short rations of happiness. AsCaius turned off the public road he was not thinking specially of thebleak appearance of the particular piece of farmland he was crossing, orof the reputation of the family who lived upon the increase of itsacres; but his attention was soon drawn to three children swinging on agate which hung loosely in the log fence not far from the house. Theeldest was an awkward-looking girl about twelve years of age; the secondwas a little boy; the youngest was a round-limbed, blond baby of two orthree summers. The three stood upon the lowest bar of the gate, clingingto the upper spars. The eldest leaned her elbows on the top and lookedover; the baby embraced the middle bar and looked through. They had setthe rickety gate swinging petulantly, and it latched and unlatcheditself with the sort of sound that the swaying of some dreary wind wouldgive it. The children seemed to swing there, not because they werehappy, but because they were miserable. 

As Caius came with light step up the lane, fishing gear over hisshoulder, the children looked at him disconsolately, and when heapproached the gate the eldest stepped down and pulled it open for him. 

"Anything the matter?" he asked, stopping his quick tread, and turningwhen he had passed through. 

The big girl did not answer, but she let go the gate, and when it jerkedforward the baby fell. 

She did not fall far, nor was she hurt; but as Caius picked her up andpatted her cotton clothes to shake the dust out of them, it seemed tohim that he had never seen so sad a look in a baby's eyes. Large, dark, dewy eyes they were, circled around with curly lashes, and they lookedup at him out of a wistful little face that was framed by a wreath ofyellow hair. Caius lifted the child, kissed her, put her down, and wenton his way. He only gave his action half a thought at the time, but allhis life afterwards he was sorry that he had let the baby go out of hisarms again, and thankful that he had given her that one kiss. 

His path now lay close by the house and on to the sea-cliff behind. Thehouse stood in front of him--four bare wooden walls, brown painted, andwithout veranda or ornament; its barns, large and ugly, were closebeside it. Beyond, some stunted firs grew in a dip of the cliff, but onthe level ground the farmer had felled every tree. The homestead itselfwas ugly; but the land was green, and the sea lay broad and blue, itsbreast swelling to the evening sun. The air blew sweet over field andcliff, add the music of the incoming tide was heard below thepine-fringed bank. Caius, however, was not in the receptive mind whichappreciates outward things. His attention was not thoroughly arousedfrom himself till the sound of harsh voices struck his ear. 

Between the farmhouse and the barns, on a place worn bare by the feet ofmen and animals, the farmer and his wife stood in hot dispute. Thewoman, tall, gaunt, and ill-dressed, spoke fast, passion and misery inall her attitude and in every tone and gesture. The man, chunky infigure and churlish in demeanour, held a horsewhip in his hand, answering his wife back word for word in language both profane andviolent. 

It did not occur to Caius that the whip was in his hand otherwise thanby accident. The men in that part of the world were not in the habit ofbeating their wives, but no sooner did he see the quarrel than his wrathrose hot against the man. The woman being the weaker, he took forgranted that she was entirely in the right. He faltered in his walk, and, hesitating, stood to look. His path was too far off for him to hearthe words that were poured forth in such torrents of passion. The boy'sstrong sentiment prompted him to run and collar the man; his judgmentmade him doubt whether it was a good thing to interfere between man andwife; a certain latent cowardice in his heart made him afraid to venturenearer. The sum of his emotions caused him to stop, go on a few paces, and stop to look and listen again, his heart full of concern. In thisway he was drawing further away, when he saw the farmer step nearer hiswife and menace her with the whip; in an instant more he had struck her, and Caius had run about twenty feet forward to interfere, and haltedagain, because he was afraid to approach so angry and powerful a man. 

Caius saw the woman clearly now, and how she received this attack. Shestood quite still at her full stature, ceasing to speak or togesticulate, folded her arms and looked at her husband. The look in herhard, dark face, the pose of her gaunt figure, said more clearly thanany passionate words, "Hold, if you value your life! you have gone toofar; you have heaped up punishment enough for yourself already. " Thehusband understood this language, vaguely, it might be, but still heunderstood enough to make him draw back, still growling and menacingwith the whip. Caius was too young to understand what the womanexpressed; he only knew strength and weakness as physical things; hismind was surging with pity for the woman and revenge against the man;yet even he gathered the knowledge that for the time the quarrel wasover, that interference was now needless. He walked on, looking back ashe went to see the farmer go away to his stables and the wife stalkpast him up toward the byre that was nearest the sea. 

As Caius moved on, the only relief his mind could find at first was toexercise his imagination in picturing how he could avenge the poorwoman. In fancy he saw himself holding Day by the throat, throwing himdown, belabouring him with words and blows, meting out punishment morethan adequate. All that he actually did, however, was to hold on his wayto the place of his fishing. 

The path had led him to the edge of the cliff. Here he paused, lookingover the bank to see if he could get down and continue his walk alongthe shore, but the soft sandy bluff here jutted so that he could noteven see at what level the tide lay. After spending some minutes inscrambling half-way down and returning because he could descend nofurther, he struck backwards some paces behind the farm buildings, supposing the descent to be easier where bushes grew in the shallowchine. In the top of the cliff there was a little dip, which formed anexcellent place for an outside cellar or root-house for such farm storesas must be buried deep beneath the snow against the frost of winter. Therough door of such a cellar appeared in the side of this smalldeclivity, and as Caius came round the back of the byre in sight of it, he was surprised to see the farmer's wife holding the latch of its doorin her hand and looking vacantly into the dark interior. She looked upand answered the young man's greeting with apathetic manner, apparentlyquite indifferent to the scene she had just passed through. 

Caius, his mind still in the rush of indignation on her behalf, stoppedat the sight of her, wondering what he could do or say to express thewild pity that surged within him. 

But the woman said, "The tide's late to-night, " exactly as she mighthave remarked with dry civility that it was fine weather. 

"Yes, " said Caius, "I suppose it will be. "

She was looking into the cellar, not towards the edge of the bank. 

"With a decent strong tide, " she remarked, "you can hear the waves inthis cave. "

Whereupon she walked slowly past him back toward her house. Caius tookthe precaution to step after her round the end of the byre, just to seethat her husband was not lying in wait for her there. There was no oneto be seen but the children at a distance, still swinging on the gate, and a labourer who was driving some cows from the field. 

Caius slipped down on to the red shore, and found himself in a widesemicircular bay, near the point which ended it on this side. He creptround the bay inwards for half a mile, till he came to the mouth of thecreek to which he was bound. All the long spring evening he sat anglingfor the speckled sea-trout, until the dusk fell and the blue waterturned gray, and he could no longer see the ruddy colour of the rock onwhich he sat. All the long spring evening the trout rose to his fly oneby one, and were landed in his basket easily enough, and soft-throatedfrogs piped to him from ponds in the fields behind, and the smell ofbudding verdure from the land mingled with the breeze from the sea. ButCaius was not happy; he was brooding over the misery suggested by whathe had just seen, breathing his mind after its unusual rush of emotion, and indulging its indignant melancholy. It did not occur to him towonder much why the object of his pity had made that quick errand to thecellar in the chine, or why she had taken interest in the height of thetide. He supposed her to be inwardly distracted by her misery. She hadthe reputation of being a strange woman. 

CHAPTER III. 

LOST IN THE SEA. 

There was no moon that night. When the darkness began to gather swiftly, Caius swung his basket of fish and his tackle over his shoulder andtramped homeward. His preference was to go round by the road and avoidthe Day farm; then he thought it might be his duty to go that way, because it might chance that the woman needed protection as he passed. It is much easier to give such protection in intention than in deed;but, as it happened, the deed was not required. The farmstead wasperfectly still as he went by it again. 

He went on half a mile, passing only such friendly persons as it wasnatural he should meet on the public road. They were few. Caius walkedlistening to the sea lapping below the low cliff near which the roadran, and watching the bats that often circled in the dark-blue duskoverhead. Thus going on, he gradually recognised a little group walkingin front of him. It was the woman, Mrs. Day, and her three children. Holding a child by either hand, she tramped steadily forward. Somethingin the way she walked, in the way the children walked--a dull, mechanical action in their steps--perplexed Caius. 

He stepped up beside them with a word of neighbourly greeting. 

The woman did not answer for some moments; when she did, although herwords were ordinary, her voice seemed to Caius to come from out some fardistance whither her mind had wandered. 

"Going to call on someone, I suppose, Mrs. Day?" said he, inwardlyanxious. 

"Yes, " she replied; "we're going to see a friend--the children and me. "

Again it seemed that there was some long distance between her and theyoung man who heard her. 

"Come along and see my mother, " he urged, with solicitude. "She alwayshas a prime welcome for visitors, mother has. "

The words were hearty, but they excited no heartiness of response. 

"We've another place to go to to-night, " she said. "There'll be awelcome for us, I reckon. "

She would neither speak to him any more nor keep up with his pace uponthe road. He slackened speed, but she still shrank back, walking slower. He found himself getting in advance, so he left her. 

A hundred yards more he went on, and looked back to see her climbing thelog fence into the strip of common beside the sea. 

His deliberation of mind was instantly gone. Something was wrong now. Hecast himself over the low log fence just where he was, and hastened backalong the edge of the cliff, impelled by unformulated fear. 

It was dark, the dark grayness of a moonless night. The cliff here wasnot more than twenty feet above the high tide, which surged and sweptdeep at its base. The grass upon the top was short; young fir-treesstood here and there. All this Caius saw. The woman he could not see atfirst. Then, in a minute, he did see her--standing on the edge of thebank, her form outlined against what light there was in sea and sky. Hesaw her swing something from her. The thing she threw, whatever it was, was whirled outwards, and then fell into the sea. With a splash, itsank. 

The young man's mind stood still with horror. The knowledge came to himas he heard the splash that it was the little child she had flung away. He threw off his basket and coat. Another moment, and he would havejumped from the bank; but before he had jumped he heard the elder girlgroaning as if in desperate fear, and saw that mother and daughter weregrappled together, their figures swaying backwards and forwards inconvulsive struggle. He did not doubt that the mother was trying todrown this child also. Another low wild groan from the girl, and Caiusflung himself upon them both. His strength released the girl, who drewaway a few paces; but the woman struggled terribly to get to her again. Both the girl and little boy stood stupidly within reach. 

"Run--run--to the road, and call for help!" gasped Caius to thechildren, but they only stood still. 

He was himself shouting with all his strength, and holding the desperatewoman upon the ground, where he had thrown her. 

Every moment he was watching the dark water, where he thought he saw alittle heap of light clothes rise and sink again further off. 

"Run with your brother out of the way, so that I can leave her, " hecalled to the girl. He tried with a frantic gesture to frighten theminto getting out of the mother's reach. He continued to shout for aid ashe held down the woman, who with the strength of insanity was strugglingto get hold of the children. 

A man's voice gave answering shout. Caius saw someone climbing thefence. He left the woman and jumped into the sea. 

Down under the cold black water he groped about. He was not an expertswimmer and diver. He had never been under water so long before, but sostrong had been his impulse to reach the child that he went a good wayon the bottom in the direction in which he had thought he saw the littlebody floating. Then he knew that he came up empty-handed and wasswimming on the dark surface, hearing confused cries and imprecationsfrom the shore. He wanted to dive and seek again for the child below, but he did not know how to do this without a place to leap from. He lethimself sink, but he was out of breath. He gasped and inhaled the water, and then, for dear life's sake, he swam to keep his head above it. 

The water had cooled his excitement; a feeling of utter helplessness andmisery came over him. So strong was his pity for the little sad-eyedchild that he was almost willing to die in seeking her; but all hope offinding was forsaking him. He still swam in the direction in which hethought the child drifted as she rose and sank. It did not occur to himto be surprised that she had drifted so far until he realized that hewas out of hearing of the sounds from the shore. His own swimming, hewell knew, could never have taken him so far and fast. There was alittle sandy island lying about three hundred yards out. At first hehoped to strike the shallows near it quickly, but found that thecurrent of the now receding tide was racing down the channel between theisland and the shore, out to the open sea. That little body was, nodoubt, being sucked outward in this rush of water--out to the wide waterwhere he could not find her. He told himself this when he found at whata pace he was going, and knew that his best chance of ever returning wasto swim back again. 

So he gave up seeking the little girl, and turned and swam as best hecould against the current, and recognised slowly that he was making noheadway, but by using all his strength could only hold his present placeabreast of the outer point of the island, and a good way from it. Thewater was bitterly cold; it chilled him. He was far too much occupied infighting the current to think properly, but certain flashes ofintelligence came across his mind concerning the death he might be goingto die. His first clear thoughts were about a black object that wascoming near on the surface of the water. Then a shout reached him, and astronger swimmer than he pulled him to the island. 

"Now, in the devil's name, Caius Simpson!" The deliverer was the man whohad come over the fence, and he shook himself as he spoke. His wordswere an interrogation relating to all that had passed. He was a youngman, about the same age as Caius; the latter knew him well. 

"The child, Jim!" shivered Caius hoarsely. "She threw it into thewater!"

"In there?" asked Jim, pointing to the flowing darkness from which theyhad just scrambled. He shook his head as he spoke. "There's a sort of aset the water's got round this here place----" He shook his head again;he sat half dressed on the edge of the grass, peering into the tide, adark figure surrounded by darkness. 

It seemed to Caius even then, just pulled out as he was from a sea toostrong for him, that there was something horribly bad and common in thatthey two sat there taking breath, and did not plunge again into thewater to try, at least, to find the body of the child who a few minutesbefore had lived and breathed so sweetly. Yet they did not move. 

"Did someone else come to hold her?" Caius asked this in a hastywhisper. They both spoke as if there was some need for haste. 

"Noa. I tied her round with your fish-cord. If yo'd have done that, yo'might have got the babby the same way I got yo'. "

The heart of Caius sank. If only he had done this! Jim Hogan was not acompanion for whom he had any respect; he looked upon him as a person oflow taste and doubtful morals, but in this Jim had shown himselfsuperior. 

"I guess we'd better go and look after them, " said Jim. He waded in afew paces. "Come along, " he said. 

As they waded round to the inner side of the island, Caius slowly tookoff some of his wet clothes and tied them round his neck. Then they swamback across the channel at its narrowest. 

While the water was rushing past their faces, Caius was conscious ofnothing but the animal desire to be on the dry, warm shore again; butwhen they touched the bottom and climbed the bank once more to theplace where he had seen the child cast away, he forgot all his fightwith the sea, and thought only with horror of the murder done--or wasthere yet hope that by a miracle the child might be found somewherealive? It is hope always that causes panic. Caius was panic-stricken. 

The woman lay, bound hand and foot, upon the grass. 

"If I couldn't ha' tied her, " said Jim patronizingly, "I'd a quietenedher by a knock on the head, and gone after the young un, if I'd beenyo'. "

The other children had wandered away. They were not to be seen. 

Jim knelt down in a business-like way to untie the woman, who seemed nowto be as much stunned by circumstances as if she had been knocked asjust suggested. 

A minute more, and Caius found himself running like one mad in thedirection of home. He cared nothing about the mother or the elderchildren, or about his own half-dressed condition. The one thought thatexcited him was a hope that the sea might have somewhere cast the childon the shore before she was quite dead. 

Running like a savage under the budding trees of the wood and across hisfather's fields, he leaped out of the darkness into the heat andbrightness of his mother's kitchen. 

Gay rugs lay on the yellow painted floor; the stove glistened withpolish at its every corner. The lamp shone brightly, and in its lightCaius stood breathless, wet, half naked. The picture of his fatherlooking up from the newspaper, of his mother standing before him inalarmed surprise, seemed photographed in pain upon his brain forminutes before he could find utterance. The smell of an abundant supperhis mother had set out for him choked him. 

When he had at last spoken--told of the blow Farmer Day had struck, ofhis wife's deed, and commanded that all the men that could be collectedshould turn out to seek for the child--he was astonished at finding sobsin the tones of his words. He became oblivious for the moment of hisparents, and leaned his face against the wooden wall of the room in aconvulsion of nervous feeling that was weeping without tears. 

It did not in the least surprise his parents that he should cry--he wasonly a child in their eyes. While the father bestirred himself to get acart and lanterns and men, the mother soothed her son, or, rather, sheaddressed to him such kindly attentions as she supposed were soothing tohim. She did not know that her attention to his physical comfort hardlyentered his consciousness. 

Caius went out again that night with those who went to examine the spot, and test the current, and search the dark shores. He went again, with aparty of neighbours, to the same place, in the first faint pink flush ofdawn, to seek up and down the sands and rocks left bare by the tide. They did not find the body of the child. 

CHAPTER IV. 

A QUIET LIFE. 

In the night, while the men were seeking the murdered child, there werekindly women who went to the house of the farmer Day to tend his wife. The elder children had been found asleep in a field, where, afterwandering a little while, they had succumbed to the influence of somedrug, which had evidently been given them by the mother to facilitateher evil design. She herself, poor woman, had grown calm again, herfrenzy leaving her to a duller phase of madness. That she was mad no onedoubted. How long she might have been walking in the misleading paths ofwild fancy, whether her insane vagaries had been the cause or the resultof her husband's churlishness, no one knew. The husband was a taciturnman, and appeared to sulk under the scrutiny of the neighbourhood. Themore charitable ascribed his demeanour to sorrow. The punishment hiswife had meted out for the blow he struck her had, without doubt, beensevere. 

As for Caius Simpson, his mind was sore concerning the little girl. Itwas as if his nature, in one part of it, had received a bruise that didnot heal. The child had pleased his fancy. All the sentiment in himcentred round the memory of the little girl, and idealized herloveliness. The first warm weather of the year, the exquisite butfugitive beauties of the spring, lent emphasis to his mood, and becausehis home was not a soil congenial to the growth of any but the moreordinary sentiments, he began at this time to seek in natural solitudesa more fitting environment for his musings. More than once, in the daysthat immediately followed, he sought by daylight the spot where, in thedarkness, he had seen the child thrown into the sea. It soon occurred tohim to make an epitaph for her, and carve it in the cliff over which shewas thrown. In the noon-day hours in which his father rested, he workedat this task, and grew to feel at home in the place and itssurroundings. 

The earth in this place, as in others, showed red, the colour of redjasper, wherever its face was not covered by green grass or blue water. Just here, where the mother had sought out a precipice under which thetide lay deep, there was a natural water-wall of red sandstone, rubbedand corrugated by the waves. This wall of rock extended but a littleway, and ended in a sharp jutting point. 

The little island that stood out toward the open sea had sands of redgold; level it was and covered with green bushes, its sandy beachsurrounding it like a ring. 

On the other side of the jutting point a bluff of red clay and crumblingrock continued round a wide bay. Where the rim of the blue water laythin on this beach there showed a purple band, shading upward into thedark jasper red of damp earth in the lower cliff. The upper part of thecliff was very dry, and the earth was pink, a bright earthen pink. Thisribbon of shaded reds lay all along the shore. The land above it waslevel and green. 

At the other horn of the bay a small town stood; its white houses, seenthrough the trembling lens of evaporating water, glistened with almostpearly brightness between the blue spaces of sky and water. All thescene was drenched in sunlight in those spring days. 

The town, Montrose by name, was fifteen miles away, counting miles bythe shore. The place where Caius was busy was unfrequented, for the landnear was not fertile, and a wooded tract intervened between it and thebetter farms of the neighbourhood. The home of the lost child and oneother poor dwelling were the nearest houses, but they were not verynear. 

Caius did not attempt to carve his inscription on the mutable sandstone. It was quite possible to obtain a slab of hard building-stone andmaterial for cement, and after carting them himself rather secretly tothe place, he gradually hewed a deep recess for the tablet and cementedit there, its face slanting upward to the blue sky for greater safety. He knew even then that the soft rock would not hold it many years, butit gave him a poetic pleasure to contemplate the ravages of time as heworked, and to think that the dimpled child with the sunny hair and thesad, beautiful eyes had only gone before, that his tablet would sometime be washed away by the same devouring sea, and that in the sea oftime he, too, would sink before many years and be forgotten. 

The short elegy he wrote was a bad mixture of ancient and modern thoughtas to substance, figures, and literary form, for the boy had just beendipping into classics at school, while he was by habit of mind aPuritan. His composition was one at which pagan god and Christian angelmust have smiled had they viewed it; but perhaps they would have wepttoo, for it was the outcome of a heart very young and very earnest, wholly untaught in that wisdom which counsels to evade the pains andsuck the pleasures of circumstance. 

There were only two people who discovered what Caius was about, and cameto look on while his work was yet unfinished. 

One was an old man who lived in the one poor cottage not far away anddid light work for Day the farmer. His name was Morrison--Neddy Morrisonhe was called. He came more than once, creeping carefully near the edgeof the cliff with infirm step, and talking about the lost child, whom healso had loved, about the fearful visitation of the mother's madness, and, with Caius, condemning unsparingly the brutality, known andsupposed, of the now bereaved father. It was a consolation to them boththat Morrison could state that this youngest child was the only memberof his family for whom Day had ever shown affection. 

The other visitor Caius had was Jim Hogan. He was a rough youth; he hada very high, rounded forehead, so high that he would have almost seemedbald if the hair, when it did at last begin, had not been exceedinglythick, standing in a short red brush round his head. With the exceptionof this peculiar forehead, Jim was an ordinary freckled, healthy youngman. He saw no sense at all in what Caius was doing. When he came he sathimself down on the edge of the cliff, swung his heels, and jeeredunfeignedly. 

When the work was finished it became noised that the tablet was to beseen. The neighbours wondered not a little, and flocked to gaze andadmire. Caius himself had never told of its existence; he would haverather no one had seen it; still, he was not insensible to the localfame thus acquired. His father, it was true, had not much opinion of hisfeat, but his mother, as mothers will, treasured all the admiringremarks of the neighbours. All the women loved Caius from that dayforth, as being wondrously warm-hearted. Such sort of literary folk asthe community could boast dubbed him "The Canadian Burns, " chiefly, itseemed, because he had been seen to help his father at the ploughing. 

In due course the wife of the farmer Day was tried for murder, andpronounced insane. She had before been removed to an asylum: she nowremained there. 

CHAPTER V. 

SEEN THROUGH BLEAR EYES. 

It was foreseen by the elder Simpson that his son would be a great man. He looked forth over the world and decided on the kind of greatness. Thewide, busy world would not have known itself as seen in the mind of thisgray-haired countryman. The elder Simpson had never set foot off theedge of his native island. His father before him had tilled the samefertile acres, looked out upon the same level landscape--red and green, when it was not white with snow. Neither of them had felt any desire tosee beyond the brink of that horizon; but ambition, quiet and sturdy, had been in their hearts. The result of it was the bit of money in thebank, the prosperous farm, and the firm intention of the present farmerthat his son should cut a figure in the world. 

This stern man, as he trudged about at his labour, looked upon theactivities of city life with that same inward eye with which the maidenlooks forth upon her future; and as she, with nicety of preference, selects the sort of lover she will have, so he selected the sort ofgreatness which should befall his son. The stuff of this vision was, asmust always be, of such sort as had entered his mind in the course ofhis limited experience. His grandfather had been an Englishman, and itwas known that one of the sons had been a notable physician in the cityof London: Caius must become a notable physician. His newspaper told himof honours taken at the University of Montreal by young men of themedical school; therefore, Caius was to study and take honours. It wasnothing to him that his neighbours did not send their sons so farafield; he came of educated stock himself. The future of Caius wasprearranged, and Caius did not gainsay the arrangement. 

That autumn the lad went away from home to a city which is, withoutdoubt, a very beautiful city, and joined the ranks of students in amedical school which for size and thorough work is not to be despised. He was not slow to drink in the new ideas which a first introduction tomodern science, and a new view of the relations of most things, broughtto his mind. 

In the first years Caius came home for his summer vacations, and helpedhis father upon the farm. The old man had money, but he had no habit ofspending it, and expenditure, like economy, is a practice to beacquired. When Caius came the third time for the long summer holiday, something happened. 

He did not now often walk in the direction of the Day farm; there was nonecessity to take him there, only sentiment. He was by this time ashamedof the emblazonment of his poetic effort upon the cliff. He was notashamed of the sentiment which had prompted it, but he was ashamed ofits exhibition. He still thought tenderly of the little child that waslost, and once in a long while he visited the place where his tabletwas, as he would have visited a grave. 

One summer evening he sauntered through the wood and down the road bythe sea on this errand. Before going to the shore, he stopped at thecottage where the old labourer, Morrison, lived. 

There was something to gossip about, for Day's wife had been sent fromthe asylum as cured, and her husband had been permitted to take her homeagain on condition that no young or weak person should remain in thehouse with her. He had sent his two remaining children to be brought upby a relative in the West. People said he could get more work out of hiswife than out of the children, and, furthermore, it saved his having topay for her board elsewhere. The woman had been at home almost atwelvemonth, and Caius had some natural interest in questioning Morrisonas to her welfare and general demeanour. The strange gaunt creature hadfor his imagination very much the fascination that a ghost would havehad. We care to hear all about a ghost, however trivial the details maybe, but we desire no personal contact. Caius had no wish to meet thiswoman, for whom he felt repulsion, but he would have been interested tohear Neddy Morrison describe her least action, for Neddy was almost theonly person who had constant access to her house. 

Morrison, however, had very little to tell about Mrs. Day. She had comehome, and was living very much as she had lived before. The absence ofher children did not appear to make great difference in her dreary life. The old labourer could not say that her husband treated her kindly orunkindly. He was not willing to affirm that she was glad to be out ofthe asylum, or that she was sorry. To the old man's imagination Mrs. Daywas not an interesting object; his interest had always been centred uponthe children. It was of them he talked chiefly now, telling of lettersthat their father had received from them, and of the art by which he, Morrison, had sometimes contrived to make the taciturn Day show himtheir contents. The interest of passive benevolence which the youngmedical student gave to Morrison's account of these children, who hadgrown quite beyond the age when children are pretty and interesting, would soon have been exhausted had the account been long; but ithappened that the old man had a more startling communication to make, which cut short his gossip about his master's family. 

He had been standing so far at the door of his little wooden house. Hisold wife was moving at her household work within. Caius stood outside. The house was a little back from the road in an open space; near it wasa pile of firewood, a saw-horse and chopping-block, with theiraccompanying carpet of chips, and such pots, kettles, and householdutensils as Mrs. Morrison preferred to keep out of doors. 

When old Morrison came to the more exciting part of his gossip, he pokedCaius in the breast, and indicated by a backward movement of his elbowthat the old wife's presence hampered his talk. Then he came out with anartfully simulated interest in the weather, and, nudging Caius atintervals, apparently to enforce silence on a topic concerning which theyoung man as yet knew nothing, he wended his way with him along a paththrough a thicket of young fir-trees which bordered the road. 

The two men were going towards that part of the shore to which Caius wasbound. They reached the place where the child had been drowned beforethe communication was made, and stood together, like a picture of thepersonification of age and youth, upon the top of the grassy cliff. 

"You'll not believe me, " said the old man, with excitement obviouslygrowing within him, "but I tell you, young sir, I've sat jist herebehind those near bushes like, and watched the creatur for an hour at atime. "

"What was it you watched?" asked Caius, superior to the other'sexcitement. 

"I tell you, it was a girl in the sea; and more than that--she was halfa fish. "

The mind of Caius was now entirely scornful. 

"You don't believe me, " said the old man, nudging him again. 

But Caius was polite. 

"Well, now"--good-humouredly--"what did you see?"

"I'll tell you jist what I saw. " (The old man's excitement was growing. )"You understand that from the top here you can see across the bay, andacross to the island and out to sea; but you can't see the shore underthe rocky point where it turns round the farm there into the bay, andyou can't see the other shore of the island for the bushes on it. "

"In other words, you can see everything that's before your eyes, but youcan't see round a corner. "

The old man had some perception that Caius was humorous. "You believe methat far, " he said, with a weak, excited cackle of a laugh. "Well, don'tgo for to repeat what I'm going to tell you further, for I'll not havemy old woman frightened, and I'll not have Jim Hogan and the fellows hegets round him belabouring the thing with stones. "

"Heaven forbid!" A gleam of amusement flitted through the mind of Caiusat the thought of the sidelight this threw on Jim's character. For Jimwas not incapable of casting stones at even so rare a curiosity as amermaid. 

"Now, " said the old man, and he laughed again his weak, wheezy laugh, "if _you_ told _me_, I'd not believe it; but I saw it as sure as I standhere, and if this was my dying hour, sir, I'd say the same. The firsttime it was one morning that I got up very early--I don't jist rememberthe reason, but it was before sun-up, and I was walking along here, andthe tide was out, and between me and the island I saw what I thought wasa person swimming in the water, and I thought to myself, 'It's queer, for there's no one about these parts that has a liking for the water. 'But when I was younger, at Pictou once, I saw the fine folks duckingthemselves in flannel sarks, at what they called a 'bathing-place, ' sothe first thing I thought of was that it was something like that. Andthen I stood here, jist about where you are now, and the woman in thewater she saw me--"

"Now, how do you know it was a woman?" asked Caius. 

"Well, I didn't know for certain that day anything, for she was a goodway off, near the island, and she no sooner saw me than she turned andmade tracks for the back of the island where I couldn't see her. But Itell you this, young sir, no woman or man either ever swam as she swam. Have you seen a trout in a quiet pool wag its tail and go rightahead--_how_, you didn't know; you only knew that 'twasn't in the oneplace and 'twas in t'other?"

Caius nodded. 

"Well, " asked the old man with triumph in his voice, as one who cappedan argument, "did you ever see man or woman swim like that?"

"No, " Caius admitted, "I never did--especially as to the wagging of thetail. "

"But she _hadn't_ a tail!" put in the old man eagerly, "for I saw herthe second day--that I'm coming to. She was more like a seal or walrus. "

"But what became of her the first day?" asked Caius, with scientificexactitude. 

"Why, the end of her the first day was that she went behind the island. Can you see behind the island? No. " The old man giggled again at his ownlogical way of putting things. "Well, no more could I see her; and homeI went, and I said nothink to nobody, for I wasn't going to have themsay I was doting. "

"Yet it would be classical to dote upon a mermaid, " Caius murmured. Thesight of the dim-eyed, decrepit old man before him gave exquisite humourto the idea. 

Morrison had already launched forth upon the story of the second day. 

"Well, as I was telling you, I was that curious that next morning atdaybreak I comes here and squats behind those bushes, and a dreadfulfright I was in for fear my old woman would come and look for me and seeme squatting there. " His old frame shook for a moment with the laugh hegave to emphasize the situation, and he poked Caius with his finger. "And I looked and I looked out on the gray water till I had the cramps. "Here he poked Caius again. "But I tell you, young sir, when I saw hera-coming round from behind the bank, where I couldn't see jist whereshe had come from, like as if she had come across the bay round thispoint here, I thought no more of the cramps, but I jist sat on my heels, looking with one eye to see that my old woman didn't come, and I watchedthat 'ere thing, and it came as near as I could throw a stone, and Itell you it was a girl with long hair, and it had scales, and an uglybrown body, and swum about like a fish, jist moving, without making amotion, from place to place for near an hour; and then it went backround the head again, and I got up, and I was that stiff all day I couldhardly do my work. I was too old to do much at that game, but I wentagain next morning, and once again I saw her; but she was far out, andthen I never saw her again. Now, what do you think of that?"

"I think"--after a moment's reflection--"that it's a very remarkablestory. "

"But you don't believe it, " said the old man, with an air of excitedcertainty. 

"I am certain of one thing; you couldn't have made it up. "

"It's true, sir, " said the old man. "As sure as I am standing here, assure as the tide goes in and out, as sure as I'll be a-dying beforelong, what I tell you is true; but if I was you, I'd have more sensethan to believe it. " He laughed again, and pressed Caius' arm with theback of his hard, knotted hand. "That's how it is about sense and truth, young sir--it's often like that. "

This one gleam of philosophy came from the poor, commonplace mind as abeautiful flash may come from a rough flint struck upon the roadside. Caius pondered upon it afterwards, for he never saw Neddy Morrisonagain. He did not happen to pass that place again that summer, andduring the winter the old man died. 

Caius thought at one time and another about this tale of the girl whowas half a fish. He thought many things; the one thing he never happenedto think was that it was true. It was clear to him that the old mansupposed he had seen the object he described, but it puzzled him tounderstand how eyes, even though so dim with age, could have mistakenany sea-creature for the mermaid he described; for the man had lived hislife by the sea, and even the unusual sight of a lonely white porpoisehugging the shore, or of seal or small whale, or even a much rarersea-animal, would not have been at all likely to deceive him. It wouldcertainly have been very easy for any person in mischief or malice tohave played the hoax, but no locality in the wide world would haveseemed more unlikely to be the scene of such a game; for who performstheatricals to amuse the lonely shore, or the ebbing tide, or thesea-birds that poise in the air or pounce upon the fish when the sea isgray at dawn? And certainly the deception of the old man could not havebeen the object of the play, for it was but by chance that he saw it, and it could matter to no one what he saw or thought or felt, for he wasone of the most insignificant of earth's sons. Then Caius would think ofthat curious gleam of deeper insight the poor old mind had displayed inthe attempt to express, blunderingly as it might be, the fact that truthexceeds our understanding, and yet that we are bound to walk by thelight of understanding. He came, upon the whole, to the conclusion thatsome latent faculty of imagination, working in the old man's mind, combining with the picturesque objects so familiar to his eyes, hadproduced in him belief in this curious vision. It was one of thosethings that seem to have no reason for coming to pass, no sufficientcause and no result, for Caius never heard that Morrison had related thetale to anyone but himself, nor was there any report in the village thatanyone else had seen an unusual object in the sea. 

CHAPTER VI. 

"FROM HOUR TO HOUR WE RIPE----"

The elder Simpson gradually learned to expend more money upon his son;it was not that the latter was a spendthrift or that he took to any evilcourses--he simply became a gentleman and had uses for money of whichhis father could not, unaided, have conceived. Caius was too virtuous todesire to spend his father's hardly-gathered stores unnecessarily;therefore, the last years of his college life in Montreal he did notcome home in summer, but found occupation in that city by which to makea small income for himself. 

In those two years he learned much of medical and surgical lore--thiswas of course, for he was a student by nature; but other things that helearned were, upon the whole, more noteworthy in the development of hischaracter. He became fastidious as to the fit of his coat and as to thework of the laundress upon his shirt-fronts. He learned to sit in easyattitude by gauzily-dressed damsels under sparkling gaslight, and tocurl his fair moustache between his now white fingers as he talked tothem, and yet to moderate the extent of the attention that he paid toeach, not wishing that it should be in excess of that which was due. Helearned to value himself as he was valued--as a rising man, one whowould do well not to throw himself away in marriage. He had a moustachefirst, and at last he had a beard. He was a sober young man: as hisfather's teaching had been strict, so he was now strict in his rule overhimself. He frequented religious services, going about listening topopular preachers of all sorts, and critically commenting upon theirsermons to his friends. He was really a very religious andwell-intentioned man, all of which stood in his favour with the moresober portion of society whose favour he courted. As his talents andindustry gained him grace in the eyes of the dons of his college, so hisgood life and good understanding made him friends among the more worthyof his companions. He was conceited and self-righteous, but notobviously so. 

When his college had conferred upon him the degree of doctor ofmedicine, he felt that he had climbed only on the lower rungs of theladder of knowledge. It was his father, not himself, who had chosen hisprofession, and now that he had received the right to practise medicinehe experienced no desire to practise it; learning he loved truly, butnot that he might turn it into golden fees, and not that by it he mightassuage the sorrows of others; he loved it partly for its own sake, perhaps chiefly so; but there was in his heart a long-enduring ambition, which formed itself definitely into a desire for higher culture, andhoped more indefinitely for future fame. 

Caius resolved to go abroad and study at the medical schools of the OldWorld. His professors applauded his resolve; his friends encouraged himin it. It was to explain to his father the necessity for this course ofaction, and wheedle the old man into approval and consent, that theyoung doctor went home in the spring of the same year which gave him hisdegree. 

Caius had other sentiments in going home besides those which underlaythe motive which we have assigned. If as he travelled he at all regardedthe finery of all that he had acquired, it was that he might by itdelight the parents who loved him with such pride. Though not a fop, hishand trembled on the last morning of his journey when he fastened anecktie of the colour his mother loved best. He took an earlier trainthan he could have been expected to take, and drove at furious ratebetween the station and his home, in order that he might creep in by theside door and greet his parents before they had thought of coming tomeet him. He had also taken no breakfast, that he might eat the more ofthe manifold dainties which his mother had in readiness. 

For three or four days he feasted hilariously upon these dainties untilhe was ill. He also practised all the airs and graces of dandyism thathe could think of, because he knew that the old folks, with ill-judgingtaste, admired them. When he had explained to them how great a man heshould be when he had been abroad, and how economical his life would bein a foreign city, they had no greater desire than that he should goabroad, and there wax as great as might be possible. 

One thing that consoled the mother in the heroism of her ambition wasthat it was his plan first to spend the long tranquil summer by herside. Another was that, because her son had set his whole affection uponlearning, it appeared he had no immediate intention of fixing his loveupon any more material maid. In her timid jealousy she loved to comeacross this topic with him, not worldly-wise enough to know that theanswers which reassured her did not display the noblest side of hisheart. 

"And there wasn't a girl among them all that you fancied, my lad?" Withspotless apron round her portly form she was serving the morning rasherwhile Caius and his father sat at meat. 

"I wouldn't say that, mother: I fancied them all. " Caius spoke withgenerous condescension towards the fair. 

"Ay, " said the father shrewdly, "there's safety in numbers. "

"But there wasn't one was particular, Caius?" continued the dame withgleeful insinuation, because she was assured that the answer was to benegative. "A likely lad like you should marry; it's part of his duty. "

Caius was dense enough not to see her true sentiment. The particularsmile that, in the classification of his facial expressions, belonged tothe subject of love and marriage, played upon his lips while heexplained that when a man got up in the world he could make a bettermarriage than he could when comparatively poor and unknown. 

Her woman's instinct assured her that the expression and the words arosefrom a heart ignorant of the quality of love, and she regarded nothingelse. 

The breakfast-room in which they sat had no feature that could render itattractive to Caius. Although it was warm weather, the windows wereclosely shut and never opened; such was the habit of the family, andeven his influence had not strength to break through a regulation whichto his parents appeared so wise and safe. The meadows outside werebrimful of flowers, but no flower found its way into this orderly room. The furniture had that desolate sort of gaudiness which one sees in thewares of cheap shops. Cleanliness and godliness were the mostconspicuous virtues exhibited, for the room was spotless, and the map ofPalestine and a large Bible were prominent objects. 

The father and mother were in the habit of eating in the kitchen whenalone, and to the son's taste that room, decorated with shiningutensils, with its door open to earth and sky, was infinitely morepicturesque and cheery; but the mother had a stronger will than her son, and she had ordained that his rise in the world should be marked by hiseating in the dining-room, where meals were served whenever they hadcompany. Caius observed also, with a pain to which his heart wassensitive, that at these meals she treated him to her company mannersalso, asking him in a clear, firm voice if he "chose bread" or if hewould "choose a little meat, " an expression common in the country as anelegant manner of pressing food upon visitors. It was not that he felthimself unworthy of this mark of esteem, but that the bad taste and thebad English grated upon his nerves. 

She was a strong, comely woman, this housemother, portly in person andlarge of face, with plentiful gray hair brushed smooth; from the facethe colour had faded, but the look of health and strong purposeremained. The father, on the other hand, tended to leanness; his largeframe was beginning to be obviously bowed by toil; his hair and beardwere somewhat long, and had a way of twisting themselves as though blownby the wind. When the light of the summer morning shone through thepanes of clean glass upon this family at breakfast, it was obvious thatthe son was physically somewhat degenerate. Athletics had not then comeinto fashion; Caius was less in stature than might have been expectedfrom such parents; and now, after his years of town life, he had anappearance of being limp in sinew, nor was there the same strong willand alert shrewdness written upon his features. He was a handsomefellow, clear-eyed and intelligent, finer far, in the estimation of hisparents, than themselves; but that which rounded out the lines of hisfigure was rather a tendency to plumpness than the development ofmuscle, and the intelligence of his face suggested rather the power tothink than the power to utilize his thought. 

After the first glad days of the home-coming, the lack of education andtaste, and the habits that this lack engendered, jarred more and moreupon Caius. He loved his parents too well to betray his just distress atthe narrow round of thought and feeling in which their mindsrevolved--the dogmatism of ignorance on all points, whether of socialcustom or of the sublime reaches of theology; but this distress becamemagnified into irritation, partly because of this secrecy, partlybecause his mind, wearied by study, had not its most wholesome balance. 

Jim Hogan at this time made overtures of renewed friendship to Caius. Jim was the same as of old--athletic, quick-witted, large and strong, with his freckled face still innocent of hair; the red brush stood upover his unnaturally high forehead in such fashion as to suggest to theimaginative eye that wreath of flame that in some old pictures isdisplayed round the heads of villains in the infernal regions. Jim wasnow the acknowledged leader of the young men of that part who were notabove certain low and mischievous practices to which Caius did not dreamof condescending. Caius repulsed the offer of friendship extended tohim. 

The households with which his parents were friendly made greatmerrymakings over his return. Dancing was forbidden, but games in whichmaidens might be caught and kissed were not. Caius was not diverted; hehad not the good-nature to be in sympathy with the sort of hilaritywhich was exacted from him. 

CHAPTER VII. 

"A SEA CHANGE. "

In the procession of the swift-winged hours there is for every man oneand another which is big with fate, in that they bring him peculiaropportunity to lose his life, and by that means find it. Such an hourcame now to Caius. The losing and finding of life is accomplished inmany ways: the first proffer of this kind which Time makes to us iscommonly a draught of the wine of joy, and happy is he who loses theremembrance of self therein. 

The hour which was so fateful for Caius came flying with the light windsof August, which breathed over the sunny harvest fields and under thedeep dark shade of woods of fir and beech, waving the gray moss thathung from trunk and branch, tossing the emerald ferns that grew in themoss at the roots, and out again into light to catch the silver down ofthistles that grew by the red roadside and rustle their purple bloom;then on the cliff, just touching the blue sea with the slightest ripple, and losing themselves where sky and ocean met in indistinguishable azurefold. 

Through the woods walked Caius, and onward to the shore. Neddy Morrisonwas dead. The little child who was lost in the sea was almost forgotten. Caius, thinking upon these things, thought also upon the transientnature of all things, but he did not think profoundly or long. In hisearlier youth he had been a good deal given to meditation, a habit whichis frequently a mere sign of mental fallowness; now that his mind waswearied with the accumulation of a little learning, it knew what workmeant, and did not work except when compelled. Caius walked upon the redroad bordered by fir hedges and weeds, amongst which blue and yellowasters were beginning to blow, and the ashen seeds of the flame-flowerwere seen, for its flame was blown out. Caius was walking for the sakeof walking and in pure idleness, but when he came near Farmer Day's landhe had no thought of passing it without pausing to rest his eyes for atime upon the familiar details of that part of the shore. 

He scrambled down the face of the cliff, for it was as yet some hoursbefore the tide would be full. A glance showed him that the stone ofbaby Day's tablet yet held firm, cemented in the niche of the soft rock. A glance was enough for an object for which he had little respect, andhe sat down with his back to it on one of the smaller rocks of thebeach. This was the only place on the shore where the sandstone was hardenough to retain the form of rock, and the rock ended in the small, sharp headland which, when he was down at the water's level, hid theneighbouring bay entirely from his sight. 

The incoming tide had no swift, unexpected current as the outgoing waterhad. There was not much movement in the little channel upon which Caiuswas keeping watch. The summer afternoon was all aglow upon shore andsea. He had sat quite still for a good while, when, near the sunnyisland, just at the point where he had been pulled ashore on theadventurous night when he risked his life for the child, he suddenlyobserved what appeared to be a curious animal in the water. 

There was a glistening as of a scaly, brownish body, which lay near thesurface of the waves. Was it a porpoise that had ventured so near? Wasit a dog swimming? No, he knew well that neither the one nor the otherhad any such habit as this lazy basking in sunny shallows. Then the headthat was lying backwards on the water turned towards him, and he saw ahuman face--surely, surely it was human!--and a snow-white arm waslifted out of the water as if to play awhile in the warm air. 

The eyes of the wonderful thing were turned toward him, and it seemed tochance to see him now for the first time, for there was a suddenmovement, no jerk or splash, but a fish-like dart toward the open sea. Then came another turn of the head, as if to make sure that he wasindeed the man that he seemed, and then the sea-maid went under thesurface, and the ripples that she left behind subsided slowly, expandingand fading, as ripples in calm waters do. 

Caius stood up, watching the empty surface of the sea. If somecompelling fate had said to him, "There shalt thou stand and gaze, " hecould not have stood more absolutely still, nor gazed more intently. Thespell lasted long: some three or four minutes he stood, watching theplace with almost unwinking eyes, like one turned to stone, and withinhim his mind was searching, searching, to find out, if he might, whatthing this could possibly be. 

He did not suppose that she would come back. Neddy Morrison had impliedthat the condition of her appearing was that she should not know thatshe was seen. It was three years since the old man had seen the sameapparition; how much might three years stand for in the life of amermaid? Then, when such questioning seemed most futile, and the spellthat held Caius was loosing its hold, there was a rippling of the calmsurface that gave him a wild, half-fearful hope. 

As gently as it had disappeared the head rose again, not lying backwardnow, but, with pretty turn of the white neck, holding itself erect. Aninstant she was still, and then the perfect arm which he had seen beforewas again raised in the air, and this time it beckoned to him. Once, twice, thrice he saw the imperative beck of the little hand; then itrested again upon the rippled surface, and the sea-maid waited, asthough secure of his obedience. 

The man's startled ideas began to right themselves. Was it possible thatany woman could be bathing from the island, and have the audacity to askhim to share her sport?

He tarried so long that the nymph, or whatever it might be, came nearer. Some twelve feet or so of the water she swiftly glided through, as itseemed, without twist or turn of her body or effort; then paused; thencame forward again, until she had rounded the island at its nearestpoint, and half-way between it and his shore she stopped, and looked athim steadily with a face that seemed to Caius singularly womanly andsweet. Again she lifted a white hand and beckoned him to come across thespace of water that remained. 

Caius stood doubtful upon his rock. After a minute he set his feet morefirmly upon it, and crossed his arms to indicate that he had nointention of swimming the narrow sea in answer to the beckoning hand. Yet his whole mind was thrown into confusion with the strangeness of it. He thought he heard a woman's laughter come across to him with thelapping waves, and his face flushed with the indignity this offered. 

The mermaid left her distance, and by a series of short darts camenearer still, till she stopped again about the width of a broad highroadfrom the discomforted man. He knew now that it must be truly a mermaid, for no creature but a fish could thus glide along the surface of thewater, and certainly the sleek, damp little head that lay so comfortablyon the ripple was the head of a laughing child or playful girl. A crownof green seaweed was on the dripping curls; the arms playing idly uponthe surface were round, dimpled, and exquisitely white. The darkbrownish body he could hardly now see; it was foreshortened to hissight, down slanting deep under the disturbed surface. If it had notbeen for the indisputable evidence of his senses that this lovely seathing swam, not with arms or feet, but with some snake-like motion, hemight still have tried to persuade himself that some playful girl, strange to the ways of the neighbourhood, was disporting herself at herbath. 

It was of no avail that his reason told him that he did not, could not, believe that such a creature as a mermaid could exist. The big dark eyesof the girlish face opened wide and looked at him, the dimpled mouthsmiled, and the little white hand came out from the water and beckonedto him again. 

He was suffering from no delirium; he had not lost his wits. He stampedhis foot to make sure that the rock was beneath him; he turned about onit to rest his eyes from the water sparkles, and to recall all sober, serious thought by gazing at the stable shore. His eye stayed on theepitaph of the lost child. He remembered soberly all that he knew aboutthis dead child, and then a sudden flash of perception seemed to come tohim. This sweet water-nymph, on whom for the moment he had turned hisback, must be the baby's soul grown to a woman in the water. He turnedagain, eager not to lose a moment of the maiden's presence, half fearfulthat she had vanished, but she was there yet, lying still as before. 

Of course, it was impossible that she should be the sea-wraith of thelost child; but, then, it was wholly impossible that she should be, andthere she was, smiling at him, and Caius saw in the dark eyes a likenessto the long-remembered eyes of the child, and thought he still readthere human wistfulness and sadness, in spite of the wet dimples andlight laughter that bespoke the soulless life of the sea-creature. 

Caius stooped on the rock, putting his hand near the water as he mighthave done had he been calling to a kitten or a baby. 

"Come, my pretty one, come, " he called softly in soothing tones. 

The eyes of the water-nymph blinked at him through wet-fringed lids. 

"Come near; I will not hurt you, " urged Caius, helpless to do aught butoffer blandishment. 

He patted the rock gently, as if to make it by that means more inviting. 

"Come, love, come, " he coaxed. He was used to speak in the same terms ofendearment to a colt of which he was fond; but when a look of undoubtedderision came over the face of the sea-maiden, he felt suddenly guiltyat having spoken thus to a woman. 

He stood erect again, and his face burned. The sea-girl's face haddimpled all over with fun. Colts and other animals cannot laugh at us, else we might not be so peaceful in our assumption that they nevercriticise. Caius before this had always supposed himself happy in hislittle efforts to please children and animals; now he knew himself to bea blundering idiot, and so far from feeling vexed with the laughing facein the water, he wondered that any other creature had ever permitted hisclumsy caresses. 

Having failed once, he now knew not what to do, but stood uncertain, devouring the beauty of the sprite in the water as greedily as he mightwith eyes that were not audacious, for in truth he had begun to feelvery shy. 

"What is your name?" he asked, throwing his voice across the water. 

The pretty creature raised a hand and pointed at some object behind him. Caius, turning, knew it to be the epitaph. Yes, that was what his ownintelligence had told him was the only explanation. 

Explanation? His reason revolted at the word. There was no explanationof an impossibility. Yet that the mermaid was the lost child he had nowlittle doubt, except that he wholly doubted the evidence of his senses, and that there was a mermaid. 

He nodded to her that he understood her meaning about the name, and shegave him a little wave of her hand as if to say good-bye, and began torecede slowly, gliding backward, only her head seen above the disturbedwater. 

"Don't go, " called Caius, much urgency in his words. 

But the slow receding motion continued, and no answer came but anothergentle wave of the hand. 

The hand of Caius stole involuntarily to his lips, and he wafted a kissacross the water. Then suddenly it seemed to him that the cliff hadeyes, and that it might be told of him at home and abroad that he wasmaking love to a phantom, and had lost his wits. 

The sea-child only tossed her head a little higher out of the water, andagain he saw, or fancied he saw, mirth dancing in her eyes. 

She beckoned to him and turned, moving away; then looked back andbeckoned, and darted forward again; and, doing this again and again, shemade straight for the open sea. 

Caius cursed himself that he had not the courage to jump in and swimafter her at any cost. But then he could not swim so fast--certainly notin his clothes. "There was something so wonderfully human about herface, " he mused to himself. His mind suggested, as was its wont, toomany reasonable objections to the prompt, headlong course which alonewould have availed anything. 

While he stood in breathless uncertainty, the beckoning hand became lostin the blur of sparkling ripples; the head, lower now, looked in thewater at a distance as like the muzzle of a seal or dog as like a humanhead. By chance, as it seemed, a point of the island came between himand the receding creature, and Caius found himself alone. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

BELIEF IN THE IMPOSSIBLE. 

Caius clambered up the cliff and over the fence to the highroad. A manwith a cartload of corn was coming past. Caius looked at him and hishorse, and at the familiar stretch of road. It was a relief so to look. On a small green hillock by the roadside thistles grew thickly; theywere in flower and seed at once, and in the sunshine the white down, purple flowers, and silver-green leaves glistened--a little picture, perfect in itself, of graceful lines and exquisite colour, having forits background the hedge of stunted fir that bordered the other side ofthe road. Caius feasted his eyes for a minute and then turned homeward, walking for awhile beside the cart and talking to the carter, just to besure that there was nothing wild or strange about himself to attract theman's attention. The cart raised no dust in the red clay of the road;the monotonous creak of its wheels and the dull conversation of itsowner were delightful to Caius because they were so real andcommonplace. 

Caius felt very guilty. He could not excuse himself to himself for thefact that he had not only seen so wild a vision but now felt thegreatest reluctance to make known his strange adventure to anyone. Hecould not precisely determine why this reluctance was guilty on hispart, but he had a feeling that, although a sensible man could not bemuch blamed for seeing a mermaid if he did see one, such a man wouldrouse the neighbourhood, and take no rest till the phenomenon wasinvestigated; or, if that proved impossible, till the subject was atleast thoroughly ventilated. The ideal man who acted thus would no doubtbe jeered at, but, secure in his own integrity, he could easily supportthe jeers. Caius would willingly have changed places with this modelhero, but he could not bring himself to act the part. Even the reason ofthis unwillingness he could not at once lay his hand upon, but he feltabout his mind far it, and knew that it circled round and round thememory of the sea-maid's face. 

That fresh oval face, surrounded with wet curls, crowned with itsfantastic wreath of glistening weed--it was not alone because of itsfresh girlish prettiness that he could not endure to make it the talk ofthe country, but because, strange as it seemed to him to admit it, theface was to him like the window of a lovely soul. It was true that shehad laughed and played; it was true that she was, or pretended to be, half a fish; but, for all that, he would as soon have held up toderision his mother, he would as soon have derided all that he held tobe most worthy in woman and all that he held to be beautiful and sacredin ideal, as have done despite to the face that looked at him out of thewaves that afternoon. His memory held this face before him, held itlovingly, reverently, and his lips shut firmly over the tale of wonderhe might have told. 

At the gate of one of the fields a girl stood waiting for him. It washis cousin Mabel, and when he saw her he knew that she must have cometo pay them a visit, and he knew too that she must have come because hewas at home. He was not attached to his cousin, who was an ordinaryyoung person, but hitherto he had always rather enjoyed her society, because he knew that it was her private ambition to marry him. He didnot attribute affection to Mabel, only ambition; but that had pleasedhis vanity. To-day he felt exceedingly sorry that she had come. 

Mabel held the gate shut so that he could not pass. 

"Where have you been?" asked she, pretending sternness. 

"Just along by the shore. " He noticed as he said it that Mabel's frockhad a dragged look about the waist, and that the seams were noticeablebecause of its tightness. He remembered that her frocks had thisappearance frequently, and he wished they were not so ill-made. 

"I shan't let you in, " cried Mabel sportively, "till you tell me exactlywhat you've been doing for this age. "

"I have not been serving my age much, " he said, with some weariness inhis tone. 

"What?" said Mabel. 

"You asked me what I had been doing for this age, " said he. It wasmiserably stupid to explain. 

When Caius and Mabel had sauntered up through the warm fields to thehouse, his mother met them in the front parlour with a fresh cap on. Hercap, and her presence in that room, denoted that Mabel was company. Sheimmediately began to make sly remarks concerning Mabel's coming to themwhile Caius was at home, about her going to meet him, and their homewardwalk together. 

The mother was comparatively at ease about Mabel; she had little ideathat Caius would ever make love to her, so she could enjoy hergood-natured slyness to the full. What hurt Caius was that she did enjoyit, that it was just her natural way never to see two young people ofopposite sex together without immediately thinking of the subject ofmarriage, and sooner or later betraying her thought. Heretofore he hadbeen so accustomed to this cast of mind that, when it had tickledneither his sense of humour nor his vanity, he had been indifferent toit. To-night he knew it was vulgar; but he had no contempt for it, because it was his mother who was betraying vulgarity. He felt sorrythat she should be like that--that all the men and women with whom shewas associated were like that. He felt sorry for Mabel, because sheenjoyed it, and consequently more tenderhearted towards her than he hadever felt before. 

He had not, however, a great many thoughts to give to this sorrow, forhe was thinking continually of the bright apparition of the afternoon. 

When he went to his room to get ready for tea he fell into a muse, looking over the fields and woods to the distant glimpse of blue waterhe could see from his window. When he came down to the evening meal, hefound himself wondering foolishly upon what food the child lost in thesea had fed while she grew so rapidly to a woman's stature. The presentmeal was such as fell to the daily lot of that household. In homely bluedelft cups a dozen or more eggs were ranged beside high stacks ofbuttered toast, rich and yellow. The butter, the jugs of yellow cream, the huge platter heaped with wild raspberries--as each of these met hiseye he was wondering if the sea-maid ever ate such food, or if her dietwas more delicate. 

"Am I going mad?" he thought to himself. The suspicion was depressing. 

Three hours after, Caius sough his father as the old man was making hisnightly tour of the barns and stables. By way of easing his own sense ofresponsibility he had decided to tell his father what he had seen, andhis telling was much like such confession of sins as many people make, soothing their consciences by an effort that does not adequately revealthe guilt to the listener. 

Caius came up just as his father was locking the stable door. 

"Look here, father; wait a minute. I have something to say. I saw a verycurious thing down at the shore to-day, but I don't want you to tellmother, or Mabel, or the men. "

The old man stood gravely expectant. The summer twilight just revealedthe outline of his thin figure and ragged hair and beard. 

"It was in the water swimming about, making darts here and there like abig trout. Its body was brown, and it looked as if it had horny ballsround its neck; and its head, you know, was like a human being's. "

"I never heard tell of a fish like that, Caius. Was it a porpoise?"

"Well, I suppose I know what a porpoise is like. "

"About how large was it?" said the elder man, abandoning the porpoisetheory. 

"I should think about five or six feet long. "

"As long as that? Did it look as if it could do any harm?"

"No; I should think it was harmless; but, father, I tell you its headlooked like a person's head. "

"Was it a shark with a man stuck in its throat?"

"N--n--no. " Not liking to deny this ingenious suggestion too promptly, he feigned to consider it. "It wasn't a dead man's head; it was like alive woman's head. "

"I never heard of sharks coming near shore here, any way, " added the oldman. "What distance was it off--half a mile?"

"It came between me and the little island off which we lost baby Day. Itlay half-way between the island and the shore. "

The old man was not one to waste words. He did not remark that in thatcase Caius must have seen the creature clearly, for it went withoutsaying. 

"Pity you hadn't my gun, " he said. 

Caius inwardly shuddered, but because he wished to confide as far as hemight, he said outwardly: "I shouldn't have liked to shoot at it; itsface looked so awfully human, you know. "

"Yes, " assented the elder, who had a merciful heart "it's wonderful whata look an animal has in its eyes sometimes. " He was slowly shufflinground to the next door with his keys. "Well, I'm sure, my lad, I don'tknow what it could ha' been, unless 'twas some sort of a porpoise. "

"We should be quite certain to know if there was any woman paying avisit hereabout, shouldn't we? A woman couldn't possibly swim across thebay. "

"Woman!" The old man turned upon him sternly. "I thought you said it wasa fish. "

"I said she _swam_ like a fish. She might have been a woman dressed ina fish-skin, perhaps; but there isn't any woman here that could possiblybe acting like that--and old Morrison told me the same thing was aboutthe shore the summer before he died. "

His father still looked at him sharply. "Well, the question is, whetherthe thing you saw was a woman or a fish, for you must have seen itpretty clear, and they aren't alike, as far as I know. "

Caius receded from the glow of confidence. "It lay pretty much under thewater, and wasn't still long at a time. "

The old man looked relieved, and in his relief began to joke. "I wasthinking you must have lost your wits, and thought you'd seen amermaid, " he chuckled. 

"I'd think it was a mermaid in a minute"--boldly--"if there were suchthings. "

Caius felt relieved when he had said this, but the old man had no verydistinct idea in his mind attached to the mythical word, so he let gothe thought easily. 

"Was it a dog swimming?"

"No, " said Caius, "it wasn't a dog. "

"Well, I give it up. Next time you see it, you'd better come and fetchthe gun, and then you can take it to the musee up at your college, andhave it stuffed and put in a case, with a ticket to say you presentedit. That's all the use strange fish are that I know of. "

When Caius reflected on this conversation, he knew that he had been ahypocrite. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE SEA-MAID'S MUSIC. 

At dawn Caius was upon the shore again, but he saw nothing but a redsunrise and a gray sea, merging into the blue and green and gold of theordinary day. He got back to breakfast without the fact of his matutinalwalk being known to the family. 

He managed also in the afternoon to loiter for half an hour on the samebit of shore at the same hour as the day before without anyone being thewiser, but he saw no mermaid. He fully intended to spend to-morrow bythe sea, but he had made this effort to appear to skip to-day to avoidawaking curiosity. 

He had a horse and buggy; that afternoon he was friendly, and made manycalls. Wherever he went he directed the conversation into such channelsas would make it certain that he would hear if anyone else had seen themermaid, or had seen the face of a strange woman by sea or land. Of oneor two female visitors to the neighbourhood within a radius of twentymiles he did hear, but when he came to investigate each case, he foundthat the visit was known to everyone, and the status, lineage and habitsof the visitors all of the same humdrum sort. 

He decided in his own mind that ten miles was the utmost length that awoman could possibly swim, but he talked boldly of great swimming featshe had seen in his college life, and opined that a good swimmer mighteven cross the bay from Montrose or from the little port of Stanhope inthe other direction; and when he saw the incredulity of his listeners, he knew that no one had accomplished either journey, for the water wasoverlooked by a hundred houses at either place, and many a small vesselploughed the waves. 

When he went to sleep that night Caius was sure that the vision of themermaid was all his own, shared only by old Morrison, who lay in hisgrave. It was perhaps this partnership with the dead that gave thematter its most incredible and unreal aspect. Three years before thislady of the sea had frequented this spot; none but the dead man andhimself had been permitted to see her. 

"Well, when all's said and done, " said Caius to himself, rolling upon asleepless bed, "it's a very extraordinary thing. "

Next morning he hired a boat, the nearest that was to be had; he got ita mile and a half further up the shore. It was a clumsy thing, but herowed it past the mouth of the creek where he used to fish, all alongthe water front of Day's farm, past the little point that was thebeginning of the rocky part of the shore, and then he drew the boat upupon the little island. He hid it perfectly among the grass and weeds. Over all the limited surface, among the pine shrubs and flowering weeds, he searched to see if hiding-place for the nymph could be found. Twocolts were pastured on the isle. He found no cave or hut. When he hadfinished his search, he sat and waited and watched till the sun set overthe sea; but to-day there was no smiling face rearing itself from theblue water, no little hand beckoning him away. 

"What a fool I was not to go where she beckoned!" mused Caius. "Where?Anywhere into the heart of the ocean, out of this dull, sordid life intothe land of dreams. "

For it must all have been a dream--a sweet, fantastic dream, imposedupon his senses by some influence, outward or inward; but it seemed tohim that at the hour when he seemed to see the maid it might have beengiven him to enter the world of dreams, and go on in some existencewhich was a truer reality than the one in which he now was. In adeliberate way he thought that perhaps, if the truth were known, he, Dr. Caius Simpson, was going a little mad; but as he sat by the softlylapping sea he did not regret this madness: what he did regret was thathe must go home and--talk to Mabel. 

He rowed his boat back with feelings of blank disappointment. He couldnot give another day to idleness upon the shore. It was impossible thatsuch an important person as himself could spend long afternoons andevenings thus without everyone's knowledge. He had a feeling, too, born, as many calculations are, of pure surmise, that he would have seen themermaid again that afternoon, when he had made such elaboratearrangements to meet her, if Fate had destined them to meet again atall. No; he must give her up. He must forget the hallucination that hadworked so madly on his brain. 

Nevertheless, he did not deny himself the pleasure of walking veryfrequently to the spot, and this often, in the early hours beforebreakfast, a time which he could dispose of as he would without comment. As he walked the beach in the beauty of the early day, he realized thatsome new region of life had been opened to him, that he was feeling hisway into new mysteries of beatified thought and feeling. 

A week passed; he was again upon the shore opposite the island at thesunrise hour. He sat on the rock which seemed like a home to hisrestless spirit, so associated it was with the first thoughts of thosenew visions of beauty which were becoming dear to him. 

He heard a soft splashing sound in the water, and, looking about him, suddenly saw the sea-child's face lifted out of the water not more thanfour or five yards from him. All around her was a golden cloud of sand;it seemed to have been stirred up by her startled movement on seeinghim. For a moment she was still, resting thus close, and he could seedistinctly that around her white shoulders there was a coil of whatseemed like glistening rounded scales. He could not decide whether thebrightness in her eye was that of laughing ease or of startledexcitement. Then she turned and darted away from him, and having putabout forty feet between them, she turned and looked back with easydefiance. 

His eyes, fascinated by what was to him an awful thing, were trying topenetrate the sparkling water and see the outlines of the form whoseclumsy skin seemed to hang in horrid folds, stretching its monstrousbulk under the waves. His vision was broken by the sparkling splashwhich the maiden deliberately made with her hands, as if divining hiscuriosity and defying it. He felt the more sure that his senses did notplay him false because the arrangement of the human and fishy substanceof the apparition did not tally with any preconceived ideas he had ofmermaids. 

Caius felt no loathing of the horrid form that seemed to be part of her. He knew, as he had never known before, how much of coarseness there wasin himself. His hands and feet, as he looked down at them, seemedclumsy, his ideas clumsy and gross to correspond. He knew enough to knowthat he might, by the practice of exercises, have made his muscles andbrain the expression of his will, instead of the inert mass of fleshthat they now seemed to him to be. He might--yes, he might, if he hadhis years to live over again, have made himself noble and strong; as itwas, he was mutely conscious of being a thing to be justly derided bythe laughing eyes that looked up at him from the water, a man to bejustly shunned and avoided by the being of the white arms and dimpledface. 

And he sat upon the rock looking, looking. It seemed useless to rise orspeak or smile; he remembered the mirth that his former efforts hadcaused, and he was dumb and still. 

Perhaps the sea-child found this treatment more uninteresting than thatattention he had lavished on her on the former occasion; perhaps she hadnot so long to tarry. As he still watched her she turned again, and madeher way swift and straight toward the rocky point. Caius ran, following, upon the shore, but after a minute he perceived that she could disappearround the point before, either by swimming or wading, he could get nearher. He could not make his way around the point by the shore; his bestmeans of keeping her in sight was to climb the cliff, from which thewhole bay on the other side would be visible. 

Like a man running a race for life, he leaped back to a place where itwas possible to climb, and, once on the top, made his way by main forcethrough a growth of low bushes until he could overlook the bay. But, lo!when he came there no creature was visible in the sunny sea beneath oron the shelving red bank which lay all plain to his view. Far and widehe scanned the ocean, and long he stood and watched. He walked, searching for anyone upon the bank, till he came to Day's barns, and bythat time he was convinced that the sea-maid had either vanished intothin air or sunk down and remained beneath the surface of the sea. 

The farm to which he had come was certainly the last place in which hewould have thought to look for news of the sportive sea-creature; andyet, because it stood alone there in that part of the earth, he tarriednow to put some question to the owner, just as we look mechanically fora lost object in drawers or cupboards in which we feel sure it cannotbe. Caius found Day in a small paddock behind one of the barns, tendinga mare and her baby foal. Day had of late turned his attention tohorses, and the farm had a bleaker look in consequence, because many ofits acres were left untilled. 

Caius leaned his elbows on the fence of the paddock. "Hullo!"

Day turned round, asking without words what he wanted, in a very surlyway. 

At the distance at which he stood, and without receiving anyencouragement, Caius found a difficulty in forming his question. 

"You haven't seen anything odd in the sea about here, have you?"

"What sort of a thing?"

"I thought I saw a queer thing swimming in the water--did you?"

"No, I didn't. "

It was evident that no spark of interest had been roused in the farmerby the question. From that, more than anything else, Caius judged thathis words were true; but, because he was anxious to make assurancedoubly sure, he blundered into another form of the same inquiry:

"There isn't a young girl about this place, is there?"

Day's face grew indescribably dark. In an instant Caius remembered that, if the man had any feeling about him, the question was the sorest hecould have asked--the child, who would now have been a girl, drowned, her sister and brother exiled, and Day bound over by legal authority tosee to it that no defenceless person came in the way of the wife who hadkilled her child! A moment more, and Day had merely turned his back, going on with his work. Caius did not blame him; he respected the manthe more for the feeling he displayed. 

Vexed with himself, and not finding how to end the interview, Caiuswaited a minute, and then turned suddenly from the fence, withoutknowing why he turned until he saw that the constraining force was thepresence of Day's wife, who stood at the end of the barn, out of sightof her husband, but looking eagerly at Caius. She made a sign to him tocome. No doubt she had heard what had been said. 

Caius went to her, drawn by the eagerness of her bright black eyes. Herlarge form was slightly clad in a cotton gown; her abundant black hairwas fastened rather loosely about her head. Her high-boned cheeks werethinner than of old, and her face wore a more excited expression;otherwise, there was little difference in her. She had been sent fromthe asylum as cured. Caius gave her a civil "Good-day. "

"She has come back to me!" said the woman. 

"Who?"

"My baby as you've put up the stone to. I've allers wanted to tell you Iliked that stone; but she isn't dead--she has come back to me!"

Now, although the return of the drowned child had been an idea often inhis mind of late, that he had merely toyed with it as a beautiful fancywas proved by the fact that no sooner did the mother express the samethought than Caius recognised that she was mad. 

"She has come back to me!" The poor mother spoke in tones of exquisitehappiness. "She is grown a big girl; she has curls on her head, and shewears a marriage-ring. Who is she married to?"

Caius could not answer. 

The mother looked at him with curious steadfastness. 

"I thought perhaps she was married to you, " she said. 

Surely the woman had seen what he had seen in the sea; but, question heras he would, Caius could gain nothing more from her--no hint of time orplace, or any fact that at all added to his enlightenment. She only grewfrightened at his questions, and begged him in moving terms not to tellDay that she had spoken to him--not to tell the people in the villagethat her daughter had come back, or they would put her again in theasylum. Truly, this last appeared to Cains a not unlikely consequence, but it was not his business to bring it about. It was not for him, whoshared her delusion, to condemn her. 

After that, Caius knew that either he was mad or what he had seen he hadseen, let the explanation be what it might--and he ceased to care muchabout the explanation. He remembered the look of heart-satisfaction withwhich Day's wife had told him that her child had returned. The beautifulface looking from out the waves had no doubt wrought happiness in her;and in him also it had wrought happiness, and that which was better. Heceased to wrestle with the difference that the adventure had made in hislife, or to try to ignore it; he had learned to love someone far betterthan himself, and that someone seemed so wholly at one with the naturein which she ranged, and also with the best he could think concerningnature, human or inanimate, that his love extended to all the world forher sake. 

CHAPTER X. 

TOWED BY THE BEARD. 

Every morning Caius still took his early way along the shore, but on allthese walks he found himself alone in possession of the strand and thevast blue of sea and sky. It was disappointing, yet the place itselfexercised a greater and greater charm over him. 

He abstained from fooling away his days by the sea. After his onemorning walk he refused himself the luxury of being there again, fillinghis time with work. He felt that the lady of the lovely face woulddespise him if he spent his time absurdly. 

Thus some days passed; and then there came a night when he left a bed onwhich he had tossed wakefully, and went in the hot August night to theside of the sea when no one knew that he went or came. 

The air was exceedingly warm. The harvest moon in the zenith wasflooding the world with unclouded light. The tide was ebbing, andtherefore there was in the channel that swift, dangerous currentsweeping out to sea of which he had once experienced the strength. Caius, who associated his sea-visitant only with the sunlight and anincoming tide, did not expect to see her now; frequent disappointmenthad bred the absence of hope. He stood on the shore, looking at thecurrent in which he had so nearly perished as a boy. It was glitteringwith white moon-rays. He thought of himself, of the check and twistingwhich his motives and ideas had lately received, and as he thought howslight a thing had done it, how mysterious and impossible a thing itwas, his mind became stunned, and he faced the breeze, and simply livedin the sweetness of the hour, like an animal, conscious, not of itself, but only of what is external, without past or future. 

And now he heard a little crooning song from the waters--no words, notune that could be called a tune. It reminded him more of a baby'stoneless cooing of joy, and yet it had a rhythm to it, too, and both joyand pathos in its cadence. Across the bright path of the moon'sreflection he saw her come. Her head and neck were crowned and garlandedwith shining weed, as if for a festival, and she stretched out her whitearms to him and beckoned to him and laughed. He heard her soft, infant-like laughter. 

To-night her beckoning was like a breeze to a leaf that is ready tofall. Caius ceased to think; he only acted. He threw his cap and coatand boots on the shore. The sea-child, gazing in surprise, began torecede quickly. Caius ran into the water; he projected himself towardthe mermaid, and swam with all the speed of which he was capable. 

The salt in his eyes at first obscured his vision. When he could lookabout, the sea-child had gone out of the track of the moonlight, and, taking advantage of the current, was moving rapidly out to sea. 

He, too, swam with the current. He saw her curly head dark as a dog's inthe water; her face was turned from him, and there was evident movementin her body. For the first time he thought he perceived that she wasswimming with arms and feet as a woman must swim. 

As for Caius, he made all the effort that in him lay, and as she recededpast the line of the island right out into the moonlit sea, he swammadly after, reckless of the fact that his swimming power gave him noassurance of being able to return, reckless of everything except the onewelcome fact that he was gaining on the sea-child. A fear oppressed himthat perhaps this apparent effort of hers and her slow motion were onlya ruse to lead him on--that at any moment she might dart from him orsink into her familiar depths. But this fear he did not heed as long asshe remained in sight, and--yes, across the surface of the warm moonlitwater he was slowly but surely gaining upon her. 

On he swam, making strenuous effort at speed. He was growing exhaustedwith the unaccustomed exercise; he knew that his strength would not holdout much longer. He hardly knew what he hoped or dreamed would come topass when he overtook the sea-maiden, and yet he swam for dear love, which was more to him than dear life, and, panting, he came close toher. 

The sea-maid turned about, and her face flashed suddenly upon him, bright in the moonlight. She put out a glistening arm, perhaps in humanfeebleness to ward him off, perhaps, in the strength of some unknownmeans of defence, to warn him that at his peril he approached her. 

Caius, reckless of everything, grasped the white wrist, and, stoppinghis motion, knowing he could not lie mermaid-fashion with head reared inthe water, he turned on his back to float, still holding the small handin his. He held it, and retained his consciousness long enough to knowfrom that time forth that the hand had actually been in his--a living, struggling hand, not cold, but warm. He felt, too, in that wonderfulpower which we have in extreme moments of noting detail, that the handhad a ring upon it--it was the left hand--and he thought it was a plaingold ring, but it did not occur to him to think of a wedding-ring. Thenhe knew that this dear hand that he had captured was working him woe, for by it he was drawn beneath the water. 

Even then he did not let go, but, still holding the hand, struck out toregain the surface in one of those wild struggles to which inexpertswimmers resort when they feel the deep receiving them into itself. 

It would have been better for him if he had let go, for in that vehementstruggle he felt the evidence of the sea-maid's power. Heremembered--his last thought as he lost consciousness--that with thefishy nature is sometimes given the power to stun an enemy by anelectric shock. Some shock came upon him with force, as if some coldmetal had struck him on the head. As his brain grew dull he heard thewater gurgling over him. 

How long he remained stunned he did not know. He felt the water rushingabout his head again; he felt that he had been drowned, and he knew, too--in that foolish way in which the half-awakened brain knows thesupposed certainties of dreams--that the white hand he had essayed tohold had grasped his beard firmly under his chin, and that thus holdinghis head above the surface of the water, she was towing him away tounknown regions. 

Then he seemed to know nothing again; and again he opened his eyes, tofind himself lying on a beach in the moonlight, and the sea-maid's facewas bending over his. He saw it distinctly, all tender human solicitudewritten on the moonlit lineaments. As his eyes opened more her facereceded. She was gone, and he gazed vacantly at the sky; then, realizinghis consciousness more clearly, he sat up suddenly to see where she hadgone. 

It seemed to him that, like a kind enchantress, she had transformedherself to break his passion. Yes, he saw her, as he had so oftencuriously longed to see her, moving over the dry shore--she was goingback to her sea. But it was a strange, monstrous thing he saw. From hergleaming neck down to the ground was dank, shapeless form. So a walrusor huge seal might appear, could it totter about erect upon low, fin-like feet. There was no grace of shape, no tapering tail, no shinyscales, only an appearance of horrid quivering on the skin, that hereand there seemed glossy in the moonlight. 

He saw her make her way toilsomely, awkwardly over the shingle of thebeach; and when she reached the shining water, it was at first soshallow that she seemed to wade in it like a land-animal, then, when thewater was deep enough to rise up well around her, she turned to him oncemore a quick glance over her shoulder. Such relief came with the sightof her face, after this monstrous vision, that he saw the face flash onhim as a sword might flash out of darkness when light catches its blade. Then she was gone, and he saw the form of her head in the water whileshe swam swiftly across the silver track of the moonbeams and out intothe darkness beyond. 

Caius looked around him with senses still drowsy and head aching sorely. He was in no fairy region that might be the home of mermaids, but on thebit of beach from which he had launched himself into the water. Hiscoat and hat lay near him, and just above the spot where he lay was therude epitaph of baby Day, carved by his own boyish hand so long ago. 

Caius put his hand to his head, and found it badly bruised on one side. His heart was bruised, too, partly by the sight of the monstrous body ofthe lovely sea-child, partly by the fresh experience of his own weaknessand incapacity. 

It was long before he dragged himself home. It seemed to him to be daysbefore he recovered from the weariness of that secret adventure, and hebore the mark of the bruise on his head for many a day. The mermaid henever saw again. 

CHAPTER XI. 

YEARS OF DISCRETION. 

Caius Simpson took ship and crossed the sea. The influence of thebeautiful face remained with him. That which had come to him was the newbirth of mind (not spirit), which by the grace of God comes to many anindividual, but is more clearly recognised and recorded when it comes inthe life of nations--the opening of the inward eye to the meaning andjoy of all things that the outward senses have heretofore perceived asnot perceiving them. The art of the Old World claimed him as her own, asbeauty on land and sea had already done. The enjoyment of music andpictures became all-important to him, at first because he searched inthem for the soul he had seen in the sea-maid's eyes. 

Caius was of noble birth, because by inheritance and training he was theslave of righteousness. For this reason he could not neglect his work, although it had not a first place in his heart. As he was industrious, he did not fail in it; because it was not the thing he loved best, hedid not markedly succeed. It was too late to change his profession, andhe found in himself no such decided aptitude for anything else as shouldmake him know that this or that would have been preferable; but he knewnow that the genius of the physician was not his, that to do his workbecause it was duty, and to attain the respectable success whichcircumstance, rather than mental pre-eminence, gives, was all that hecould hope. This saddened him; all his ambition revived under thesmarting consciousness of inferiority to his more talented companions. The pleasures of his life came to him through his receptive faculties, and in the consciousness of having seen the wider vision, and being inconsequence a nobler man. But all this, which was so much to him for ayear or two, grew to be a less strong sensation than that ofdisappointment in the fact that he could only so meagrely fulfil hisfather's ideal and his own. There came a sense of dishonesty, too, inhaving used the old man's money chiefly in acquiring those mental graceswhich his father could neither comprehend nor value. 

Three years passed. Gradually the memory of his love for the sea-maidhad grown indistinct; and, more or less unconscious that this love hadbeen the door to the more wealthy gardens of his mind, he inclined todespise it now as he despised the elegy he had written for the child whowas drowned. It was his own passion he was inclined to forget anddespise; the sea-maid herself was remembered, and respected, andwondered at, and disbelieved in, and believed in, as of old, but thatwhich remains in the mind, never spoken of, never used as a cause ofactivity of either thought or action, recedes into the latent ratherthan the active portion of the memory. 

Once, just once, in the first year of his foreign life, he had told to afriend the history of that, his one and only love-story. The result hadnot been satisfactory. His companion was quite sure that Caius had beenthe subject of an artful trick, and he did not fail to suggest that thewoman had wanted modesty. Nothing, he observed, was more common than formen who were in love to attribute mental and physical charms to womenwho were in reality vulgar and blatant. Caius, feeling that he couldadvance no argument, refused to discuss the subject; it was monthsbefore he had the same liking for this friend, and it was a sign thatwhat the other called "the sea-myth" was losing its power over him whenhe returned to this friendship. 

Caius did not make many friends. It was not his nature to do so, andthough constant to the few that he had, he did not keep up any verylively intercourse. It was partly because of this notable failure insocial duty that, when he at last decided that the work of preparationmust be considered at an end, and the active work of life begun, noopening immediately revealed itself to his inquiring gaze. Two vacantpositions in his native country he heard of and coveted, and before hereturned he gathered such testimonials as he could, and sent them inadvance, offering himself as a candidate. When he landed in Canada hewent at once to his first college to beg in person that the influence ofhis former teachers might be used on his behalf. The three years thathad passed without correspondence had made a difference in the attitudeof those who could help him; many of his friends also were dispersed, gone from the place. He waited in Montreal until he heard that he wasnot the accepted candidate for the better of the two positions, and thatthe other post would not be filled till the early spring. 

Caius went home again. He observed that his parents looked older. Theleaves were gone from the trees, the days were short, and the earth wascold. The sea between the little island and the red sandstone cliff wasutterly lonely. Caius walked by its side sometimes, but there was nomermaid there. 

_BOOK II. _

CHAPTER I. 

THE HAND THAT BECKONED. 

It was evening. Caius was watering his father's horses. Between thebarns and the house the space was grass; a log fence divided it, andagainst this stood a huge wooden pump and a heavy log hollowed out for atrough. House and barns were white; the house was large, but the barnswere many times larger. If it had not been that their sloping roofs ofvarious heights and sizes formed a progression of angles not unpleasantto the eye, the buildings would have been very ugly; but they had also agenerous and cleanly aspect which was attractive. 

Caius brought the horses to the trough in pairs, each with a hempenhalter. They were lightly-built, well-conditioned beasts, but their daysof labour had wrought in them more of gentleness than of fire. As theydrank now, the breeze played with their manes and forelocks, brushingthem about their drooping necks and meek faces. Caius pumped the waterfor them, and watched them meditatively the while. There was a fire lowdown in the western sky; over the purple of the leafless woods and thebleak acres of bare red earth its light glanced, not warming them, butshowing forth their coldness, as firelight glancing through awindow-pane glows cold upon the garden snows. The big butter-nut-treethat stood up high and strong over the pump rattled its twigs in theair, as bare bones might rattle. 

It was while he was still at the watering that the elder Simpson droveup to the house door in his gig. He had been to the post-office. Thiswas not an event that happened every day, so that the letter which henow handed Caius might as well as not have been retarded a day or two inits delivery. Caius took it, leading the horses to their stalls, and heexamined it by the light of the stable lantern. 

The writing, the appearance of the envelope and post-mark, were allquite unfamiliar. The writing was the fine Italian hand common to ladiesof a former generation, and was, in Caius' mind, connected only with theidea of elderly women. He opened the letter, therefore, with the lesscuriosity. Inside he found several pages of the same fine writing, andhe read it with his arm round the neck of one of the horses. Thelantern, which he had hung on a nail in the stall, sent down dimcandlelight upon the pair. 

When Caius had read the letter, he turned it over and over curiously, and began to read it again, more out of sheer surprise than from anyrelish for its contents. It was written by one Madame Josephine LeMaître, and came from a place which, although not very far from his ownhome, was almost as unknown to him as the most remote foreign part. Itcame from one of the Magdalen Islands, that lie some eighty miles'journey by sea to the north of his native shore. The writer stated thatshe knew few men upon the mainland--in which she seemed to include thelarger island of Prince Edward--that Caius Simpson was the only medicalman of whom she had any personal knowledge who was at that timeunemployed. She stated, also, that upon the island where she lived therewere some hundreds of fisher-folk, and that a very deadly disease, thatshe supposed to be diphtheria, was among them. The only doctor in thewhole group refused to come to them, because he feared to take back theinfection to the other islands. Indeed, so great was the dread of thisinfection, that no helpful person would come to their aid except anEnglish priest, and he was able only to make a short weekly visit. Itwas some months now since the disease had first appeared, and it wasincreasing rather than diminishing. 

"Come, " said the letter, "and do what you can to save the lives of thesepoor people--their need of you is very great; but do not come if you arenot willing to risk your life, for you will risk it. Do not come if youare not willing to be cut off from the world all the months the ice liesin the gulf, for at that time we have no communication with the world. You are a good man; you go to church, and believe in the Divine Christ, who was also a physician. It is because of this that I dare to ask you. There is a schooner that will be lying in the harbour of Souris for twoor three weeks after the time that you receive this letter. Then shewill come here upon her last winter trip. I have arranged with thecaptain to bring you to us if you can come. "

After that the name of the schooner and its captain was given, a listalso of some of the things that he would need to bring with him. It wasstated that upon the island he would receive lodging and food, and thatthere were a few women, not unskilled in nursing, who would carry outhis instructions with regard to the sick. 

Caius folded the letter after the second reading, finished his work withthe horses, and walked with his lantern through the now darkening air tothe house. Just for a few seconds he stopped in the cold air, and lookedabout him at the dark land and the starry sky. 

"I have now neither the belief nor the enthusiasm she attributes to me, "said Caius. 

When he got into the bright room he blinked for a moment at the light bywhich his father was reading. 

The elder man took the letter in his hard, knotted hand, and read itbecause he was desired to do so. When finished, he cast it upon thetable, returning to his newspaper. 

"Hoots!" said he; "the woman's mad!" And then meditatively, after he hadfinished his newspaper paragraph: "What dealings have you ever had withher?"

"I never had any dealings with her. "

"When you get a letter from a strange woman"--the father spoke with someheat--"the best thing that you can do with it is to put it in the fire. "

Now, Caius knew that his father had, as a usual thing, that kindly andsimple way of looking at the actions of his fellow-men which isrefinement, so that it was evident that the contents of the letter werehateful. That was to be expected. The point that aroused the son'scuriosity was to know how far the father recognised an obligationimposed by the letter. The letter would be hateful just in so far as itwas considered worthy of attention. 

"I suppose, " said the young man dubiously, "that we can easily find outat Souris whether the statements in the letter are true or not?"

The father continued to read his paper. 

The lamp upon the unpolished walnut table had no shade or globe upon it, and it glared with all the brilliancy of clean glass, and much wick andoil. The dining-room was orderly as ever. The map of Palestine, the oldBible, and some newly-acquired commentaries, obtruded themselvespainfully as ornaments. There was no nook or corner in which anythingcould hide in shadow; there were no shutters on the windows, for therewas no one to pass by, unless it might be some good or evil spirit thatfloated upon the dark air. 

Mr. Simpson continued to read his paper without heeding his son. Themother's voice chiding the maid in the next room was the only sound thatbroke the silence. 

"I'll write to that merchant you used to know at Souris, father, " Caiusspoke in a business-like voice. "He will be able to find out from allthe vessels that come in to what extent there is disease on theMagdalens. "

The exciting cause in Caius of this remark was his father's indifferenceand opposition, and the desire to probe it. 

"You'll do nothing of the sort. " Simpson's answer was very testy. "Whatcall have you to interfere with the Magdalens?" His anger rose from acause perhaps more explicable to an onlooker than to himself. 

In the course of years there had grown in the mind of Caius muchprejudice against the form and measure of his parents' religion. Hewould have throttled another who dared to criticise them, yet hehimself took a certain pleasure in an opportunity that made criticismpertinent rather than impertinent. It was not that he prided himself onknowing or doing better, he was not naturally a theorist, nor didactic;but education had awakened his mind, not only to difficulties in thepath of faith, but to a higher standard of altruism than was exacted byold-fashioned orthodoxy. 

"I think I'd better write to Souris, sir; the letter is to me, you see, and I should not feel quite justified in taking no steps to investigatethe matter. "

How easy the hackneyed phrase "taking steps" sounded to Caius! butexperience breeds strong instincts. The elder man felt the importance ofthis first decision, and struck out against it as an omen of ill. 

"In my opinion you'll do well to let the matter lie where it is. Howwill you look making inquiries about sick folk as if you had a greatfortune to spend upon philanthropy, when it turns out that you havenone? If you'd not spent all my money on your own schooling, perhapsyou'd have some to play the fine gentleman with now, and send a hospitaland its staff on this same schooner. " (This was the first reproach ofhis son's extravagance which had ever passed his lips; it betokenedpassion indeed. ) "If you write you can't do less than send a case ofmedicines, and who is to pay for them, I'd like to know? I'm pretty wellcleared out. They're a hardened lot of wreckers on those islands--I'veheard that told of them many a time. No doubt their own filth and badliving has brought disease upon them, if there's truth in the tale; andas to this strange woman, giving no testimony or certificate of herrespectability, it's a queer thing if she's to begin and teach youreligion and duty. It's a bold and impudent letter, and I suppose you'veenough sense left, with all your new fangles, to see that you can't doall she asks. What do you think you can do? If you think I'm going topay for charity boxes to be sent to people I've no opinion of, when allthe missionary subscriptions will be due come the new year, you thinkgreat nonsense, that's all. " He brought his large hard hand down on thetable, so that the board rang and the lamp quaked; then he settled hisrounded shoulders stubbornly, and again unfurled the newspaper. 

This strong declaration of wrath, and the reproaches concerning themoney, were a relief to Caius. A relief from what? Had he contemplatedfor a moment taking his life in his hand and obeying the unexpectedappeal? Yet he felt no answering anger in return for the rebuke; he onlyfound himself comfortably admitting that if his father put it on thescore of expense he certainly had no right to give time or money thatdid not belong to him. It was due to his parents that all his occupationshould henceforth be remunerative. 

He put the letter away in his pocket, but, perhaps because he laid itnext his heart, the next day its cry awoke within him again, and wouldnot be silenced. 

Christianity was identified in his mind with an exclusive way of life, to him no longer good or true; but what of those stirring principles ofSocialism that were abroad in the world, flaunting themselves assuperior to Christianity? He was a child of the age, and dared not denyits highest precepts. Who would go to these people if he did not go? Asto his father, he had coaxed him before for his own advantage; he couldcoax him now for theirs if he would. He was sufficiently educated toknow that it was more glorious to die, even unrenowned, upon such amission, than to live in the prosperity that belongs to ordinarycovetousness, that should it be his duty to obey this call, no otherduty remained for him in its neglect. 

His personal desire in the matter was neither more nor less noble thanare the average feelings of well-meaning people towards such enterprise. He would have been glad to find an excellent excuse to think no more ofthis mission--very glad indeed to have a more attractive opening forwork set before him; but, on the other hand, the thought of movement andof fresh scenes was more attractive than staying where he was. Then, itwould be such a virtuous thing to do and to have done; his ownconscience and everyone who heard of the action must applaud it. And hedid not think so much of the applause of others as of the realworthiness of the deed. Then, again, if he came back safely in thespring, he hoped by that time the offer of some good post would bewaiting for him; and it would be more dignified to return from such anexcellent work to find it waiting, than to sit at home humbly longingfor its advent. 

Caius went to Souris and questioned the merchants, talked to thecaptains of the vessels in the port, saw the schooner upon which MadameLe Maître had engaged his passage. What seemed to him most strange inthe working out of this bit of his life's story, was that all that theletter said appeared to be true. The small island called Cloud Island, where the pestilence was, and to which he had been invited, was not oneat which larger ships or schooners could land, so that it was only fromthe harbour of another island that the seamen got their news. On allhands it was known that there was bad disease upon Cloud Island, that nodoctor was there, and that there was one lady, a Madame Le Maître, aperson of some property, who was devoting herself to nursing the sick. When Caius asked who she was, and where she came from, one person saidone thing and one another. Some of the men told him that she was old, some of them affirmed that she was young, and this, not because therewas supposed to be any mystery concerning her, but because no one seemedto have taken sufficient interest in her existence to obtain accurateinformation. 

When Caius re-entered the gate of his father's farm he had decided torisk the adventure, and obey the letter in all points precisely. 

"Would you let it be said that in all these parts there was no one toact the man but a woman?" he said to his father. 

To his mother he described the sufferings that this disease would work, all the details of its pains, and how little children and mothers andwives would be the chief sufferers, dying in helpless pain, or beingbereft of those they loved best. 

As he talked, the heart of the good woman rose up within her and blessedher son, acknowledging, in spite of her natural desires, that he was inthis more truly the great man than she had fancied him in her wildestdreams of opulence and renown. She credited him with far purer motivesthan he knew himself to possess. 

A father's rule over his own money is a very modified thing, the veryfact of true fatherhood making him only a partner with his child. Caiuswas under the impression that his father could have refused him thenecessary outfit of medical stores for this expedition, but that was notthe way old Simpson looked at it. 

"If he must, he must, " he said to his wife angrily, gloomily, for hisown opinion in the matter had changed little; but to Caius he gave hisconsent, and all the money he needed, and did not, except at first, express his disapproval, so that Caius took the less pains to argue thematter with him. 

It was only at the last, when Caius had fairly set out on his journey, and, having said good-bye, looked back to see his father stand at thegate of his own fields, that the attitude of the stalwart form and grayhead gave him his first real insight into the pain the parting hadcost--into the strong, sad disapproval which in the father's mind laybehind the nominal consent. Caius saw it then, or, at least, he sawenough of it to feel a sharp pang of regret and self-reproach. He felthimself to be an unworthy son, and to have wronged the best of fathers. Whether he was doing right or wrong in proceeding upon his mission hedid not know. So in this mind he set sail. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE ISLES OF ST. MAGDALEN. 

The schooner went out into the night and sailed for the north star. Thewind was strong that filled her sails; the ocean turbulent, black andcold, with the glittering white of moonlight on the upper sides of thewaves. The little cabin in the forecastle was so hot and dirty that toCaius, for the first half of the night, it seemed preferable almost toperish of cold upon the deck rather than rock in a narrow bunk below. The deck was a steep inclined plane, steady, but swept constantly withwaves, as an incoming tide sweeps a beach. Caius was compelled to crouchby what support he could find, and, lying thus, he was glad to coverhimself up to the chin with an unused sail, peeping forth at the galeand the moonlight as a child peeps from the coverings of its cot. 

With the small hours of the night came a cold so intense that he wasdriven to sleep in the cabin where reigned the small iron stove thatbrewed the skipper's odorous pot. After he had slept a good way into thenext day, he came up again to find the gale still strong and theprospect coloured now with green of wave and snow of foam, blue of skyand snow of winged cloud. The favourable force was still pushing themonward toward the invisible north star. 

It was on the evening of that day that they saw the islands; five or sixhilly isles lay in a half-circle. The schooner entered this bay from theeast. Before they came near the purple hills they had sighted a fleet ofisland fishing boats, and now, as night approached, all these made alsofor the same harbour. The wind bore them all in, they cutting the waterbefore them, gliding round the point of the sand-bar, making their wayup the channel of the bay in the lessening light, a chain of giganticsea-birds with white or ruddy wings. 

All around the bay the islands lay, their hills a soft red purple in thelight of a clear November evening. In the blue sky above there werelayers of vapour like thin gray gossamers, on which the rosy lightshone. The waters of the bay were calmer than the sea outside, yet theywere still broken by foam; across the foam the boats went sweeping, until in the shadow of the isles and the fast-descending night they eachfurled their sails and stopped their journey. It was in the western sideof the bay that the vessels lay, for the gale was from the west, andhere they found shelter; but night had descended suddenly, and Caiuscould only see the black form of the nearest island, and the twinklinglights that showed where houses were collected on its shore. They waitedthere till the moon rose large and white, touching the island hillsagain into visible existence. It was over one small rocky island thatshe rose; this was the one that stood sentry at the entrance of the bay, and on either side of it there were moon-lit paths that stretched farout into the gulf. On the nearer island could be seen long sand reaches, and dark rounded hills, and in a hollow of the hills the clusteredlights. When the moonlight was bright the master of the schooner lowereda boat and set Caius and his traps ashore, telling him that some daywhen the gale was over he could make his way to the island of Cloud. Theskipper said that the gale might blow one day, or two, or three, ormore, but it could not blow always, and in the meantime there wasentertainment to be had for those who could pay for it on the nearerisle. 

When Caius stood upon the beach with his portmanteaus beside him, somehalf a dozen men clustered round; in their thick garments and mufflersthey looked outlandish enough. They spoke English, and after muchtalking they bore his things to a small house on the hillside. He heardthe wind clamour against the wooden walls of this domicile as he stoodin its porch before the door was opened. The wind shouted and laughedand shook the house, and whistled and sighed as it rushed away. Belowhim, nearer the shore, lay the village, its white house-walls lit by themoonlight, and beyond he could see the ships in the glittering bay. 

When the door opened such a feast of warmth and comfort appeared to hiseyes that he did not soon forget it, for he had expected nothing but thenecessaries of life. Bright decoration of home-made rugs and ornamentswas on all sides, and a table was laid. 

They were four spinsters of Irish descent who kept this small inn, andall that good housewifery could do to make it comfortable was done. Thetable was heaped with such dainties as could be concocted from thehomely products of the island; large red cranberries cooked in syrupgave colour to the repast. Soon a broiled chicken was set before Caius, and steaming coffee rich with cream. 

To these old maids Caius was obliged to relate wherefore he had come andwhither he was bound. He told his story with a feeling of self-consciousawkwardness, because, put it in as cursory a manner as he would, he feltthe heroism of his errand must appear; nor was he with this presentaudience mistaken. The wrinkled maidens, with their warm Irish hearts, were overcome with the thought that so much youth and beauty andmasculine charm, in the person of the young man before them, should besacrificed, and, as it seemed to them, foolishly. 

The inhabitants of Cloud Island, said these ladies, were a worthlessset; and in proof of it they related to him how the girls of The Cloudwere not too nice in their notions to marry with the shipwrecked sailorsfrom foreign boats, a thing they assured him that was never done ontheir own island. Italian, or German, or Norwegian, or whoever the manmight be, if he had good looks, a girl at The Cloud would take him!

And would not they themselves, Caius asked, in such a case, take pity ona stranger who had need of a wife?

Whereat they assured him that it was safer to marry a native islander, and that no self-respecting woman could marry with a man who was notEnglish, or Irish, or Scotch, or French. It was of these four latternationalities that the native population of the islands was composed. 

But the ladies told him worse tales than these, for they said the devilwas a frequent visitor at Cloud Island, and at times he went out withthe fishers in their boats, choosing now one, now another, for acompanion; and whenever he went, there was a wonderful catch of fish;but the devil must have his full share, which he ate raw and withoutcleaning--a thing which no Christian could do. He lived in the roundvalleys of the sand-dune that led to The Cloud. It was a convenienthiding-place, because when you were in one valley you could not see intothe next, and the devil always leaped into the one that you were not in. As to the pestilence, it was sent as a judgment because the people hadthese impious dealings with the Evil One; but the devil could put an endto it if he would. 

It was strange to see the four gray-haired sisters as they sat in a rowagainst the wall and told him in chiming sentences these tales with fullbelief. 

"And what sort of a disease is it?" asked Caius, curious to hear more. 

"It's the sore throat and the choke, sir, " said the eldest sister, "anda very bad disease it is, for if it doesn't stop at the throat, it fliesdirect to the stomach, sir, and then you can't breathe. "

Caius pondered this description for a few moments, and then he formed aquestion which was to the point. 

"And where, " said he, "is the stomach?"

At which she tapped her chest, and told him it was there. 

He had eaten somewhat greedily, and when he found that the linen of hisbed was snow-white and the bed itself of the softest feathers, he laydown with great contentment. Not even the jar and rush of the wind as itconstantly assaulted the house, nor the bright moonlight against thecurtainless window, kept him awake for a moment. He slept a dreamlesssleep. 

CHAPTER III. 

BETWEEN THE SURF AND THE SAND. 

Next day the wind had grown stronger; the same clear skies prevailed, with the keen western gale, for the west wind in these quarters isseldom humid, and at that season it was frosty and very dry, coming asit did over the already snow-covered plains of Gaspé and Quebec. Itseemed strange to Caius to look out at the glorious sunshine and be toldthat not a boat would stir abroad that day, and that it would beimpossible for even a cart to drive to the Cloud Island. 

He knew so little of the place to which he had come that when thespinsters spoke of driving to another island it seemed to him that theyspoke as wildly as when they told of the pranks of the Evil One. Helearned soon that these islands were connected by long sand ridges, andthat when the tide was down it was possible to drive upon the damp beachfrom one to another; but this was not possible, they told him, in awestern gale, for the wind beat up the tide so that one could not tellhow far it would descend or how soon it would return. There was risk ofbeing caught by the waves under the hills of the dune, which a horsecould not climb, and, they added, he had already been told who it waswho lived in the sand hollows. 

In the face of the sunny morning, Caius could not forbear expressing hisincredulity of the diabolical legend, and his hostesses did not take thetrouble to argue the point, for it is to be noted that people seldomargue on behalf of the items of faith they hold most firmly. Thespinsters merely remarked that there were a strange number of wrecks onthe sand-bar that led to The Cloud, and that, go where he would in thevillage, he would get no sand-pilot to take him across while the tidewas beaten up by the wind, and a pilot he must have, or he would sink inthe quicksands and never be seen again. 

Caius walked, with the merry wind for a playfellow, down through longrows of fish-sheds, and heard what the men had to say with regard to hisjourney. He heard exactly what the women had told him, for no one wouldventure upon the dune that day. 

Then, still in company with the madcap wind, he walked up on the nearerhills, and saw that this island was narrow, lying between blue fields ofsea, both bay and ocean filled with wave crests, ever moving. The outersea beat upon the sandy beach with a roar and volume of surf such as hehad never seen before, for under the water the sand-bank stretched out amile but a little below the sea's level, and the breakers, rolling in, retarded by it and labouring to make their accustomed course, came onlike wild beasts that were chafed into greater anger at each bound, sothat with ever-increasing fury they roared and plunged until theytouched the verge. 

From the hills he saw that the fish-sheds which stood along the villagestreet could only be a camping place for the fishers at the season ofwork, for all along the inner sides of the hills there were smallfarm-houses, large enough and fine enough to make good dwellings. Theisland was less savage than he had supposed. Indignation rose within himthat people apparently so well-to-do should let their neighbours diewithout extending a helping hand. He would have been glad to go andbully some owner of a horse and cart into taking him the last stage ofhis journey without further delay; but he did not do this, he onlyroamed upon the hills enjoying the fair prospect of the sea and thesister isles, and went back to his inn about two o'clock. There hefeasted again upon the luxurious provision that the spinsters had beenmaking for the appetite that the new air had given him. He ate roastduck, stuffed with a paste of large island mushrooms, preserved sincetheir season, and tarts of bake-apple berries, and cranberries, and thesmall dark mokok berry--three kinds of tart he ate, with fresh creamupon them, and the spinster innkeepers applauded his feat. They stoodaround and rejoiced at his eating, and again they told him in chorusthat he must not go to the other island where the people were sick. 

It was just then that a great knock came at the front door; the loudnessof the wind had silenced the approaching footsteps. A square-built, smooth-faced man, well wrapped in a coat of ox fur, came into the house, asking for Caius Simpson by name. His face was one which it wasimpossible to see without remarking the lines of subtle intelligencedisplayed in its leathery wrinkles. The eyes were light blue, veryquick, almost merry--and yet not quite, for if there was humour in them, it was of the kind that takes its pleasures quietly; there was noproneness to laughter in the hard-set face. 

When Caius heard his own name spoken, he knew that something unexpectedhad happened, for no one upon the island had asked his name, and he hadnot given it. 

The stranger, who, from his accent, appeared to be a Canadian of Irishparentage, said, in a few curt words, that he had a cart outside, andwas going to drive at once to Cloud Island, that he wished to take theyoung doctor with him; for death, he observed, was not sitting idleeating his dinner at The Cloud, and if anyone was coming to do battlewith him it would be as well to come quickly. 

The sarcasm nettled Caius, first, because he felt himself to be caughtnapping; secondly, because he knew he was innocent. 

The elder of the spinsters had got behind the stranger, and sheintimated by signs and movements of the lips that the stranger wasunknown, and therefore mysterious, and not to be trusted; and so quicklywas this pantomime performed that it was done before Caius had time tospeak, although he was under the impression that he rose with alacrityto explain to the newcomer that he would go with him at once. 

The warning that the old maid gave resulted at least in some cautiousquestioning. Caius asked the stranger who he was, and if he had comefrom The Cloud that day. 

As to who he was, the man replied that his name was John O'Shea, and hewas the man who worked the land of Madame Le Maître. "One does not goand come from Cloud Island in one day at this season, " said he. "'Tisthree days ago since I came. I've been waiting up at the parson's forthe schooner. To-day we're going back together, ye and me. "

He was sparing of language. He shut his mouth over the short sentenceshe had said, and that influence which always makes it more or lessdifficult for one man to oppose the will of another caused Caius to makehis questions as few as possible. 

Was it safe, he asked, to drive to Cloud Island that day?

The other looked at him from head to foot. "Not safe, " he said, "forwomen and childer; but for men"--the word was lingered upon for amoment--"yes, safe enough. "

The innkeepers were too mindful of their manners as yet to disturb thecolloquy with open interruption; but with every other sort ofinterruption they did disturb it, explaining by despairing gestures anddireful shakings of the head that, should Caius go with this gentleman, he would be driving into the very jaws of death. 

Nevertheless, after O'Shea's last words Caius had assented to theexpedition, although he was uncertain whether the assent was wise ornot. He had the dissatisfaction of feeling that he had been ruled, dared, like a vain schoolboy, into the hasty consent. 

"Now, if you are servant to Madame Le Maître at The Cloud, how is itthat you've never been seen on this island?" It was the liveliest of thesisters who could no longer keep silence. 

While Caius was packing his traps he was under the impression thatO'Shea had replied that, in the first place, he had not lived long atThe Cloud, and, in the second, visitors from The Cloud had not been soparticularly welcome at the other islands. His remarks on the lastsubject were delivered with brief sarcasm. After he had started on thejourney Caius wondered that he had not remembered more particularly thegist of an answer which it concerned him to hear. 

At the time, however, he hastened to strap together those of his bundleswhich had been opened, and, under the direction of O'Shea, to clothehimself in as many garments as possible, O'Shea arguing haste for thesake of the tide, which, he said, had already begun to ebb, and therewas not an hour to be lost. 

The women broke forth once more, this time into open expostulation andwarning. To them O'Shea vouchsafed no further word, but with an annoyingassumption that the doctor's courage would quail under their warnings, he encouraged him. 

"There's a mere boy, a slim lad, on my cart now, " he said, "that's goingwith us; he's no more froightened than a gull is froightened of thesea. "

Caius showed his valour by marching out of the door, a bag in eitherhand. 

No snow had as yet fallen on the islands. The grass that was before theinn door was long and of that dry green hue that did not suggestverdure, for all the juices had gone back into the ground. It was sweptinto silver sheens by the wind, and as they crossed it to reach the roadwhere the cart stood, the wind came against them all with staggeringforce. The four ladies came out in spite of the icy blast, and attendedthem to the cart, and stood to watch them as they wended their way upthe rugged road that led over a hill. 

The cart was a small-sized wooden one--a shallow box on wheels; nosprings, no paint, had been used in its making. Some straw had beenspread on the bottom, and on this Caius was directed to recline. Hisbags also were placed beside him. O'Shea himself sat on the front of thecart, his legs dangling, and the boy, who was "no more froightened ofthe journey than a sea-gull is of the sea, " perched himself upon onecorner of the back and looked out backwards, so that his face was turnedfrom Caius, who only knew that he was a slim lad because he had beentold so; a long gray blanket-coat with capuchin drawn over the head andfar over the face covered him completely. 

Caius opposed his will to the reclining attitude which had beensuggested to him, and preferred to sit upon the flat bottom with thedesire to keep erect; and he did sit thus for awhile, like a porcelainmandarin with nodding head, for, although the hardy pony went slowly, the jolting of the cart on the rough, frozen road was greater than it iseasy for one accustomed to ordinary vehicles to imagine. 

Up the hill they went, past woods of stunted birch and fir, past uplandfields, from which the crops had long been gathered. They were makingdirect for the southern side of the island. While they ascended therewas still some shelter between them and the fiercest blast of the gale, and they could still look down at the homely inn below, at the villageof fishers' sheds and the dancing waters of the bay. He had only passedone night there, and yet Caius looked at this prospect almost fondly. Itseemed familiar in comparison with the strange region into which he wasgoing. 

When the ridge was gained and the descent began, the wind broke uponthem with all its force. He looked below and saw the road winding for amile or more among the farms and groves of the slope, and then outacross a flat bit of shrub-covered land; beyond that was the sand, stretching here, it seemed, in a tract of some square miles. The surfwas dimly seen like a cloud at its edge. 

It was not long that he sat up to see the view. The pony began to rundown the hill; the very straw in the bottom of the cart danced. Caiuscast his arms about his possessions, fearing that, heavy though theywere, they would be thrown out upon the roadside, and he lay holdingthem. The wind swept over; he could hear it whistling against the speedof the cart; he felt it like a knife against his cheeks as he lay. Hesaw the boy brace himself, the lithe, strong muscles of his back, apparent only by the result of their action, swayed balancing againstthe jolting, while, with thickly-gloved hands, he grasped the woodenledge on which he sat. In front O'Shea was like an image carved of thesame wood as the cart, so firmly he held to it. Well, such hours pass. After a while they came out upon the soft, dry sand beyond the scrubbyflat, and the horse, with impeded footsteps, trudged slowly. 

The sand was so dry, driven by the wind, that the horse and cart sank init as in driven snow. The motion, though slow, was luxurious compared towhat had been. O'Shea and the boy had sprung off the cart, and weremarching beside it. Caius clambered out, too, to walk beside them. 

"Ye moight have stayed in, Mr. Doctor, " said O'Shea. "The pony is morethan equal to carrying ye. "

Again Caius felt that O'Shea derided him. He hardly knew why the man'swords always gave him this impression, for his manner was civil enough, and there was no particular reason for derision apparent; for, althoughO'Shea's figure had broadened out under the weight of years, he was nota taller man than Caius, and the latter was probably the stronger of thetwo. When Caius glanced later at the other's face, it appeared to himthat he derived his impression from the deep, ray-like wrinkles thatwere like star-fish round the man's eyes; but if so, it must have beenthat something in the quality of the voice reflected the expression ofthe face, for they were not in such plight as would enable them toobserve one another's faces much. The icy wind bore with it a burden ofsparkling sand, so that they were often forced to muffle their faces, walking with heads bowed. 

Since Caius would walk, O'Shea ordered the boy back into the cart, andthe two men ploughed on through the sand beside the horse, whose everyhair was turned by the wind, which now struck them sideways, and whoserugged mane and forelock were streaming horizontally, besprinkled withsand. The novelty of the situation, the beauty of the sand-wreaths, theintoxication of the air, the vivid brilliancy of the sun and the sky, delighted Caius. The blue of heaven rounded the sandscape to theirpresent sight, a dome of blue flame over a plain whose colour was likethat of an autumn leaf become sear. Caius, in his exhilaration, remarkedupon the strangeness of the place, but either the prospect was toocommon to O'Shea to excite his interest, or the enterprise he meditatedburdened his mind; he gave few words in answer, and soon they, too, relapsed into the silence that the boy and the pony had all the timeobserved. 

An hour's walk, and another sound rang in their ears beside thewhistling of the wind, low at first and fitful, louder and louder, tillthe roar of the surf was deafening. Then they came to the brink andheard all the notes of which the chords of its more distant music hadbeen composed, the gasping sob of the under tow, the rush of the liftingwave as it upreared itself high, the silken break of its foam, the crashof drums with which it fell, the dash of wave against wave, and the cryof the foremost waves that bemoaned themselves prostrate upon the beach. 

The cart, with its little company, turned into the narrow strip of darkdamp sand that the tide had already left bare. Here the footing was muchfirmer, and the wind struck them obliquely. The hardy pony broke intoits natural pace, a moderate trot. In spite of this pace, the progressthey made was not very swift, and it was already four by the clock. O'Shea climbed to his place on the front of the cart; the boy sprangdown and ran to warm himself, clapping his gloved hands as he ran. Itwas not long before Caius clambered into his straw seat again, and, sitting, watched the wonder of the waves. So level was the beach, sohigh was the surf, that from the low cart it seemed that giganticmonsters were constantly arising from the sea; and just as the fear ofthem overshadowed the fascinated mind, they melted away again intonothingness. As he looked at the waves he saw that their water, mixedwith sand, was a yellowish brown, and dark almost to black when thecurling top yawned before the downfall; but so fast did each wave breakone upon the other that glossy water was only seen in glimpses, andboiling fields of foam and high crests of foam were the main substanceof all that was to be seen for a hundred yards from the shore. 

Proceeding thus, they soon came to what was actually the end of theisland, and were on the narrow ridge of sand-dunes which extended adistance of some twenty miles to the next island. The sand-hills risingsheer from the shore, fifty, sixty, or a hundred feet in height, bordered their road on the right. To avoid the soft dry sand of theirbase the pony often trotted in the shallow flow of the foam, which evenyet now and then crept over all the damp beach to the high-water mark. The wind was like spur and lash; the horse fled before it. Eyes and earsgrew accustomed even to the threatening of the sea-monsters. The sun ofthe November afternoon sank nearer and nearer the level of sand andfoam; they could not see the ocean beyond the foam. When it grew largeand ruddy in the level atmosphere, and some flakes of red, red goldappeared round it, lying where the edge of the sea must be, like theIslands of the Blessed, when the crests of the breakers near and farbegan to be touched with a fiery glow, when the soft dun brown of thesand-hills turned to gold, Caius, overcome with having walked and eatenmuch, and drunk deeply of the wine of the wild salt wind, fell into aheavy dreamless slumber, lying outstretched upon his bed of straw. 

CHAPTER IV. 

WHERE THE DEVIL LIVED. 

Caius did not know how long he slept. He woke with a sudden start and apresentiment of evil. It was quite dark, as black as starlight nightcould be; for the foam of the waves hardly glimmered to sight, excepthere and there where some phosphorescent jelly was tossed among themlike a blue death-light. What had wakened Caius was the sound of voicestalking ahead of the cart, and the jerk of the cart as it was evidentlybeing driven off the smooth beach on to a very rough and steep incline. 

He sat up and strove to pierce the darkness by sight. They had come tono end of their journey. The long beach, with its walls of foam and ofdune, stretched on without change. But upon this beach they were nolonger travelling; the horse was headed, as it were, to the dune, andnow began to climb its almost upright side. 

With an imprecation he threw himself out of the cart at a bound intosand so soft that he sank up to the knees and stumbled against theupright side of the hill. The lower voice he had heard was silentinstantly. O'Shea stopped the pony with a sharp word of interrogation. 

"Where are you going?" shouted Caius. "What are you going to do?"

He need not have shouted, for the wind was swift to carry all soundsfrom his lips to O'Shea; but the latter's voice, as it came back to him, seemed to stagger against the force of the wind and almost to fail. 

"Where are we going? Well, we're going roight up towards the sky atpresent, but in a minute we'll be going roight down towards the otherplace. If ye just keep on at that side of the cart ye'll get into aplace where we'll have a bit of shelter and rest till the moon rises. "

"What is the matter? What are you turning off the road for?" Caiusshouted again, half dazed by his sleep and sudden awakening, and whollyangry at the disagreeable situation. He was cold, his limbs almost numb, and to his sleepy brain came the sudden remembrance of the round valleysin the dune of which he had heard, and the person who lived in them. 

His voice was inadequately loud. The ebullition of his rage evidentlyamused O'Shea, for he laughed; and while Caius listened to his laughterand succeeding words, it seemed to him that some spirit, not diabolic, hovered near them in the air, for among the sounds of the rushing of thewind and of the sea came the soft sound of another sort of laughter, suppressed, but breaking forth, as if in spite of itself, withirresistible amusement; and although Caius felt that it was indulged athis own expense, yet he loved it, and would fain have joined in itspersuasive merriment. While the poetical part of him listened, trying tocatch this illusive sound, his more commonplace faculties were engagedby the answer of O'Shea:

"It's just as ye loike, Mr. Doctor. You can go on towards The Cloud bythe beach if you've got cat's eyes, or if you can feel with your toeswhere the quicksands loy; but the pony and me are going to take sheltertill the moon's up. "

"Well, where are you going?" asked Caius. "Can't you tell me plainly? Inever heard of a horse that could climb a wall. "

"And if the little beast is good-natured enough to do it for ye, it's asshabby a trick as I know to keep him half-way up with the cart at hisback. He's a cliver little pony, but he's not a floy; and I never knewthat even a floy could stand on a wall with a cart and doctor's medicinebags a-hanging on to it. G'tup!"

This last sound was addressed to the pony, which in the darkness beganonce more its astonishing progress up the sand-hill. 

The plea for mercy to the horse entered Caius' reason. The spirit-likelaughter had in some mysterious way soothed his heart. He stood still, detaining O'Shea no longer, and dimly saw the horse and cart climb upabove him. O'Shea climbed first, for his tones were heard caressing andcoaxing the pony, which he led. Caius saw the cart, a black mass, disappear over the top of the hill, which was here not more than twentyfeet high. When it was gone he could dimly descry a dark figure, whichhe supposed to be the boy, standing on the top, as if waiting to seewhat he would do; so, after holding short counsel with himself, he, too, began to stagger upward, marvelling more and more at the feat of thepony as he went, for though the precipice was not perpendicular, it hadthis added difficulty, that all its particles shifted as they weretouched. There was, however, some solid substance underneath, for, catching at the sand grasses, clambering rather than walking, he soonfound himself at the top, and would have fallen headlong if he had notperceived that there was no level space by seeing the boy alreadyhalf-way down a descent, which, if it was unexpected, was lessprecipitous, and composed of firmer ground. He heard O'Shea and the carta good way further on, and fancied he saw them moving. The boy, atleast, just kept within his sight; and so he followed down into ahollow, where he felt crisp, low-growing herbage beneath his feet, andby looking up at the stars he could observe that its sandy walls roseall around him like a cup. On the side farthest from the sea the wallsof the hollow rose so high that in the darkness they looked like amountainous region. 

They had gone down out of the reach of the gale; and although light airsstill blew about them, here the lull was so great that it seemed likegoing out of winter into a softer clime. 

When Caius came up with the cart he found that the traces had alreadybeen unfastened and the pony set loose to graze. 

"Is there anything for him to eat?" asked Caius curiously, glad also toestablish some friendly interchange of thought. 

"One doesn't travel on these sands, " said O'Shea, "with a horse thatcan't feed itself on the things that grow in the sand. It's the firstnecessary quality for a horse in these parts. "

"What sort of things grow here?" asked Caius, pawing the ground with hisfoot. 

He could not quite get over the inward impression that themountainous-looking region of the dune over against them was toweredwith infernal palaces, so weird was the place. 

O'Shea's voice came out of the darkness; his form was hardly to be seen. 

"Sit yourself down, Mr. Doctor, and have some bread and cheese--that is, if ye've sufficiently forgotten the poies of the old maids. The thingsthat grow here are good enough to sit on, and that's all we want ofthem, not being ponies. "

The answer was once more an insult in its allusion to the pies (Caiuswas again hungry), and in its refusal of simple information; but thetone was more cheerful, and O'Shea had relaxed from his extreme brevity. Caius sat down, and felt almost convivial when he found that a parcel ofbread and cheese and a huge bottle of cold tea were to be shared betweenthem. Either the food was perfect of its kind or his appetite goodsauce, for never had anything tasted sweeter than the meal. They allthree squatted in the darkness round the contents of the ample parcel, and if they said little it was because they ate much. 

Caius found by the light of a match that his watch told it was the hourof seven; they had been at hard travel for more than four hours, and hadcome to a bit of the beach which could not be traversed without morelight. In another hour the moon would be up and the horse rested. 

When the meal was finished, each rested in his own way. O'Shea laidhimself flat upon his back, with a blanket over his feet. The boyslipped away, and was not seen until the waving grass on the tops of thehighest dunes became a fringe of silver. Until then Caius paced thevalley, coming occasionally in contact with the browsing pony; butneither his walk nor meditation was interrupted by more formidablepresence. 

"Ay--ee--ho--ee--ho!" It was a rallying call, a shrill cry, from O'Shea. It broke the silence the instant that the moon's first ray had touchedthe dune. The man must have been lying looking at the highest head, forwhen Caius heard the unexpected sound he looked round more than oncebefore he discovered its cause, and then knew that while he had beenwalking the whole heaven and earth had become lighter by imperceptibledegrees. As he watched now, the momentary brightening was veryperceptible. The heights and shadows of the sand-hills stood out tosight; he could see the line where the low herbage stopped and thewaving bent began. In the sky the stars faded in a pallid gulf of violetlight. The mystery of the place was less, its beauty a thousandfoldgreater: and the beauty was still of the dream-exciting kind that madehim long to climb all its hills and seek in all its hollows, for thereare some scenes that, by their very contour, suggest more than theydisplay, and in which the human mind cannot rid itself of the notionthat the physical aspect is not all that there is to be seen. Butwhatever the charm of the place, now that light had revealed it Caiusmust leave it. 

The party put themselves in line of march once more. The boy had gone onup where the wall of the dell was lowest, and Caius tramped besideO'Shea, who led the pony. 

Once up from the hollow, their eyes were dazzled at first with the flashof the moonlight upon the water. From the top of the sand ridge theycould see the sea out beyond the surf--a measureless purple waste onwhich far breakers rose and blossomed for a moment like a hedge ofwhitethorn in May, and sank again with a glint of black in the shadow ofthe next uprising. 

They went down once more where they could see nothing but the surf andthe sand-hills. The boy had walked far on; they saw his coated andcowled figure swaying with the motion of his walk on the shining beachin front. The tide was at its lowest. What the fishermen had said of itwas true: with the wind beating it up it had gone down but a third ofits rightful distance; and now the strip that it had to traverse to befull again seemed alarmingly narrow, for a great part of their journeywas still to be made. The two men got up on the cart; the boy leaped upwhen they reached him, before O'Shea could bring it to full stop forhim, and on they went. Even the pony seemed to realize that there wasneed of haste. 

They had travelled about two miles more when, in front of them, a capeof rock was seen jutting across the beach, its rocky headland stretchingfar into the sea. Caius believed that the end of their journey was near;he looked eagerly at the new land, and saw that there were houses uponthe top of the cliff. It seemed unnecessary even to ask if this wastheir destination. Secure in his belief, he willingly got off the cartat the base of the cliff, and trudged behind it, while O'Shea drove up atrack in the sand which had the similitude of a road; rough, soft, precipitous as it was, it still bore tracks of wheels and feet, wheretoo far inland to be washed by the waves. The sight of them was like thesight of shore to one who has been long at sea. They went up to the backof the cliff, and came upon its high grassy top; the road led throughwhere small houses were thickly clustered on either side. Caius lookedfor candle, or fire, or human being, and saw none, and they had nottravelled far along the street of this lifeless village when he saw thatthe road led on down the other side of the headland, and that the beachand the dune stretched ahead of them exactly as they stretched behind. 

"Is this a village of the dead?" he asked O'Shea. 

The man O'Shea seemed to have in him some freak of perverseness whichmade it hard for him to answer the simplest question. It was almost byforce that Caius got from him the explanation that the village was onlyused during certain fishing seasons, and abandoned during thewinter--unless, indeed, its houses were broken into by shipwreckedsailors, whose lives depended upon finding means of warmth. 

The cart descended from the cliff by the same sandy road, and the ponyagain trotted upon the beach; its trot was deceptive, for it had theappearance of making more way than it did. On they went--on, on, overthis wonderful burnished highroad which the sea and the moonlight hadlaid for their travel. Behind and before, look as they would, they couldsee only the weird white hills of sand, treeless, almost shadowless now, the seahorses foaming and plunging in endless line, and between them theroad, whose apparent narrowing in the far perspective was but an emblemof the truth that the waves were encroaching upon it inch by inch. 

CHAPTER V. 

DEVILRY. 

When the cart and its little company had travelled for almost anotherhour, a dark object in the midst of the line of foam caught their sight. It was the boy who first saw it, and he suddenly leaned forward, clutching O'Shea's arm as if in fear. 

The man looked steadily. 

"She's come in since we passed here before. "

The boy apparently said something, although Caius could not catch thevoice. 

"No, " said O'Shea; "there's cargo aboard of her yit, but the men are offof her. "

It was a black ship that, sailless and with masts pitifully aslant, wasfixed on the sand among the surf, and the movement of the water made herappear to labour forward as if in dying throes making effort to reachthe shore. 

The boy seemed to scan the prospect before him now far more eagerly thanbefore; but the wreck, which was, as O'Shea said, deserted, seemed to bethe only external object in all that gleaming waste. They passed on, drawing up for a minute near her at the boy's instigation, and scanningher decks narrowly as they were washed by the waves, but there was nosign of life. Before they had gone further Caius caught sight of thedark outline of another wreck; but this one was evidently of some weeks'standing, for the masts were gone and the hulk half broken through. There was still another further out. The mere repetition of the sadstory had effect to make the scene seem more desolate. It seemed as ifthe sands on which they trod must be strewed with the bleached skeletonsof sailors, and as if they embedded newly-buried corpses in theirbreast. The sandhills here were higher than they had been before, andthere were openings between them as if passages led into the interiorvalleys, so that Caius supposed that here in storms or in flood-tidesthe waves might enter into the heart of the dune. 

They had not travelled far beyond the first and nearest wreck, when themonotony of their journey was broken by a sudden strange excitementwhich seized on them all, and which Caius, although he felt it, did notat once understand. 

The pony was jerked back by the reins which O'Shea held, then turnedstaggering inland, and lashed forward by the whip, used for the firsttime that day. Caius, jerked against the side of the cart, lifted up abruised head, gazing in wonder to see nothing in the path; but he sawthat the boy had sprung lightly from the cart, and was standing higherup on the sand, his whole attitude betraying alarm as he gazedsearchingly at the ground. 

In a moment the pony reared and plunged, and then uttered a cry almosthuman in its fear. Then came the sensation of sinking, sinking with thevery earth itself. O'Shea had jumped from the cart and cut the traces. Caius was springing out, and felt his spring guided by a hand upon hisarm. He could not have believed that the boy had so much strength, yet, with a motion too quick for explaining words, he was guided to a certainpart of the sand, pushed aside like a child to be safe, while the boywith his next agile movement tugged at the portmanteaus that containedthe medical stores, and flung them at Caius' feet. 

It was a quicksand. The pony cried again--cried to them for help. Caiusnext found himself with O'Shea holding the creature's head, and aidingits mad plunging, even while his own feet sank deeper and deeper. Therewas a moment when they all three plunged forward together, and then thepony threw itself upon its side, by some wild effort extricating itsfeet, and Caius, prone upon the quivering head, rolled himself anddragged it forward. Then he felt strong hands lifting him and the horsetogether. 

What seemed strangest to Caius, when he could look about and think, wasthat he had now four companions--the boy, O'Shea, and two other men, coated and muffled--and that the four were all talking together eagerlyin a language of which he did not understand a word. 

He shook the wet sand from his clothes; his legs and arms were wet. Thepony stood in an entrance to a gap in the sand-hills, quivering andgasping, but safe, albeit with one leg hurt. The cart had sunk down tillits flat bottom lay on the top of the quicksand, and there appeared tofloat, for it sunk no further. A white cloud that had winged its way upfrom the south-west now drifted over the moon, and became black exceptat its edges. The world grew much darker, and it seemed colder, if thatwere possible. 

It soon occurred to Caius that the two men now added to their party hadeither met O'Shea by appointment, or had been lying in wait for thecart, knowing that the quicksand was also waiting to engulf it. Itappeared to him that their motives must be evil, and he was not slow tosuspect O'Shea of being in some plot with them. He had, of course, moneyupon him, enough certainly to attract the cupidity of men who couldseldom handle money, and the medical stores were also convertible intomoney. It struck him now how rash he had been to come upon this lonelydrive without any assurance of O'Shea's respectability. 

These thoughts came to him because he almost immediately perceived thathe was the subject of conversation. It seemed odd to stand so near themand not understand a word they said. He heard enough now to know thelanguage they were speaking was the patois that, in those parts, is thedescendant of the Jersey French. These men, then, were Acadians--the boyalso, for he gabbled freely to them. Either they had sinister designs onhim, or he was an obstruction to some purpose that they wished toaccomplish. This was evident now from their tones and gestures. Theywere talking most vehemently about him, especially the boy and O'Shea, and it was evident that these two disagreed, or at least could not forsome time agree, as to what was to be his fate. 

Caius was defenceless, for so peaceful was the country to which he wasaccustomed that he carried no weapon. He took his present danger littleto heart. There was a strange buoyancy--born, no doubt, of the bracingwind--in his spirit. If they were going to kill him--well, he would diehard; and a man can but die once. A laugh arose from the men; itsounded to him as strange a sound, for the time and place, as the almosthuman cry of the horse a few minutes before. Then O'Shea came towardshim with menacing gestures. The two men went back into the gap of thesand-hills from whence they must have come. 

"Look here, " said O'Shea roughly, "do ye value your life?"

"Certainly. "

Caius folded his arms, and made this answer with well-bred contempt. 

"And ye shall have your life, but on one condition. Take out of yourbags what's needed for dealing with the sick this noight, for there's adying man ye must visit before ye sleep, and the condition is that yewalk on to The Cloud by yourself on this beach without once lookingbehoind ye. Moind what I say! Ye shall go free--yerself, yer money, andyer midicines--if ye walk from here to the second house that is aloighthouse without once turning yer head or looking behoind ye. " Hepointed to the bags with a gesture of rude authority. "Take out what yeneed, and begone!"

"I shall do nothing of the sort, " replied Caius, his arms still folded. 

The boy had come near enough to hear what was said, but he did notinterfere. 

"And why not?" asked O'Shea, a jeer in his tones. 

"Because I would not trust one of you not to kill me as soon as my backwas turned. "

"And if your back isn't turned, and that pretty quick, too, ye'll notlive many hours. "

"I prefer to die looking death in the face; but it'll be hard for theman who attempts to touch me. "

"Oh! ye think ye'll foight for it, do ye?" asked O'Shea lightly; "butye're mistaken there--the death ye shall doie will admit of no foightingon your part. "

"There is something more in all this business than I understand. " Apartfrom the question whether he should die or live, Caius was puzzled tounderstand why his enemies had themselves fallen foul of the quicksand, or what connection the accident could have with the attack upon hislife. "There is more in this than I understand, " he repeated loudly. 

"Just so, " replied O'Shea, imperturbable; "there is more than ye canunderstand, and I offer ye a free passage to a safe place. Haven't yewits enough about ye to take it and be thankful?"

"I will not turn my back. " Caius reiterated his defiance. 

"And ye'll stroike out with yer fist at whatever comes to harm ye? Willye hit in the face of the frost and the wind if ye're left here toperish by cold, with your clothes wet as they are? or perhaps ye'll cometo blows with the quicksand if half a dozen of us should throw ye inthere. "

"There are not half a dozen of you, " he replied scornfully. 

"Come and see. " O'Shea did not offer to touch him, but he began to walktowards the opening in the dune, and dragged Caius after him by mereforce of words. "Come and see for yourself. What are ye afraid of, man?Come! if ye want to look death in the face, come and see what it isye've got to look at. "

Caius followed reluctantly, keeping his own distance. O'Shea passed theshivering pony, and went into the opening of the dune, which was now allin shadow because of the black cloud in the sky. Inside was a smallvalley. Its sand-banks might have been made of bleached bones, theylooked so gray and dead. Just within the opening was an unexpectedsight--a row of hooded and muffled figures stood upright in the sand. There was something appalling in the sight to Caius. Each man was placedat exactly the same distance from his fellow; they seemed to stand withheads bowed, and hands clasped in front of their breasts; faces andhands, like their forms, were hooded and muffled. Caius did not think, or analyze his emotion. No doubt the regular file of the men, suggestingdiscipline which has such terrible force for weal or woe, and theirattitudes, suggesting motives and thoughts of which he could form notthe faintest explanation, were the two elements which made the scenefearful to him. 

O'Shea stopped a few paces from the nearest figure, and Caius stopped afew paces nearer the opening of the dune. 

"Ye see these men?" said O'Shea. 

Caius did not answer. 

O'Shea raised his voice:

"I say before them what I have said, that if ye'll swear here beforeheaven, as a man of honour, that ye'll walk from here to the loighthouseon The Cloud--which ye shall find in the straight loine of thebeach--without once turning yer head or looking behoind ye, neither mannor beast nor devil shall do ye any hurt, and yer properties shall bereturned to ye when a cart can be got to take them. Will ye swear?"

Caius made no answer. He was looking intently. As soon as the tones ofO'Shea's voice were carried away by the bluster of the wind, as far asthe human beings there were concerned there was perfect stillness; thesurf and the wind might have been sweeping the dunes alone. 

"And if I will not swear?" asked Caius, in a voice that was loud enoughto reach to the last man in the long single rank. 

O'Shea stepped nearer him, and, as if in pretence of wiping his facewith his gloved hand, he sent him a hissing whisper that gave a suddenchange of friendliness and confidence to his voice, "Don't be a fool!swear it. "

"Are these men, or are they corpses?" asked Caius. 

The stillness of the forms before him became an almost unendurablespectacle. 

He had no sooner spoken than O'Shea appealed to the men, shouting wordsin the queer guttural French. And Caius saw the first man slowly raisehis hand as if in an attitude of oath-taking, and the second man didlikewise. O'Shea turned round and faced him, speaking hastily. Theshadow of the cloud was sending dark shudderings of lighter and darkershades across the sand hollow, and these seemed almost like a visiblebody of the wind that with searching blast drifted loose sand upon themall. With the sweep of the shadow and the wind, Caius saw the movementof the lifted hand go down the line. 

"I lay my loife upon it, " said O'Shea, "that if ye'll say on yer honouras a man, and as a gintleman, that ye'll not look behoind ye, ye shallgo scot-free. It's a simple thing enough; what harm's there in it?"

The boy had come near behind Caius. He said one soft word, "Promise!" orelse Caius imagined he said it. Caius knew at least what the boy wishedhim to do. 

The pony moved nearer, shivering with cold, and Caius realized that thecondition of wet and cold in which they were need not be prolonged. 

"I promise, " he shouted angrily, "and I'll keep the promise, whateverinfernal reason there may be for it; but if I'm attacked frombehind----" He added threats loud and violent, for he was very angry. 

Before he had finished speaking--the thought might have been brought bysome movement in the shadow of the cloud, and by the sound of the wind, or by his heated brain--but the thought came to him that O'Shea, underhis big fur-coat, had indulged in strange, harsh laughter. 

Caius cared nothing. He had made his decision; he had given his word; hehad no thought now but to take what of his traps he could carry and begone on his journey. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE SEA-MAID. 

Caius understood that he had still three miles of the level beach totread. At first he hardly felt the sand under his feet, they were sodead with cold. The spray from the roaring tide struck his facesideways. He had time now to watch each variation, each in and out ofthe dune, and he looked at them eagerly, as the only change that wasafforded to the monotony. Then for the first time he learned howcompletely a man is shut out from all one half of the world by thesimple command not to look behind him, and all the unseen half of hisworld became rife, in his thought, with mysterious creatures and theirworks. At first he felt that he was courting certain death by keepingthe word he had given; in the clap of the waves he seemed to hear thepistol-shot that was to be his doom, or the knife-like breath of thewind seemed the dagger in the hand of a following murderer. But as hewent on and no evil fate befell, his fear died, and only curiosityremained--a curiosity so lively that it fixed eagerly upon the stretchof the surf behind him, upon his own footsteps left on the soft sand, upon the sand-hills that he had passed, although they were almost thesame as the sand-hills that were before. It would have been a positivejoy to him to turn and look at any of these things. While his minddwelt upon it, he almost grudged each advancing step, because it putmore of the interesting world into the region from which he was shut outas wholly as if a wall of separation sprang up between the behind andbefore. 

By an effort of will he turned his thought from this desire, or fromconsidering what the mysterious something could be that it wasall-important for him not to see, or who it was that in this desolateplace would spy upon him if he broke his vow. 

When his activity had set the blood again coursing warmly in his veins, all that was paltry and depressing passed from his mind and heart, as amist is rolled away by the wind. The sweet, wild air, that in thoseregions is an elixir of life to the stranger, making him young if he beold, and if he be young making him feel as demigods felt in days ofyore, for a day and a night had been doing its work upon him. Mere lifeand motion became to him a delight such as he had never felt before; andwhen the moon came out again from the other side of the cloud, the sightof her beams upon surf and sand was like a rare wild joy. He was gladthat no one interfered with his pleasure, that he was, as far as heknew, alone with the clouds that were winging their way among moonbeamsin the violet sky, and with the waves and the wind with which he heldcompanionship. 

He had gone a mile, it might be more; he heard a step behind him. Invain he tried to convince himself that some noise natural to the lonelybeach deceived him. In the high tide of life that the bracing air hadbrought him, his senses were acute and true. He knew that he heard thisstep: it was light, like a child's; it was nimble, like a fawn's;sometimes it was very near him. He was not in the least afraid; but dowhat he would, his mind could form no idea of what creature it might bewho thus attended him. No dark or fearful picture crossed his mind justthen; all its images were good. 

The fleet of white clouds that were sailing in the sky rang glad changesupon the beauty of the moonlit scene. Half a mile or more Caius walkedlistening to the footstep; then he came on a wrecked boat buried in thesand, its rim laid bare by the tide. Caius struck his foot and fell uponit. 

Striking his head, stunned for a moment, then springing up again, in themotion of falling or rising, he knew not how, he saw the beach behindhim--the waves that were now nearing the foot of the dune, the trackbetween with his footsteps upon it, and, standing in this track, alertto fly if need be, the figure of a girl. Her dress was all blown by thewind, her curling hair was like a twining garland round her face, andher face--ah! that face: he knew it as well as, far better than he knewhis own; its oval curves, its dimpled sweetness, its laughing eyes. Justfor such brief seconds of time as were necessary for perfect recognitionhe saw it; and then, impelled by his former purpose--no time now for anew volition--he got himself up and walked on, with his eyes in front asbefore. 

He thought the sea-maid did not know that he had seen her, for herfootsteps came on after his own. Or, if she knew, she trusted him not toturn. That was well; she might trust him. Never in his life had Caiusfelt less temptation to do the thing that he held to be false. He knewnow, for he had seen the whole line of the beach, that there wasnothing there for him to fear, nothing that could give any adequatereason to any man to compel him to walk as he now walked. That did notmatter; he had given his word. In the physical exaltation of the hourthe best of him was uppermost. Like the angels, who walk in heavenlypaths, he had no desire to be a thing that could stoop from moralrectitude. The knowledge that his old love of the sea was his companiononly enhanced the strength of his vow, only made all that the strengthof vows mean more dear to him; and the moonlit shore was more beautiful, and life, each moment that he was then living, more absolutely good. 

So they went on, and he did not try to think where the sea-maid had comefrom, or whether the gray flapping dress and the girlish step were butthe phantom guise that she could don for the hour, or whether, if heshould turn and pursue her, she would drop from her upright height intothe scaly folds that he had once seen, and plunge into the waves, orwhether _that_ had been the masquerade, and she a true woman of theland. He did not know or care. Come what come might, his spirit walkedthe beach that night with the beautiful spirit that the face of thesea-maid interpreted to him. 

CHAPTER VII. 

THE GRAVE LADY. 

The hills of Cloud Island were a fair sight to see in the moonlight. When the traveller came close to them, the beach ended obviously in asandy road which led up on the island. There was a small white woodenhouse near the beach; there was candlelight within, but Caius took nonotice of it. The next building was a lighthouse, which stood threehundred yards farther on. The light looking seaward was not visible. Hepassed the distance swiftly, and no sooner were his feet level with thewall of the square wooden tower, than he turned about on the soft sandyroad and faced the wind that had been racing with him, and looked. Thescene was all as he might have expected to see it; but there was noliving creature in sight. He stood in the gale, bare-headed, looking, looking; he had no desire to enter the house. The sea-maid was not insight, truly; but as long as he stood alone in the moonlight scene, hefelt that her presence was with him. Then he remembered the dying man ofwhom he had been told, who lay in such need of his ministrations. Thethought came with no binding sense of duty such as he had feltconcerning the keeping of his vow. He would have scorned to do adishonourable thing in the face of the uplifting charm of the naturearound him, and, more especially, in the presence of his love; but whathad nature and this, her beautiful child, to do with the tending ofdisease and death? Better let the man die; better remain himself in thewholesome outside. He felt that he would put himself at variance withthe companions of the last glorious hour if he attended to the dictatesof this dolorous duty. Yet, because of a dull habit of duty he had, heturned in a minute, and went into the house where he had been told hewould receive guidance for the rest of his journey. 

He had no sooner knocked at the substantial door on the ground-floor ofthe lighthouse than it was opened by a sallow-faced, kindly-looking oldwoman. She admitted him, as if he were an expected comer, into a largesquare room, in which a lamp and a fire were burning. The room wasexquisitely neat and clean, as if the inspector of lighthouses might belooked for at any moment. The woman, who was French, spoke a littleEnglish, and her French was of a sort which Caius could understand andanswer. She placed a chair for him by the heated stove, asked where Mr. O'Shea and the cart had tarried, listened with great interest to a briefaccount of the accident in the quicksand, and, without more delay, poured out hot strong coffee, which Caius drank out of a large bowl. 

"Are you alone in the house?" asked Caius. The impression was strongupon him that he was in a place where the people bore a dangerous ormysterious character. A woman to be alone, with open doors, must eitherbe in league with those from whom danger might be feared, or mustpossess mysterious powers of self-defence. 

The woman assured him that she was alone, and perfectly safe. She gave akindly and careful glance at the traveller's boots, which had been wet, and brought him another pair. It was evident she knew who Caius was, andwherefore he had come to the island, and that her careful entertainmentof him was prearranged. It was arranged, too, that she should pass himon to the patient for whom his skill was chiefly desired that night asquickly as possible. She gave him only reasonable time to be warmed andfed, telling him the while what a good man this was who had lately beentaken so very ill, what an excellent husband and father, how importanthis life was to the welfare of the community. 

"For, " said she, "he is truly rather rich and very intelligent; so muchso that some would even say that he was the friend of Madame Le Maître. "Her voice had a crescendo of vehemence up to this last name. 

Caius had his marching orders once more. His hostess went out with himto the moonlit road to point his way. She showed him where the roaddivided, and which path to take, and said that he must then pass threehouses and enter the fourth. She begged him, with courteous authority, to hasten. 

The houses were a good way apart. After half an hour's fast walking, Caius came to the appointed place. The house was large, oflight-coloured wood, shingled all over roof and sides, and the light andshades in the lapping of the shingles gave the soft effect almost as offeathers in the lesser light of night. It stood in a large compound ofundulating grassy ground. 

The whole lower floor of this house was one room. In the middle of it, on a small pallet bedstead, lay the sick man. Beside him was a womandressed in gray homespun, apparently his wife, and another woman whowore a dress not unlike that of a nun, a white cap being bandagedclosely round her forehead, cheeks and chin. The nun-like dress gave hergreat dignity. She seemed to Caius a strong-featured woman of largestature, apparently in early middle age. He was a good deal surprisedwhen he found that this was Madame Le Maître. He had had no definitenotion of her, but this certainly did not fulfil his idea. 

It was but the work of a short time to do all that could be done thatnight for the sick man, to leave the remedies that were to be used. Itwas now midnight. The hot stove in the room, causing reaction from thestrongly-stimulating air, made him again feel heavy with sleep. Thenun-like lady, who had as yet said almost nothing to him, now touchedhim on the shoulder and beckoned him to follow her. She led him out intothe night again, round the house and into a barn, in either side ofwhich were tremendous bins of hay. 

"Your house, " she said, "is a long way from here, and you are verytired. In the house here there is the infection. " Here she pointed himto the hay, and, giving him a warm blanket, bade him good-night. 

Caius shut the door, and found that the place was lit by dusky rays ofmoonlight that came through chinks in its walls. He climbed the ladderthat reached to the top of the hay, and rolled himself and his blanketwarmly in it. The barn was not cold. The airiness of the walls was arelief to him after the infected room. Never had couch felt moreluxurious. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

HOW THEY LIVED ON THE CLOUD. 

When the chinks of moonlight had been replaced by brighter chinks ofsunlight, the new doctor who had come so gallantly to the aid of thesufferers on Cloud Island opened his eyes upon his first day there. 

He heard some slight sounds, and looked over the edge of his bed to seea little table set forth in the broad passage between the two stores ofhay. A slip of a girl, of about fourteen years of age, was arrangingdishes upon it. When Caius scrambled down, she informed him, withchildish timidity of mien, that Madame Le Maître had said that he was tohave his breakfast there before he went in to see "father. " The childspoke French, but Caius spoke English because it relieved his mind to doso. 

"Upon my word!" he said, "Madame Le Maître keeps everything running invery good order, and takes prodigious care of us all. "

"Oh, oui, monsieur, " replied the child sagely, judging from his look ofamusement and the name he had repeated that this was the proper answer. 

The breakfast, which was already there, consisted of fish, delicatelybaked, and coffee. The young doctor felt exceedingly odd, sitting in thecart-track of a barn and devouring these viands from a breakfast-tablethat was tolerably well set out with the usual number of dishes andcondiments. The big double door was closed to keep out the cold wind, but plenty of air and numerous sunbeams managed to come in. The sunbeamswere golden bars of dust, crossing and interlacing in the twilight ofthe windowless walls. The slip of a girl in her short frock remained, perhaps from curiosity, perhaps because she had been bidden to do so, but she made herself as little obvious as possible, standing up againstone corner near the door and shyly twisting some bits of hay in herhands. Caius, who was enjoying himself, discovered a new source ofamusement in pretending to forget her presence and then looking at herquickly, for he always found the glance of her big gray eyes was beingwithdrawn from his own face, and child-like confusion ensued. 

When he had eaten enough, he set to his proper work with haste anddiligence. He made the girl tell him how many children there were, andfind them all for him, so that in a trice he had them standing in a rowin the sunlight outside the barn, with their little tongues all out, that the state of their health might be properly inspected. Then he wentin to his patient of the night before. 

The disease was diphtheria. It was a severe case; but the man had beenhealthy, and Caius approved the arrangements that Madame Le Maître hadmade to give him plenty of air and nourishment. 

The wife was alone with her husband this morning, and when Caius haddone all that was necessary, and given her directions for the properprotection of herself and the children, she told him that her eldestgirl would go with him to the house of Madame Le Maître. That lady, said she simply, would tell him where he was to go next, and all he wasto do upon the island. 

"Upon my word!" said Caius again to himself, "it seems I am to be takencare of and instructed, truly. "

He had a sense of being patronized; but his spirits were high--nothingdepressed him; and, remembering the alarming incident of the nightbefore, he felt that the lady's protection might not be unnecessary. 

When he got to the front of the house, for the first time in the morninglight, he saw that the establishment was of ample size, but kept with nocare for a tasteful appearance. There was no path of any sort leadingfrom the gate in the light paling to the door; all was a thick carpet ofgrass, covering the unlevelled ground. The grass was waving madly in thewind, which coursed freely over undulating fields that here displayed noshrubs or trees of any sort. Caius wondered if the wind always blew onthese islands; it was blowing now with the same zest as the day before;the sun poured down with brilliancy upon everything, and the sea, seenin glimpses, was blue and tempestuous. Truly, it seemed a land which thesun and the moon and the wind had elected to bless with lavishself-giving. 

When Caius opened the gate of the whitewashed paling, the girl who wasto be his guide came round from the back of the house after him, and onher track came a sudden rush of all the other children, who, with curlsand garments flying in the wind and delightful bursts of suddenlaughter, came to stand in a row again with their tongues outstretchedat Caius' retreating form. 

The girl could only talk French, and she talked very little of that, giving him "yes" or "no" demurely, as they went up the road which raninland through the island hills, keeping about midway between sea andsea. Caius saw that the houses and small farms on either side resembledthose which he had seen on the other island. Small and rough many ofthem were; but their whitewashed walls, the strong sunshine, and thelarge space of grass or pine shrubs that was about each, gave them anappearance of cleanliness. There was no sign of the want or squalor thathe had expected; indeed, so prosperous did many of the houses look, thathe himself began to have an injured feeling, thinking that he had beenbrought to befriend people who might very well have befriendedthemselves. 

It was when they came out at a dip in the hills near the outer sea againthat the girl stopped, and pointing Caius to a house within sight, wentback. This house in the main resembled the other larger houses of theisland; but pine and birch trees were beginning to grow high about it, and on entering its enclosure Caius trod upon a gravel path, and noticedbanks of earth that in the summer time had held flowers. In front of thewhite veranda two powerful mastiffs were lying in the sun. These lionswere not chained; they were looking for him before he appeared, but didnot take the trouble to rise at the sight of him; only a low and ominousrumble, as of thunder beneath the earth, greeted his approach, and gaveCaius the strong impression that, if need was, they would arise to somepurpose. 

A young girl opened the door. She was fresh and pretty-looking, but ofplebeian figure and countenance. Her dress was again gray homespun, hanging full and short about her ankles. Her manner was different fromthat of those people he had been lately meeting, for it had that gentlereserve and formality that bespeaks training. She ushered him into agood-sized room, where three other girls like herself were engaged insewing. Sitting at a table with a book, from which she had apparentlybeen reading to them, was the woman in the nun-like dress whom he hadmet before. The walls of the room were of unpainted pinewood, planed toa satin finish, and adorned with festoons of gray moss such as hangsfrom forest boughs. This was tied with knots of red bittersweet berries;the feathers of sea-birds were also displayed on the walls, and chainsof their delicate-coloured eggs were hanging there. Caius had notstepped across the threshold before he began to suspect that he hadpassed from the region of the real into the ideal. 

"She is a romantic-minded woman, " he said to himself. "I wonder if shehas much sense, after all?"

Then the woman whom he was thus inwardly criticising rose and cameacross the room to meet him. Her perfect gravity, her dignity ofbearing, and her gracious greeting, impressed him in spite of himself. Pictures that one finds in history and fiction of lady abbesses rosebefore his mind; it was thus that he classified her. His opinion as tothe conscious romance of her life altered, for the woman before him wasvery real, and he knew in a moment that she had seen and suffered much. Her eyes were full of suffering and of solicitude; but it did not seemto him that the suffering and solicitude were in any way connected witha personal need, for there was also peace upon her face. 

The room did not contain much furniture. When Caius sat down, and thelady had resumed her seat, he found, as is apt to be the way in emptyrooms, that the chairs were near the wall, and that he, sitting facingher, had left nearly the room's width between them. The sewing maidenslooked at them with large eyes, and listened to everything that wassaid; and although they were silent, except for the sound of theirstitching, it was so evident that their thoughts must form a runningcommentary that it gave Caius an odd feeling of acting in company with adramatic chorus. The lady in front of him had no such feeling; there wasnothing more evident about her than that she did not think of how sheappeared or how she was observed. 

"You are very good to have come. " She spoke with a slight French accent, whether natural or acquired he could not tell. Then she left thatsubject, and began at once to tell the story of the plague upon theisland--when it began, what efforts she and a few others had made toarrest it, the carelessness and obstinacy with which the greater part ofthe people had fostered it, its progress. This was the substance of whatshe said; but she did not speak of the best efforts as being her own, nor did she call the people stupid and obstinate. She only said:

"They would not have their houses properly cleaned out; they would notwash or burn garments that were infected; they would not usedisinfectants, even when we could procure them; they will not yet. Youmay say that in this wind-swept country there can be nothing in natureto foster such a disease, nothing in the way the houses are built; butthe disease came here on a ship, and it is in the houses of the peoplethat it lingers. They will not isolate the sick; they will not----"

She stopped as if at a loss for a word. She had been speaking in avoice whose music was the strain of compassion. 

"In fact, " said Caius, with some impatience, "they are a set of fools, and worse, for they won't take a telling. Your duty is surely done. Theydo not deserve that you should risk your life nursing them; they simplydeserve to be left to suffer. "

She looked at him for a minute, as if earnestly trying to master a viewof the case new to her. 

"Yes, " speaking slowly. He saw that her hands, which were clasped in herlap, pressed themselves more closely together--"yes, that is what theydeserve; but, you see, they are very ignorant. They do not see theimportance of these precautions; they have not believed me; they willnot believe you. They think quite honestly and truly that they will geton well enough in doing their own way. "

"Pig-headed!" commented Caius. Then, perceiving that he had not quitecarried her judgment along with his: "You yourself, madam, have admittedthat they do not deserve that either you or I should sacrifice our livesto them. "

"Ah, no, " she replied, trouble of thought again in her eyes; "they donot deserve that. But what do we deserve--you and I?"

There was no studied effect in the question. She was like one trying tothink more clearly by expressing her thought aloud. 

"Madam, " replied he, the smile of gallantry upon his lips, "I have nodoubt that you deserve the richest blessings of earth and heaven. Formyself----" He shrugged his shoulders, just about to say conventionally, flippantly, that he was a sad, worthless fellow, but in some way hersincerity made him sincere, and he finished: "I do not know that I havedone anything to forfeit them. "

He supposed, as soon as he had said the words, that she would have atheological objection to this view, and oppose it by rote; but there wasnothing of disapproval in her mien; there was even a gleam of greaterkindliness for him in her eye, and she said, not in answer, but asmaking a remark by the way:

"That is just as I supposed when I asked you to come. You are like theyoung ruler, who could not have been conceited because our Lord feltgreatly attracted to him. "

Before this Caius had had a pleasing consciousness, regarding himself asan interesting stranger talking to a handsome and interested woman. Nowhe had wit enough to perceive that her interest in him never dipped tothe level of ordinary social relationships. He felt a sense ofremoteness, and did not even blush, though knowing certainly thatsatire, although it was not in her mind, was sneering at him from behindthe circumstance. 

The lady went right on, almost without pause, taking up the thread ofher argument: "But when the angels whisper to us that the best blessingsof earth and heaven are humility and faith and the sort of love thatdoes not seek its own, do we get up at once and spend our time learningthese things? or do we just go on as before, and think our own way goodenough? 'We are fools and worse, and will not take a telling. '" A smilebroke upon her lip now for the first time as she looked at him. "'Pig-headed!'" she said. 

Caius had seen that smile before. It passed instantly, and she satbefore him with grave, unruffled demeanour; but all his thoughts andfeelings seemed a-whirl. He could not collect his mind; he could notremember what she had said exactly; he could not think what to answer;indeed, he could not think at all. There had been a likeness to hisphantastic lady-love of the sea; then it was gone again; but it left himwith all his thoughts confounded. At length--because he felt that hemust look like a fool indeed--he spoke, stammering the first thing thatoccurred to him:

"The patient that I have seen did not appear to be in a house that wasill-ventilated or--or--that is, he was isolated from the rest of thefamily. "

He perceived that the lady had not the slightest knowledge of what itwas that had really confused him. He knew that in her eyes, in the eyesof the maidens, it must appear that her home-thrust had gone to hisheart, that he had changed the subject because too weak to be able toanswer her. He was mortified at this, but he could not retrace his stepsin the conversation, for she had already answered him. 

The household he had already visited, she said, with a few others, hadhelped her by following sanitary rules; and then she went on talkingabout what those rules were, what could and could not be done in thecircumstances of the families affected. 

As she talked on, Caius knew that the thing he had thought must be falseand foolish. This woman and that other maiden were not the same inthought, or character, or deed, or aspect. Furthermore, what experiencehe had made him feel certain that the woman who had known him in thatrelationship could not be so indifferent to his recognition, soindifferent to all that was in him to which her beauty appealed, asthis woman was, and of this woman's indifference he felt convinced. 

The provision made for the board and lodging of the new doctor wasexplained to him. It was not considered safe for him to live with any ofthe families of the island. A very small wooden building, originallybuilt as a stable, but never used, had been hastily remodelled into ahouse for him. It was some way further down the winding road, withinsight of the house of Madame Le Maître. 

Caius was taken to this new abode, and found that it contained tworooms, furnished with the necessities and many of the comforts of life. The stove was good; abundance of fuel was stacked near the house; simplecooking utensils hung in the outer room; adjoining it, or rather, in abit of the same building set apart, was a small stable, in which a verygood horse was standing. The horse was for his use. If he could be hisown bed-maker, cook, and groom, it was evident that he would lack fornothing. A man whom Madame Le Maître sent showed Caius his quarters, anddelivered to him the key; he also said that Madame Le Maître would beready in an hour to ride over the island with him and introduce him toall the houses in which there was illness. 

Caius was left for the hour to look over his establishment and makefriends with his horse. It was all very surprising. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE SICK AND THE DEAD. 

The bit of road that lay between Madame Le Maître's house and the houseallotted to Caius led, winding down a hill, through a stunted fir-wood. The small firs held out gnarled and knotty branches towards the road;their needles were a dark rich green. 

Down this road Caius saw the lady come riding. Her horse was a beautifulbeast, hardly more than a colt, of light make and chestnut colour. Sheherself was not becomingly attired; she wore just the same loose blackdress that she had worn in the house, and over the white cap a blackhood and cloak were muffled. No doubt in ancient times, before carriageswere in use, ladies rode in such feminine wrappings; but the taste ofCaius had been formed upon other models. He mounted his own horse andjoined her on the road without remark. He had found no saddle, only ablanket with girths, and upon this he supposed he looked quite asawkward as she did. The lady led, and they rode on across the island. 

Caius knew that now it was the right time to tell Madame Le Maître whathad occurred the night before, and the ill-usage he had suffered. As sheappeared to be the most important person on the island, it was rightthat she should know of the mysterious band of bandits upon thebeach--if, indeed, she did not already know; perhaps it was by power ofthese she reigned. He found himself able to conjecture almost anything. 

When he had quickened his horse and come beside her for the purpose ofrelating his adventure, she began to speak to him at once. She told himwhat number of cases of illness were then on her list--six in all. Shetold him the number who had already died; and then they came past thecemetery upon the hillside, and she pointed out the new-made graves. Itappeared that, although at that time there was an abatement in thenumber of cases, diphtheria had already made sad ravages among thelittle population; and as the winter would cause the people to shut uptheir houses more and more closely, it was certain to increase ratherthan to diminish. Then Madame Le Maître told him of one case, and ofanother, in which the family bereavement seemed particularly sad. Thestories she told had great detail, but they were not tedious. Caiuslistened, and forgot that her voice was musical or that her hood andcloak were ugly; he only thought of the actors in the short sad idyllsof the island that she put before him. 

When they entered the first house, he discovered that she herself hadbeen in the habit of visiting each of the sick every day as nurse, and, as far as her simple skill could go, as doctor too. In this house it wasa little child that lay ill, and as soon as Caius saw it he ceased tohope for its recovery. They used the new remedies that he had broughtwith him, and when he looked round for someone who could continue toapply them, he found that the mother was already dead, and the fathertook no charge of the child--he was not there. A half-grown boy of aboutfifteen was its only nurse, and he was not deft or wise, although love, or a rude sense of conscience, had kept him from deserting his post. 

"When we have visited the others, I will come back and remain, " saidMadame Le Maître. 

So they rode on down the hill and along the shingled beach that edged alagoon. Here the sea lapped softly and they were sheltered from thewind. Here, too, they saw the other islands lying in the crescent theycomposed, and they saw the waves of the bay break on the sand-bank thatwas the other arm of the lagoon. Still Caius did not tell about hisadventure of the night before. The lady looked preoccupied, as if shewas thinking about the Angel of Death that was hovering over the cottagethey had left. 

The next house was a large one, and here two children were ill. Theywere well cared for, for two of the young girls whom he had seen inMadame Le Maître's house were there for the time to nurse them. 

They took one of these damsels with them when they went on. She waswilling to walk, but Caius set her upon his horse and led it; in thisway they made quicker progress. Up a hill they went, and over fields, and in a small house upon a windy slope they found the mother of afamily lying very ill. Here, after Caius had said all that there was tosay, and Madame Le Maître, with skilful hands, had done all that shecould do in a short time, they left the young girl. 

At the next and last house of their round, where the day before onechild had been ill, they now found three tossing and crying with painand fever. When it was time for them to go, Caius saw his companionsilently wring her hands at the thought of leaving them, for the mother, worn out and very ignorant, was the only nurse. It did not seem that itcould be helped. Caius went out to his horse, and Madame Le Maître tohers, but he saw her stand beside it as if too absent in mind to springto its back; her face was looking up into the blue above. 

"You are greatly troubled, " said Caius. 

"Oh yes, " her voice was low, but it came like the sound of a cry. "I donot know what to do. All these months I have begged and entreated thepeople to keep away from those houses where there was illness. It wastheir only hope. And now that they begin to understand that, I cannotbring the healthy to nurse the sick, even if they were willing to come. They will take no precautions as we do. It is not safe; I have triedit. "

She did not look at Caius, she was looking at the blue that hung overthe sea which lay beneath them, but the weariness of a long long effortwas in her tone. 

"Could we not manage to bring them all to one house that would serve asa hospital?"

"Now that you have come, perhaps we can, " she said, "but at present----"She looked helplessly at the door of the house they had left. 

"At present I will nurse these children, " Caius said. "I do not need tosee the others again until evening. "

He tied his horse in a shed, and nursed the children until the moon wasbright. Then, when he had left them as well as might be for the night, he set out to return on his former track by memory. The island was verypeaceful; on field or hill or shore he met no one, except here and therea plodding fisherman, who gave him "Good-evening" without apparentlyknowing or caring who he was. The horse they knew, no doubt, that wasenough. 

He made the same round as before, beginning at the other end. At thehouse where the woman was ill the girl who was nursing her remained. Atthe next house the young girl, who was dressed for the road, ingenuouslyclaimed his protection for her homeward way. 

"I will go with you, monsieur, it will be more safe for me. "

So he put her on his horse, but they did not talk to one another. 

At the third house they found Madame Le Maître weeping passionately overa dead baby, and the lout of a boy weeping with her. It surprised Caiusto feel suddenly that he could almost have wept, too, and yet hebelieved that the child was better dead. 

Someone had been out into the winter fields and gathered the small whiteeverlasting flowers that were still waving there, and twined them in thecurls of the baby's hair, and strewed them upon the meagre gray sheetthat covered it. 

When they rode down to the village they were all quite silent. Caiusfelt as if he had lived a long time upon this island. His brain was fullof plans for a hospital and for disinfecting the furniture of thehouses. 

He visited the good man in whose barn he had slept the preceding night. He went to his little house and fed himself and his horse. He discoveredhis portmanteaus that O'Shea had promised to deliver, and found thattheir contents had not been tampered with; but even this did not bringhis mind back with great interest to the events of the former night. Hewas thinking of other things, and yet he hardly knew of what he wasthinking. 

CHAPTER X. 

A LIGHT-GIVING WORD. 

The next morning, before Caius went out, he wrote a short statement ofall that had occurred beside the quicksand. The motive that prompted himto do this was the feeling that it would be difficult for him to makethe statement to Madame Le Maître verbally. He began to realize that itwas not easy for him to choose the topics of conversation when they weretogether. 

She did not ride with him next day, as now he knew the road, but in thecourse of the morning he saw her at the house where the three childrenwere ill, and she came out into the keen air with him to ask somequestions, and no doubt for the necessary refreshment of leaving theclose house, for she walked a little way on the dry, frozen grass. 

Heavy as was the material of her cloak and hood, the strong wind toyedwith its outer parts as with muslin, but it could not lift theclosely-tied folds that surrounded her face and heavily draped herfigure. Caius stood with her on the frozen slope. Beneath them theycould see the whole stretch of the shining sand-dune that led to thenext island, the calm lagoon and the rough water in the bay beyond. Itdid not seem a likely place for outlaws to hide in; the sun poured downon every hill and hollow of the sand. 

Caius explained then that his portmanteaus, with the stores, had arrivedsafely; but that he had reason to think that the man O'Shea was nottrusty, that, either out of malice or fear of the companions among whomhe found himself, he had threatened his, Dr. Simpson's, life in the mostunwarrantable manner. He then presented the statement which he had drawnup, and commended it to her attention. 

Madame Le Maître had listened to his words without obvious interest; infact, he doubted if she had got her mind off the sick children beforeshe opened the paper. He would have liked to go away now, leaving thepaper with her, but she did not give him that opportunity. 

"Ah! this is----" Then, more understandingly, "This is an account youhave written of your journey hither?"

Caius intimated that it was merely a complaint against O'Shea. Yet hefelt sure, while she was reading it, that, if she had any liveliness offancy, she must be interested in its contents, and if she had properappreciation, she must know that he had expressed himself well. When shehad finished, however, instead of coveting the possession of thedocument, she gently gave it back to him. 

"I am sorry, " she said sincerely, "that you were put to inconvenience. It was so kind of you to come, that I had hoped to make your journey ascomfortable as possible; but the sands are very treacherous, not becausethe quicksands are large or deep, but because they shift in stormyweather, sometimes appearing in one place, and sometimes in another. Ithas been explained"--she was looking at him now, quite interested inwhat she was saying--"by men who have visited these islands, that thisis to be accounted for by the beds of gypsum that lie under the sand, for under some conditions the gypsum will dissolve. "

The explanation concerning the gypsum was certainly interesting, but thenature of the quicksand was not the point which Caius had broughtforward. 

"It is this fact, that one cannot tell where the sand will be soft, thatmakes it necessary to have a guide in travelling over the beach. Thepeople here become accustomed to the appearance of the soft places, butit seems that O'Shea must have been deceived by the moonlight. "

"I do not blame him for the accident, " said Caius, "but for whathappened afterwards. "

Her slight French accent gave to each of her words a quaint, distinctform of its own. "O'Shea is--he is what you might call _funny_ in hisway of looking at things. " She paused a moment, as if entirely consciousof the inadequacy of the explanation. "I do not think, " she continued, as if in perplexity, "that I can explain this matter any more; but ifyou will talk to O'Shea----"

"Madam, " burst out Caius, "can it be that there is a large band oflawless men who have their haunts so near this island, and you do notknow of it? That, " he added, with emphatic reproach, "is impossible. "

"I never heard of any such band of men. "

Madame Le Maître spoke gently, and the dignity of her gentleness wassuch that Caius was ashamed of his vehemence and his reproach. What hewondered at, what he chafed at, was, that she showed no wonderconcerning an incident which her last statement made all the moreremarkable. She began to turn to go towards the house, and the mind ofCaius hit upon the one weak point in her own acknowledged view of thematter. 

"You have said that it is not safe for a stranger to walk upon the sandswithout a guide; if you doubt my statement that these men threatened mylife, it yet remains that I was left to finish my journey alone. I donot believe that there was danger myself. I do not believe that a manwould sink over his head in these holes; but according to their beliefand yours, madam----"

He stopped, for she had turned round with a distinct flash ofdisapproval in her eyes. 

"I do not doubt your statement. " She paused, and he knew that hisaccusation had been rude. "It would not occur to me"--there was stillthe slight quaintness of one unaccustomed to English--"that you could doanything unworthy of a gentleman. " Another pause, and Caius knew that hewas bound over to keep the peace. "I think O'Shea got himself intotrouble, and that he did the best he could for you; but O'Shea lives notfar from your own house. He is not my servant, except that he rents myhusband's land. " She paused again. 

Caius would have urged that he had understood otherwise, or thathitherto he had not found O'Shea either civil or communicative; but itappeared that the lady had something more to say after her emphasis ofpause, and when she said it Caius bid her good-day without makingfurther excuse or justification. She said:

"I did not understand from O'Shea that he allowed you to walk on thesands without some one who would have warned you if there had beendanger. "

When Caius was riding on his way, he experienced something of thatfeeling of exaltation that he had felt in the presence of hisinexplicable lady-love. Had he not proof at least now that she was nodream or phantasy, and more than that, that she inhabited the same smallland with him? These people knew her; nay (his mind worked quickly), wasit not evident that she had been the link of connection between them andhimself? She knew him, then--his home, his circumstances, his address. (His horse was going now where and how it would; the man's mind wasconfounded by the questions that came upon it pell-mell, none waitingfor an answer. ) In that other time when she had lived in the sea, and hehad seen her from the desolate bit of coast, who was she? Where had shereally lived? In what way could she have gained her informationconcerning him? What could have tempted her to play the part of a fishything? He remembered the monstrous skin that had covered her; heremembered her motion in the water. Then he thought of her in the grayhomespun dress, such as a maid might trip her garden in, as he had seenher travelling between the surf and the dune in the winter blast. Well, he lived in an enchanted land; he had to deal with men and women of noordinary stuff and make, but they acknowledged their connection withher. He was sure that she must be near him. The explanation mustcome--of that, burning with curiosity as he was, he recked little. Ameeting must come; all his pulses tingled with the thought. It was athought of such a high sort of bliss to him that it seemed to wrap andenfold his other thoughts; and when he remembered again to guide hishorse--all that day as he went about his work--he lived in it and workedin it. 

He went that evening to visit O'Shea, who lived in a good-sized househalf a mile or so from his own. From this interview, and from the cluewhich Madame Le Maître had given, he began strongly to suspect that, forsome reason unknown, O'Shea's threatenings were to be remembered more inthe light of a practical joke than as serious. As to where the men hadcome from who had played their part, as to where the boy had gone to, orwhether the boy and the lady were one--on these heads he got no light. The farmer affected stupidity--affected not to understand his questions, or answered them with such whimsical information on the wrong point thatlittle was revealed. Yet Caius did not quarrel with O'Shea. Was it notpossible that he, rude, whimsical man that he was, might have influencewith the sea-maid of the laughing face?

Next morning Caius received a formal message--the compliments of MadameLe Maître, and she would be glad if he would call upon her before hewent elsewhere. He passed again between the growling mastiffs, and foundthe lady with her maidens engaged in the simple household tasks thatwere necessary before they went to their work of mercy. Madame Le Maîtrestood as she spoke to him:

"When I wrote to you I said that if you came to us you would have nochance of returning until the spring. I find that that is not true. Ourwinter has held off so long that another vessel from the mainland hascalled--you can see her lying in the bay. She will be returning toPicton to-morrow. I think it right to tell you this; not that we do notneed you now as much as we did at first; not but that my hope andcourage would falter if you went; but now that you have seen the needfor yourself, how great or how little it is, just as you may think, youought to reconsider, and decide whether you will stay or not. "

Caius spoke hastily:

"I will stay. "

"Think! it is for four months of snow and ice, and you will receive noletters, see no one that you could call a friend. "

"I will stay. "

"You have already taught me much; with the skill that you have impartedand the stores that you have brought, which I will pay for, we should bemuch better off than if you had not come. We should still feel onlygratitude to you. "

"I have no thought of leaving. "

"Remember, you think now that you have come that it is only a handful ofpeople that you can benefit, and they will not comprehend the sacrificethat you have made, or be very grateful. "

"Yes, I think that, " replied Caius, admitting her insight. "At the sametime, I will remain. "

She sighed, and her sigh was explained by her next words:

"Yet you do not remain for love of the work or the people. "

Caius felt that his steady assertion that he would remain had perhapsappeared to vaunt a heroism that was not true. He supposed that she hadseen his selfishness of motive, and that it was her time now to let himsee that she had not much admiration for him, so that he might make hischoice without bias. 

"It is true that I do not love the people, but I will pass the winterhere. "

If the lady had had the hard thought of him that he attributed to her, there was no further sign of it, for she thanked him now with agratitude so great that silent tears trembled in her eyes. 

CHAPTER XI. 

THE LADY'S HUSBAND. 

It was impossible but that Caius should take a keen interest in hismedical work. It was the first time that he had stood alone to fightdisease, and the weight of the responsibility added zest to his care ofeach particular case. It was, however, natural to him to be moreinterested in the general weal than in the individual, more interestedin a theoretical problem than in its practical working. His mind wasconcerned now as to where and how the contagion hid itself, reappearingas it had done, again and again in unlikely places; for there could beassuredly no home for it in air, or sea, or land. Nor could drains be atfault, for there were none. Next to this, the subject most constantly inhis mind was the plan of the hospital. 

Madame Le Maître had said to him: "I have tried to persuade the peopleto bring their sick to beds in my house, where we would nurse them, butthey will not. It is because they are angry to think that the sick fromdifferent families would be put together and treated alike. They havegreat notions of the differences between themselves, and they cannotrealize the danger, or believe that this plan would avert it; but nowthat you have come, no doubt you will be able to explain to them moreclearly. Perhaps they will listen to you, because you are a man and adoctor. Also, what I have said will have had time to work. You may reapwhere I have sown. "

She had looked upon him encouragingly, and Caius had felt encouraged;but when he began to talk to the people, both courage and patiencequickly ebbed. He could not countenance the plan of bringing the sickinto the house where Madame Le Maître and the young girls lived. Hewanted the men who were idle in the winter time to build a temporaryshed of pine-wood, which would have been easy enough, but the menlaughed at him. The only reason that Caius did not give them back scornfor scorn and anger for their lazy indifference was the reason thatformed his third and greatest interest in his work; this was his desireto please Madame Le Maître. 

If he had never known and loved the lady of the sea, he thought that hisdesire to please Madame Le Maître would have been almost the same. Sheexercised over him an inexplicable influence, and he would have feltalmost superstitious at being under this spell if he had not observedthat everyone who came much in contact with her, and who was able toappreciate her, was ruled also, and that, not by any claim of authorityshe put forth, but just because it seemed to happen so. She was moreunconscious of this influence than anyone. Those under her rulecomprised one or two of the better men of the island, many of the poorwomen, the girls in her house, and O'Shea. With regard to himself, Caiusknew that her influence, if not augmented, was supplemented, by hisbelief that in pleasing her he was making his best appeal to the favourof the woman he loved. 

He never from the first day forgot his love in his work. His businesswas to do all that he could to serve Madame Le Maître, whose heart wasin the healing of the people, but his business also was to find out theanswer to the riddle in which his own heart was bound up. The first stepin this, obviously, was to know more about Madame Le Maître and O'Shea. The lady he dared not question; the man he questioned with persistencyand with what art he could command. 

It was one night, not a week after his advent, that he had so far cometo terms with O'Shea that he sat by the stove in the latter's house, anddid what he could to keep up conversation with little aid from his host. 

O'Shea sat on one wooden chair, with his stockinged feet crossed uponanother, and his legs forming a bridge between. He was smoking, and inthe lamplight his smooth, queer face looked like a brown apple that hadbegun to shrivel--just begun, for O'Shea was not old, and only a littlewrinkled. 

His wife came often into the room, and stood looking with interest atCaius. She was a fair woman, with a broad tranquil face and much lighthair that was brushed smoothly. 

Caius talked of the weather, for the snow was falling. Then, afterawhile:

"By the way, O'Shea, _who_ is Madame Le Maître?"

The other had not spoken for a long time; now he took his clay pipe outof his mouth, and answered promptly:

"An angel from heaven. "

"Ah, yes; that, of course. "

Caius stroked his moustache with the action habitual to drawing-roomgallantry; then, instead of persisting, he formed his question a littledifferently:

"Who is Mr. Le Maître?"

"Sea-captain, " said O'Shea. 

"Oh! then _where_ is he?"

"Don't know. "

"Isn't that rather strange, that his wife should be here, and that youshould not know where the husband is?"

"I can't see the ships on the other side of the world. "

"Where did he go to?"

"Well, when he last sailed"--deliberately--"he went to Newcastle. Hisship is what they call a tramp; it don't belong to any loine. So atNewcastle she was hired to go to Africy. Like enough, there she gotcargo for some place else. "

"Oh! a very long voyage. "

"She carries steam; the longest voyage comes to an end quick enough inthese days. "

"Has Madame Le Maître always lived on this island? Was she marriedhere?"

"She came here a year this October past. She came from a place near thePierced Rock, south of Gaspé Basin. I lived there myself. I came herebecause the skipper had good land here that she said I could farm. "

Caius meditated on this. 

"Then, you have known her ever since she was a child?"

"Saw her married. "

"What does her husband look like?"

"Well"--a long pause of consideration--"like a man. "

"What sort of a man?"

"Neither like you nor me. "

"I never noticed that we were alike. "

"You trim your beard, I haven't any; the skipper, he's hairy. "

Caius conceived a great disgust for the captain. He felt pretty wellconvinced also that he was no favourite with O'Shea. He would have likedmuch to ask if Madame Le Maître liked her husband, but if his ownrefinement had not forbidden, he had a wholesome idea that O'Shea, ifroused, would be a dangerous enemy. 

"I don't understand why, if she is married, she wears the dress of areligious order. "

"Never saw a nun dressed jist like her. Guess if you went about kissingand embracing these women ye would find it an advantage to be prettywell covered up; but"--here a long time of puffing at the pipe--"it's anadvantage for more than women not to see too much of an angel. "

"Has she any relations, anyone of her own family? Where do they live?"

There was no answer. 

"I suppose you knew her people?"

O'Shea sprang up and opened the house door, and the snow drove in as heheld it. 

"I thought, " he said, "I heard a body knocking. "

"No one knocked, " said Caius impatiently. 

"I heard someone. " He stood looking very suspiciously out, and so goodwas his acting, if it was acting, that Caius, who came and looked overhis shoulder, had a superstitious feeling when he saw the blank, untrodden snow stretching wide and white into the glimmering night. Heremembered that the one relative he believed the lady to have hadappeared to him in strange places and vanished strangely. 

"You didn't hear a knock; you were dreaming. " Caius began to button onhis coat. 

"I wasn't even asleep. " O'Shea gave a last suspicious look to theoutside. 

"O'Shea, " said Caius, "has--has Madame Le Maître a daughter?"

The farmer turned round to him in astonishment. "Bless my heart alive, no!"

The snow was only two or three inches deep when Caius walked home; itwas light as plucked swan's-down about his feet. Everywhere it wasfalling slowly in small dry flakes. There was little wind to make eddiesin it. The waning moon had not yet risen, but the landscape, by reasonof its whiteness, glimmered just visible to the sight. 

CHAPTER XII. 

THE MAIDEN INVENTED. 

The fishing-boats and small schooners were dragged high up on the beach. The ice formed upon the bay that lay in the midst of the islands. Thecarpet of snow grew more and more thick upon field and hill, and wherethe dwarf firwoods grew so close that it could not pass between theirbranches, it draped them, fold above fold, until one only saw the greenhere and there standing out from the white garment. 

In these days a small wooden sleigh was given to Caius, to which hemight harness his horse, and in which he might sit snug among oxskins ifhe preferred that sort of travelling to riding. Madame Le Maître stillrode, and Caius discarded his sleigh and rode also. Missing the warmthof the skins, he was soon compelled by the cold to copy Robinson Crusoeand make himself breeches and leggings of the hides. 

In these first weeks one hope was always before his eyes. In every newhouse which he entered, at every turn of the roads, which began to befamiliar to him, he hoped to see the maiden who had followed him uponthe beach. He dreamed of her by night; he not only hoped, he expected tosee her each day. It was of course conceivable that she might havereturned to some other island of the group; but Caius did not believethis, because he felt convinced she must be under the protection of hisfriends; and also, since he had arrived the weather had been such thatit would have been an event known to all the fishermen if another partyhad made a journey along the sands. When the snow came the sands wereimpassable. As soon as the ice on the bay would bear, there would becoming and going, no doubt; but until then Caius had the restfulsecurity that she was near him, and that it could not be many daysbefore he saw her. The only flaw in his conclusion was that the fact didnot bear it out; he did not see her. 

At length it became clear that the maiden was hiding herself. Caiusceased to hope that he would meet her by chance, because he knew hewould already have done so if it were not willed otherwise. Then hismind grew restless again, and impatient; he could not even imagine whereshe could lie hidden, or what possible reason there could be for a lifeof uncomfortable concealment. 

Caius had not allowed either O'Shea or Madame Le Maître to suspect thatin his stumble he had involuntarily seen his companion on the midnightjourney. He did not think that the sea-maid herself knew that he hadseen her there. He might have been tempted now to believe that thevision was some bright illusion, if its reality had not been proved bythe fact that Madame Le Maître knew that he had a companion, and thatO'Shea had staked much that he should not take that long moonlight walkby her side. 

Since the day on which he had become sure that the sea-maid had suchclose and real connection with human beings that he met every day, hehad ceased to have those strange and uncomfortable ideas about her, which, in half his moods, relegated her into the region of freakspractised upon mortals by the denizens of the unseen, or, still farther, into the region of dreams that have no reality. However, now that shehad retired again into hiding, this assurance of his was small comfort. 

He would have resolutely inquired of Madame Le Maître who it was who hadbeen sent to warn him of danger if need be upon the beach, but that thelady was not one to allow herself willingly to be questioned, and inexciting her displeasure he might lose the only chance of gaining whathe sought. Then, too, with the thought of accosting the lady upon thissubject there always arose in his mind the remembrance of the briefminute in which, to his own confounding, he had seen the face of thesea-maid in the lady's own face, and a phantom doubt came to him as towhether she were not herself the sea-maid, disfigured and made aged bythe wrappings she wore. He did not, however, believe this. He had everyreason to refuse the belief; and if he had had no other, this woman'scharacter was enough, it appeared to him, to give the lie to thethought. A more intelligent view concerning that fleeting likeness wasthat the two women were nearly related to one another, the younger incharge of the elder; and that the younger, who had for some purpose orprank played about in the waters near his home, must have lived in somehouse there, must have means of communication with the place, and musthave acquainted Madame Le Maître with his position when the need of aphysician arose. What was so dissatisfying to him was that all this wasthe merest conjecture, that the lady whom he loved was a person whom hehad been obliged to invent in order to explain the appearances that hadso charmed him. He had not a shadow of proof of her existence. 

The ice became strong, and bridged over the bay that lay within thecrescent of islands. All the islands, with their dunes, were coveredwith snow; the gales which had beaten up the surf lessened in force; andon the long snow-covered beaches there was only a fringe of whitebreakers upon the edge of a sea that was almost calm. 

The first visitor of any importance who came across the bay was theEnglish clergyman. Nearly all the people on Cloud Island wereProtestants, in so far as they had any religion. They were not a piouspeople, but it seemed that this priest had been exceedingly faithful tothem in their trouble, and when he had been obliged to close the churchfor fear of the contagion, had visited them regularly, except in thosefew weeks between the seasons when the road by the beach had been almostimpassable. 

Caius was first aware of the advent of this welcome visitor by a greatthumping at his door one morning before he had started on his dailyround. On opening it, he saw a hardy little man in a fur coat, who heldout his hand to him in enthusiastic greeting. 

"Well, now, this is what I call being a good boy--a very good boy--tocome here to look after these poor folk. "

Caius disclaimed the virtue which he did not feel. 

"Motives! I don't care anything about motives. The point is to do theright thing. I'm a good boy to come and visit them; you're a good boy tocome and cure them. They are not a very grateful lot, I'm sorry to say, but we have nothing to do with that; we're put here to look after them, and what we feel about it, or what they feel about it, is not thequestion. "

He had come into Caius' room, stamping the snow off his big boots. Hewas a spare, elderly man, with gray hair and bright eyes. His horse andsleigh stood without the door, and the horse jingled its bellscontinually. 

Here was a friend! Caius decided at once to question this man concerningMadame Le Maître, and--that other lady in whose existence he believed. 

"The main thing that you want on these islands is nerve, " said theclergyman. "It would be no good at all now"--argumentatively--"for theBishop to send a man here who hadn't nerve. You never know where you'llmeet a quicksand, or a hole in the ice. Chubby and I nearly went underthis morning and never were seen again. Some of these fellows had beencutting a hole, and--well, we just saw it in time. It would have beenthe end of us, I can tell you; but then, you see, if you are being agood boy and doing what you're told, that does not matter so much. "

It appeared that Chubby was the clergyman's pony. In a short time Caiushad heard of various other adventures which she and her master hadshared together. He was interested to know if any of them would throwany light upon the remarkable conduct of O'Shea and his friends; butthey did not. 

"The men about here, " he said--"I can't make anything out of them--arethey lawless?"

"You see"--in explanatory tone--"if you take a man and expose him to thesea and the wind for half his life, you'll find that he is pretty muchasleep the other half. He may walk about with his eyes open, but hisbrain's pretty much asleep; he's just equal to lounging and smoking. There are just two things these men can do--fish, and gather the stufffrom wrecks. They'll make from eight dollars a day at the fishing, andfrom sixteen to twenty when a wreck's in. They can afford to be idle therest of the time, and they are gloriously idle. "

"Do they ever gather in bands to rob wrecked ships, or for otherunlawful purposes?"

"Oh no, not in the least! Oh no, nothing of the kind! They'll steal froma wreck, of course, if they get the chance; but on the sly, not byviolence. Their worst sin is independence and self-righteousness. Youcan't teach the children anything in the schools, for instance, for theparents won't have them punished; they are quite sure that theirchildren never do anything wrong. That comes of living so far out of theworld, and getting their living so easily. I can tell you, Utopia has abad effect on character. "

Caius let the matter go for that time; he had the prospect of seeing theclergyman often. 

Another week, when the clergyman had come to the island and Caius methim by chance, they had the opportunity of walking up a long snowy hilltogether, leading their horses. Caius asked him then about Madame LeMaître and O'Shea, and heard a plain consecutive tale of their lives andof their coming to the island, which denuded the subject of all unknownelements and appeared to rob it of special interest. 

Captain Le Maître, it appeared, had a life-long lease of the property onCloud Island, and also some property on the mainland south of GaspéBasin; but the land was worth little except by tillage, and, being aseaman, he neglected it. His father had had the land before him. Pembroke, the clergyman, had seen his father. He had never happened tosee the son, who would now be between forty and fifty years of age; butwhen Madame Le Maître had come to look after the farm on Cloud Island, she had made herself known to him as in charge of her husband's affairs. She found that she could not get the land worked by the islanders, andhad induced O'Shea, who it seemed was an old farm hand of her ownfather's, to settle upon this farm, which was a richer one than the onehe had had upon the mainland. The soil of the islands, Pembroke said, was in reality exceedingly rich, but in no case had it ever beenproperly worked, and he was in hopes that now Madame Le Maître mightproduce a model farm, which would be of vast good in showing theislanders how much they lost by their indifferent manner of treatingtheir land. 

"Why did she come to the islands?"

"Conscientiousness, I think. The land here was neglected; the peoplehere certainly present a field white to harvest to anyone who has themissionary spirit. "

"Is she--is she very devout?" asked Caius. 

"Well, yes, in her own way she is--mind, I say in her own way. Icouldn't tell you, now, whether she is Protestant or Papist; I don'tbelieve she knows herself. "

"He that sitteth between two stools----" suggested Caius, chiefly forwant of something to say. 

"Well, no, I wouldn't say that. Bless you! the truest hearts on God'searth don't trouble about religious opinions; they have got theessential oil expressed out of them, and that's all they want. "

To Caius this subject of the lady's religion appeared a matter in whichhe had no need to take interest, but the other went on:

"She was brought up in a convent, you know--a country convent somewhereon the Gaspé coast, and, from what she tells me, the nuns had the goodpolicy to make her happy. She tells me that where the convent gardensabutted on the sea, she and her fellows used to be allowed to fish androw about. You see, her mother had been a Catholic, and the father, being an old miser, had money, so I suppose the sisters thought theycould make a nun of her; and very likely they would have done, for sheis just that sort, but the father stopped that little game by making hermarry before he died. "

"I always had an idea that the people on the coast up there were allpoor and quite uneducated. "

"Well, yes, for the most part they are pretty much what you would see onthese islands; but our Bishop tells me that, here and there, there areexcellent private houses, and the priests' houses and the convents aretolerably well off. But, to tell you the truth, I think this lady'sfather had some education, and his going to that part of the country maybe accounted for by what she told me once about her mother. Her motherwas a dancer, a ballet-dancer, a very estimable and pious woman, herdaughter says, and I have no doubt it is true; but an educated man whomakes that sort of marriage, you know, may prefer to live out of theworld. "

Caius was becoming interested. 

"If she has inherited her mother's strength and lightness, that explainshow she gets on her horse. By Jove! I never saw a woman jump on a horsewithout help as she does. "

"Just so; she has marvellous strength and endurance, and the best proofof that, is the work she is doing nowadays. Why, with the exception ofthree days that she came to see my wife, and would have died if shehadn't, she has worked night and day among these sick people for thelast six months. She came to see my wife pretty much half dead, but thedrive on the sand and a short rest pretty well set her up again. "

Pembroke drifted off here into discourse about the affairs of hisparish, which comprised all the Protestant inhabitants of the island. His voice went on in the cheerful, jerky, matter-of-fact tone in whichhe always talked. Caius did not pay much heed, except that admirationfor the sweet spirit of the man and for the pluck and hardihood withwhich he carried on his work, grew in him in spite of his heedlessness, for there was nothing that Pembroke suspected less than that he himselfwas a hero. 

"Pretty tough work you have of it, " said Caius at last; "if it was onlychristening and marrying and burying them all, you would have more thanenough to do, with the distances so great. "

"Oh, bless you! my boy, yes; it's the distance and the weather; but whatare we here for but to do our work? Life isn't long, any way, but I'lltell you what it is--a man needs to know the place to know what he cando and what he can't. Now, the Bishop comes over for a week in summer--Idon't know a finer man than our Bishop anywhere; he doesn't give himselfmuch rest, and that's a fact; but they've sent him out from England, and what does he know about these islands? He said to me that he wantedme to have morning service every Sunday, as I have it at Harbour Island, and service every Sunday afternoon here on The Cloud. "

"He might as well have suggested that you had morning service on theMagdalens, afternoon service in Newfoundland, and evening service inLabrador. "

"Exactly, just as possible, my boy; but they had the diphtheria here, soI couldn't bring him over, even in fair weather, to see how he liked thejourney. "

All this time Caius was cudgelling his brains to know how to bring thetalk back to Madame Le Maître, and he ended by breaking in with anabrupt inquiry as to how old she was. 

A slight change came over Pembroke's demeanour. It seemed to Caius thathis confidential tone lapsed into one of suspicious reserve. 

"Not very old"--dryly. 

Caius perceived that he was being suspected of taking an undue interestin the benefactress of the island. The idea, when it came from another, surprised him. 

"Look here! I don't take much interest in Madame Le Maître, except thatshe seems a saint and I'd like to please her; but what I want to know isthis--there is a girl who is a sister, or niece, or daughter, or someother relation of hers, who is on these islands. Who is she, and whereis she?"

"Do you mean any of the girls she has in her house? She took them fromfamilies upon the island only for the sake of training them. "

"I don't mean any of those girls!"--this with emphasis. 

"I don't know who you mean. "

Caius turned and faced him. Do what he would, he could not hide hisexcited interest. 

"You surely must know. It is impossible that there should be a girl, young, beautiful and refined, living somewhere about here, and you notknow. "

"I should say so--quite impossible. "

"Then, be kind enough to tell me who she is. I have an important reasonfor asking. "

"My dear boy, I would tell you with all the pleasure in the world if Iknew. "

"I have seen her. " Caius spoke in a solemn voice. 

The priest looked at him with evident interest and curiosity. "Well, where was she, and who was she?"

"You must know: you are in Madame Le Maître's confidence; you travelfrom door to door, day in and day out; you know everybody and everythingupon these islands. "

"I assure you, " said the priest, "that I never heard of such a person. "

CHAPTER XIII. 

WHITE BIRDS; WHITE SNOW; WHITE THOUGHTS. 

By degrees Caius was obliged to give up his last lingering belief in theexistence of the lady he loved. It was a curious position to be in, forhe loved her none the less. Two months of work and thought for thediseased people had slipped away, and by the mere lapse of time, as wellas by every other proof, he had come to know that there was no maiden inany way connected with Madame Le Maître who answered to the visions hehad seen, or who might be wooed by the man who had ceased to care forall other women for her sweet sake. 

After Caius had arrived the epidemic had become worse, as it had beenprophesied it would, when the people began to exclude the winter airfrom their houses. In almost every family upon the little isle there wasa victim, and Caius, under the compelling force of the orders whichMadame Le Maître never gave and the wishes she never expressed, becamenurse as well as doctor, using what skill he had in every possibleoffice for the sick, working early and late, and many a time the nightthrough. It was not a time to prattle of the sea-maid to either MadameLe Maître or O'Shea, who both of them worked at his side in the battleagainst death, and were, Caius verily believed, more heroic andsuccessful combatants than himself. Some solution concerning hislady-love there must be, and Caius neither forgot nor gave up hisintention of probing the lives of these two to discover what he wished;but the foreboding that the discovery would work him no weal made it theeasier to lay the matter aside and wait. They were all bound in the sameicy prison; he could afford patience. 

The question of the hospital had been solved in this way. Madame LeMaître had taken O'Shea and his wife and children to live with her, andsuch patients as could be persuaded or forced into hospital were takento his house and nursed there. Then, also, as the disease became moreprevalent, people who had thus far refused all sanitary measures, indire fear opened their doors, and allowed Caius and O'Shea to enter withwhitewash brushes and other means of disinfection. 

Caius was successful in this, that, in proportion to the number ofpeople who were taken ill, the death-rate was only one third of what ithad been before he came. He and his fellow-workers were successful alsoin a more radical way, for about the end of January it was suddenlyobserved among them that there were no new cases of illness. The ill andthe weak gradually recovered. In a few more weeks the Angels of Deathand Disease retired from the field, and the island was not depopulated. Whether another outbreak might or might not occur they could not tell;but knowing the thoroughness of the work which they had done, they wereready to hope that the victory was complete. Gradually their workceased, for there was no one in all the happy island who needed nursingor medical attendance. Caius found then how wonderfully free the placewas from all those ailments which ordinarily beset humanity. 

This was in the middle of February, when the days were growing long, andeven the evening was bright and light upon the islands of snow and thesea of ice. 

It appeared to Caius that Madame Le Maître had grown years older duringthe pestilence. Deep lines of weariness had come in her face, and hereyes were heavy with want of sleep and sympathetic tears. Again andagain he had feared that the disease would attack her, and, indeed, heknew that it had only been the constant riding about the island hills inthe wonderful air that had kept the little band of workers in health. Asit was, O'Shea had lost a child, and three of the girls in the house ofMadame Le Maître had been ill. Now that the strain was over, Caiusfeared prostration that would be worse than the disease itself for thelady who had kept up so bravely through it all; but, ever feeling animpossibility in her presence of speaking freely of anything thatconcerned herself, he had hardly been able to express the solicitude hefelt before it was relieved by the welcome news that she had travelledacross the bay to pay a visit to Pembroke's wife. 

She had gone without either telling Caius of her intention or biddinghim good-bye, and, glad as he was, he felt that he had not deserved thisdiscourtesy at her hands. Indeed, looking back now, he felt disposed toresent the indifference with which she had treated him from first tolast. Not as the people's doctor. In that capacity she had been eagerfor his services, and grateful to him with a speechless, reverentgratitude that he felt to be much more than his due; but as a man, as acompanion, as a friend, she had been simply unconscious of hisexistence. When she had said to him at the beginning, "You will belonely; there is no one on the island to whom you can speak as afriend, " he perceived now that she had excluded herself as well as theabsent world from his companionship. It seemed to him that it had neveronce occurred to her that it was in her power to alter this. 

Truly, if it had not been for Pembroke, the clergyman, Caius would neverhave had a companionable word; and he had found that there were limitsto the interest he could take in Pembroke, that the stock of likings anddisliking that they had in common was not great. Then, too, since theday on which he had questioned him so vehemently about the relatives ofMadame Le Maître, he fancied that the clergyman had treated him withapprehensive reserve. 

At the time when he had little or nothing to do, and when Madame LeMaître had left Cloud Island, Caius would have been glad enough to goand explore the other islands, or to luxuriate again in the cookery ofthe old maids at the inn at which he had first been housed. Twoconsiderations kept him from this holiday-taking. In the first place, infear of a case of illness he did not like to leave the island while itsbenefactress was away; and, secondly, it was reported that all visitorsfrom The Cloud were ruthlessly shut out from the houses upon the otherislands, because of the unreasoning terror which had grown concerningthe disease. Whether he, who carried money in his pocket, would be shutout from these neighbouring islands also, he did not care to inquire. Hefelt too angry with the way the inhabitants behaved to have any dealingswith them. 

The only means of amusement that remained to Caius in these days werehis horse and a gun that O'Shea lent him. With his lunch in his pocket, he rode upon the ice as far as he might go and return the same day. Hefollowed the roads that led by the shores of the other islands; or, where the wind had swept all depth of snow from the ice, he took a pathaccording to his own fancy on the untrodden whiteness. 

Colonies of Arctic gulls harboured on the island, and the herring gullsremained through the winter; these, where he could get near their rocksupon the ice, he at first took delight in shooting; but he soon lost thezest for this sport, for the birds gave themselves to his gun tooeasily. He was capable of deriving pleasure from them other than intheir slaughter, and often he rode under their rocky homes, noting howdark their white plumage looked against their white resting-places, where groups of them huddled together upon the icy battlements andsnowdrift towers of the castles that the frost had built them. He wouldride by slowly, and shoot his gun in the air to see them rise and wheelupward, appearing snow-white against the blue firmament; and watchedthem sink again, growing dark as they alighted among the snow and ice. His warning that he himself must be nearing home was to see the returnof such members of the bird-colony as had been out for the deep-seafishing. When he saw them come from afar, flying high, often with theirwings dyed pink in the sunset rays, he knew that his horse must gallophomeward, or darkness might come and hide such cracks and fissures inthe ice as were dangerous. 

The haunts of the birds which he chiefly loved were on the side of theislands turned to the open sea, for at this time ice had formed on allsides, and stretched without a break for a mile or so into the open. There was a joy in riding upon this that made riding upon the bay tameand uninteresting; for not only was the seaward shore of island and dunewilder, but the ice here might at any time break from the shore ordivide itself up into large islands, and when the wind blew he fanciedhe heard the waves heaving beneath it, and the excitement which comeswith danger, which, by some law of mysterious nature, is one of thekeenest forms of pleasure, would animate his horse and himself as theyflew over it. 

His horse was not one of the native ponies; it was a well-bred, delicately-shaped beast, accustomed to be made a friend of by its rider, and giving sympathetic response to all his moods. The horse belonged toMadame Le Maître, and was similar to the one she rode. This, togetherwith many other things, proved to Caius that the lady who lived sofrugally had command of a certain supply of money, for it could not bean easy or cheap thing to transport good horses to these islands. 

Whatever he did, however his thoughts might be occupied, it was neverlong before they veered round to the subject that was rapidly becomingthe one subject of absorbing interest to him. Before he realized what hedid, his mind was confirmed in its habit; at morn, and at noontime, andat night, he found himself thinking of Madame Le Maître. The lady he wasin love with was the youthful, adventurous maiden who, it seemed, didnot exist; the lady that he was always thinking of was the grave, subdued, self-sacrificing woman who in some way, he knew not how, carried the mystery of the other's existence within herself. His mindwas full of almost nothing but questions concerning her, for, admire andrespect her as he might, he thought there was nothing in him thatresponded with anything like love to her grave demeanour and burdenedspirit. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

THE MARRIAGE SCENE. 

By riding across the small lagoon that lay beside Cloud Island to theinward side of the bay, and then eastward some twelve miles toward anisland that was little frequented, the last of the chain on this horn ofthe crescent, one came under the highest and boldest façade of cliffsthat was to be found in all that group. It was here that Caius chancedto wander one calm mild day in early March, mild because the thermometerstood at less than 30° below the freezing point, and a light vault ofpearly cloud shut in the earth from the heaven, and seemed, by way ofcontrast with other days, to keep it warm. He had ridden far, followingout of aimless curiosity the track that had been beaten on the side ofthe bay to this farthest island. It was a new road for him; he had neverattempted it before; and no sooner had he got within good sight of theland, than his interest was wholly attracted by the cliffs, which, shelving somewhat outward at the top, and having all their sides verysteep and smooth, were, except for a few crevices of ice, or an outwardhanging icicle, or here and there a fringe of icicles, entirely freefrom snow and ice. He rode up under them wonderingly, pleased to feasthis eyes upon the natural colour of rock and earth, and eager, withwhat knowledge of geology he had, to read the story they told. 

This story, as far as the history of the earth was concerned, was soontold; the cliffs were of gray carboniferous limestone. Caius becameinterested in the beauty of their colouring. Blue and red clay hadwashed down upon them in streaks and patches; where certain faults inthe rock occurred, and bars of iron-yielding stone were seen, the rusthad washed down also, so that upon flat facets and concave and convexsurfaces a great variety of colour and tint, and light and shade, wasproduced. 

He could not proceed immediately at the base of the cliffs, for in theirshelter the snow had drifted deep. He was soon obliged to keep to thebeaten track, which here ran about a quarter of a mile distant from therock. Walking his horse, and looking up as he went, his attention wasarrested by perceiving that a whitish stain on a smooth dark facet ofthe rock assumed the appearance of a white angel in the act of alightingfrom aërial flight. The picture grew so distinct that he could not takehis eyes from it, even after he had gone past, until he was quite wearyof looking back or of trying to keep his restive horse from dancingforward. When, at last, however, he turned his eyes from the majesticfigure with the white wings, his fancy caught at certain lines andpatches of rust which portrayed a horse of gigantic size galloping upona forward part of the cliff. The second picture brought him to astandstill, and he examined the whole face of the hill, realizing thathe was in the presence of a picture-gallery which Nature, it seemed, hadpainted all for her own delight. He thought himself the discoverer; hefelt at once both a loneliness and elation at finding himself in thatfrozen solitude, gazing with fascinated eyes at one portion of the rockafter another where he saw, or fancied he saw, sketches of this and thatwhich ravished his sense of beauty both in colour and form. 

In his excitement to see what would come next, he did not check thestepping of his horse, but only kept it to a gentle pace. Thus he camewhere the road turned round with the rounding cliff, and here for a bithe saw no picture upon the rock; but still he looked intently, hopingthat the panorama was not ended, and only just noticed that there wasanother horse beside his own within the lonely scene. In some placeshere the snow was drifted high near the track; in others, both the roadand the adjoining tracts of ice were swept by the wind almost bare ofsnow. He soon became aware that the horse he had espied was not upon theroad. Then, aroused to curiosity, he turned out of his path and rodethrough shallow snow till he came close to it. 

The horse was standing quite still, and its rider was standing besideit, one arm embracing its neck, and with head leaning back against thecreature's glossy shoulder. The person thus standing was Madame LeMaître, and she was looking up steadfastly at the cliffs, of which thispoint in the road displayed a new expanse. 

So silently had the horse of Caius moved in the muffling snow that, coming up on the other side, he was able to look at the lady for onefull moment before she saw him, and in that moment and the next he sawthat the sight of him robbed her face of the peace which had beenwritten there. She was wrapped as usual in her fur-lined cloak andhood. She looked to him inquiringly, with perhaps just a touch ofindignant displeasure in her expression, waiting for him to explain, asif he had come on purpose to interrupt her. 

"I am sorry. I had no idea you were here, or I would not have come. "

The next moment he marvelled at himself as to how he had known that thiswas the right thing to say; for it did not sound polite. 

Her displeasure was appeased. 

"You have found my pictures, then, " she said simply. 

"Only this hour, and by chance. "

By this time he was wondering by what road she had got there. If she hadridden alone across the bay from Harbour Island, where the Pembrokeslived, she had done a bold thing for a woman, and one, moreover, which, in the state of health in which he had seen her last, would have beenimpossible to her. 

Madame Le Maître had begun to move slowly, as one who wakes from a happydream. He perceived that she was making preparations to mount. 

"I cannot understand it, " he cried; "how can these pictures come just bychance? I have heard of the Picture Rocks on Lake Superior, forinstance, but I never conceived of anything so distinct, so lovely, asthese that I have seen. "

"The angels make them, " said Madame Le Maître. She paused again (thoughher bridle had been gathered in her hand ready for the mount), andlooked up again at the rock. 

Caius was not unheedful of the force of that soft but absoluteassertion, but he must needs speak, if he spoke at all, from his ownpoint of view, not hers. 

"I suppose, " he said, "that the truth is there is something upon therock that strikes us as a resemblance, and our imagination furnishes thedetail that perfects the picture. "

"In that case would you not see one thing and I another?"

Now for the first time his eyes followed hers, and on the gray rockimmediately opposite he suddenly perceived a picture, without definiteedge it is true, but in composition more complete than anything he hadseen before. What had formerly delighted him had been, as it were, meresketches of one thing or another scattered in different places, but herethere was a large group of figures, painted for the most part in variedtints of gray, and blue, and pink. 

In the foreground of this picture a young man and young woman, radiantboth in face and apparel, stood before a figure draped in priestlygarments of sober gray. Behind them, in a vista, which seemed to befilled with an atmosphere of light and joy, a band of figures weredancing in gay procession, every line of the limbs and of the lightdraperies suggesting motion and glee. How did he know that some of thesewere men, and some were women? He had never seen such dresses as theywore, which seemed to be composed of tunics and gossamer veils of blueand red. Yet he did know quite distinctly which were men and which werewomen, and he knew that it was a marriage scene. The bride wore a wreathof flowers; the bridegroom carried a sheaf or garland of fruit or grain, which seemed to be a part of the ceremony. Caius thought he was aboutto offer it to the priest. 

For some minutes the two looked up at the rock quite silently. Now thelady answered his last remark:

"What is it you see?"

"You know it best; tell me what it is. "

"It is a wedding. Don't you see the wedding dance?"

He had not got down from his horse; he had a feeling that if he hadalighted she would have mounted. He tried now, leaning forward, to tellher how clearly he had seen the meaning, if so it might be called, ofthe natural fresco, and to find some words adequately to express hisappreciation of its beauty. He knew that he had not expressed himselfwell, but she did not seem dissatisfied at the tribute he paid to athing which she evidently regarded with personal love. 

"Do you think, " she said, "that it will alter soon, or become defaced?It has been just the same for a year. It might, you know, become defacedany day, and then no one would have seen it but ourselves. Theislanders, you know, do not notice it. "

"Ah, yes, " said Caius; "beauty is made up of two parts--the objects seenand the understanding eye. We only know how much we are indebted totraining and education when we find out to what extent the natural eyeis blind. "

This remark did not seem to interest her. He felt that it jarredsomehow, and that she was wishing him away. 

"But why, " he asked, "should angels paint a marriage? They neithermarry----" He stopped, feeling that she might think him flippant if hequoted the text. 

"Because it is the best thing to paint, " she said. 

"How the best?"

"Well, just the best human thing: everyone knows that. "

"Has her marriage been so gloriously happy?" said Caius to himself asthe soft assurance of her tones reached his ears, and for some reason orother he felt desolate, as a soul might upon whom the door of paradiseswung shut. Then irritably he said: "_I_ don't know it. Most marriagesseem to me----" He stopped, but she had understood. 

"But if this picture crumbles to pieces, that does not alter the factthat the angels made it lovely. " (Her slight accent, because it made thepronunciation of each word more careful, gave her speech a quaintsuggestion of instruction that perhaps she did not intend. ) "The idea ispainted on our hearts in just the same way; it is the best thing we canthink of, except God. "

"Yet, " urged Caius, "even if it is the best from our point of view, youwill allow that it is written that it is not a heavenly institution. Theangels should try to teach us to look at something higher. "

"The words do not mean that. I don't believe there is anything higherfor us. I don't believe people are not married in heaven. "

With sweet unreason she set aside authority when it clashed with heropinion. To Caius she had never been so attractive as now, when, for thefirst time to him, she was proving herself of kin to ordinary folk; andyet, so curiously false are our notions of sainthood that she seemed tohim the less devout because she proved to be more loving. 

"You see"--she spoke and paused--"you see, when I was at school in aconvent I had a friend. I was perfectly happy when I was with her andshe with me; it was a marriage. When we went in the garden or on thesea, we were only happy when we were with each other. That is how Ilearned early that it is only perfect to be two. Ah, when one knows whatit is to be lonely, one learns that that is true; but many people arenot given grace to be lonely--they are sufficient to themselves. Theysay it is enough to worship God; it is a lie. He cannot be pleased; itis selfish even to be content to worship God alone. "

"The kind of marriage you think of, that perhaps may be made in heaven. "Caius was feeling again that she was remote from him, and yet the hintof passionate loneliness in tone and words remained a new revelation ofher life. "Is not religion enough?" He asked this only out of curiosity. 

"It is not true religion if we are content to be alone with God; it isnot the religion of the holy Christ; it is a fancy, a delusion, amistake. Have you not read about St. John? Ah, I do not say that it isnot often right to live alone, just as it may be right to be ill orstarving. That is because the world has gone wrong; and to be content, it is to blaspheme; it is like saying that what is wrong is God's idealfor us, and will last for ever. "

Caius was realizing that as she talked she was thinking only of thetheme, not at all of him; he had enough refinement in him to perceivethis quite clearly. It was the first time that she had spoken of herreligion to him, and her little sermon, which he felt to be too whollyunreasonable to appeal to his mind, was yet too wholly womanly to repelhis heart. 

Some dreamy consciousness seemed to come to her now that she had tarriedlonger than she wished, and perhaps that her subject had not been onethat she cared to discuss with him. She turned and put her hand on thepommel, and sprang into the saddle. He had often seen her make thatlight, wonderful spring that seated her as if by magic on her horse'sback, but in her last weeks of nursing the sick folk she had not beenstrong enough to do it. He saw now how much stronger she looked. Theweeks of rest had made her a different woman; there was a fresh colourin her cheek, and the tired lines were all gone. She looked younger byyears than when he saw her last--younger, too, than when he had firstseen her, for even then she was weary. If he could only have seen theline of her chin, or the height of her brow, or the way her hair turnedback from her temples, he thought that he might not have reckoned thetime when he had first seen her in the sick-room at Cloud Island astheir first meeting. 

"You are going on?" said Madame Le Maître. 

"Unless I can be of service to you by turning with you. "

He knew by the time of day that he must turn shortly; but he had no hopethat she wanted him to go with her. 

"You can do me more service, " she said, and she gave him a little smilethat was like the ghost of the sea-maid's smile, "by letting me go homealone. "

He rode on, and when he looked back he saw that her horse was gallopingand casting up a little cloud of light snow behind it, so that, ridingas it were upon a small white cloud, she disappeared round the turn ofthe cliffs. 

Caius found no more pictures that day that he felt to be worthy of muchattention. He went back to the festive scene of the marriage, and movinghis horse nearer and further from it, he found that only from the pointwhere the lady had taken her stand was it to be distinctly seen. Twentyyards from the right line of vision, he might have passed it, and neverknown the beauty that the streaks and stains could assume. 

When he went home he amused himself by seeking on the road for the trackof the other horse, and when he found that it turned to Cloud Island hewas happier. The place, at least, would not be so lonely when the ladywas at home. 

_BOOK III. _

CHAPTER I. 

HOW HE HUNTED THE SEALS. 

At this time on the top of the hills the fishermen were to be seenloitering most of the day, looking to see if the seals were coming, forat this season the seals, unwary creatures, come near the islands uponthe ice, and in the white world their dark forms can be descried a longdistance off. There was promise of an easy beginning to seal-fishingthis year, for the ice had not yet broken from the shore on the seawardside of the island, and there would not at first be need of boats. 

Caius, who had only seen the fishermen hanging about their doors in lazyidleness, was quite unprepared for the excitement and vigour that theydisplayed when this first prey of the year was seen to approach. 

It was the morning after Madame Le Maître had returned to her home thatCaius, standing near his own door, was wondering within himself if hemight treat her like an ordinary lady and give her a formal call ofwelcome. He had not decided the point when he heard sounds as of a mobrushing, and, looking up the road that came curving down the hillthrough the pine thicket, he saw the rout appear--men, women andchildren, capped and coated in rough furs, their cheeks scarlet with thefrost and exercise, their eyes sparkling with delight. Singly down thehill, and in groups, they came, hand-in-hand or arm-in-arm, some drivingin wooden sleighs, some of them beating such implements of tinware asmight be used for drums, some of them shouting words in that queerAcadian French he could not understand, and all of them laughing. 

He could not conceive what had happened; the place that was usually solonely, the people that had been so lazy and dull--everything withinsight seemed transformed into some mad scene of carnival. The crowdswept past him, greeting him only with shouts and smiles and grimaces. He knew from the number that all the people from that end of the islandwere upon the road to the other end, and running after with hastycuriosity, he went far enough to see that the news of their advent hadpreceded them, and that from every side road or wayside house the peoplecame out to join in the riotous march. 

Getting further forward upon the road, Caius now saw what he could notsee from his own door, a great beacon fire lit upon the hill where themen had been watching. Its flame and smoke leaped up from the white hillinto the blue heaven. It was the seal-hunting, then, to which all theisland was going forth. Caius, now that he understood the tumult, experienced almost the same excitement. He ran back, donned clothessuitable for the hunt across the ice, and, mounting his horse, rodeafter the people. They were all bound for the end of the island on whichthe lighthouse stood, for a number of fish-sheds, used for cooking andsleeping in the fishing season, were built on the western shore not farfrom the light; and from the direction in which the seals had appeared, these were the sheds most convenient for the present purpose. 

By the time Caius reached the sheds, the greater number of the fishermenwere already far out upon the ice. In boots and caps of the coarse grayseal-skin, with guns or clubs and knives in their hands, they had a wildand murderous aspect as they marched forward in little bands. The gait, the very figure, of each man seemed changed; the slouch of idleness hadgiven place to the keen manner of the hunter. On shore the sheds, whichall winter had been empty and lonely, surrounded only by curling drifts, had become the scene of most vigorous work. The women, with snow-shovelsand brooms, were clearing away the snow around them, opening the doors, lighting fires in the small stoves inside, opening bags and hamperswhich contained provision of food and implements for skinning the seals. The task that these women were performing was one for the strength ofmen; but as they worked now their merriment was loud. All their childrenstood about them, shouting at play or at such work as was allotted tothem. Some four or five of the women, with Amazonian strength, werehauling from one shed a huge kettle, in which it was evidently meant totry the fat from certain portions of the seal. 

Caius held his horse still upon the edge of the ice, too well divertedwith the activity on the shore to leave it at once. Behind the animatedscene and the row of gray snow-thatched sheds, the shore rose white andlonely. Except for the foot-tracks on the road by which they had come, and the peak of the lighthouse within sight, it would have seemed that acolony had suddenly sprung to life in an uninhabited Arctic region. 

It was from this slope above the sheds that Caius now heard himselfhailed by loud shouting, and, looking up, he saw that O'Shea had comethere to overlook the scene below. Some women stood around him. Caiussupposed that Madame Le Maître was there. 

O'Shea made a trumpet of his hands and shouted that Caius must not takehis horse upon the ice that day, for the beast would be frightened anddo himself harm. 

Caius was affronted. The horse was not his, truly, but he believed heknew how to take care of it, yet, as it belonged to a woman, he couldnot risk disobeying this uncivil prohibition. Although he was accustomedto the rude authority which O'Shea assumed whenever he wished to bedisagreeable, Caius had only learned to take it with an outwardappearance of indifference--his mind within him always chafed; this timethe affront to his vanity was worse because he believed that Madame LeMaître had prompted, or certainly permitted, the insult. It did notsoothe him to think that, with a woman's nervousness, she might havemore regard for his safety than that of the horse. The brightness diedout of the beautiful day, and in a lofty mood of ill-used indifferencehe assured himself that a gentleman could take little interest in suchbarbarous sport as seal-hunting. At any rate, it would go on for many aday. He certainly had not the slightest intention of dismounting atO'Shea's command in order to go to the hunt. 

Caius held his horse as quiet as he could for some ten minutes, feigningan immense interest in the occupation of the women; then leisurelycurvetted about, and set his horse at a light trot along the ice closeby the shore. 

He rode hastily past the only place where he could have ascended thebank, and after that he had no means of going home until he had roundedthe island and returned by the lagoon. The distance up to the end wasseven miles. Caius rode on under the lonely cliffs where the gullswintered, and threading his way upon smooth places on the ice, came, inthe course of not much more than an hour, up to the end of the cliffs, crossed the neck of the sand-bar, and followed the inward shore till hegot back to the first road. 

Now, on this end of the island very few families lived. Caius had onlybeen upon the road he was about to traverse once or twice. The reason itwas so little built upon was that the land here belonged entirely to thefarm of Madame Le Maître, which stretched in a narrow strip for a coupleof miles from O'Shea's dwelling to the end of the island. The only pointof interest which this district had for Caius was a cottage which hadbeen built in a very sheltered nook for the accommodation of two women, whose business it was to care for the poultry which was kept here. Caiushad been told that he might always stop at this lodge for a drink ofmilk or beer or such a lunch as it could afford, and being thirsty byreason of hard riding and ill-temper, he now tried to find the path thatled to it. 

CHAPTER II. 

ONCE MORE THE VISION. 

When Caius turned up the farm road, which was entirely sheltered betweengentle slopes, the bright March sun felt almost hot upon his cheek. Thesnow road under his horse's hoofs was full of moisture, and the snowyslopes glistened with a coating of wet. He felt for the first time thatthe spring of the year had come. 

He was not quite certain where lay the cottage of which he was in quest;and, by turning up a wrong path, he came to the back of its hen-houses. At first he only saw the blank wall of a cowshed and two woodenstructures like old-fashioned dovecotes, connected by a high fence inwhich there was no gate. Up to this fence he rode to look over it, hoping to speak to the people he heard within; but it was too high forhim to see over. Passing on, he brought his head level with a smallwindow that was let into the wall of one of the hen-houses. The windowhad glass in it which was not at all clean, but a fragment of it wasbroken, and through this Caius looked, intending to see if there was anygate into the yard which he could reach from the path he was on. 

Through the small room of deserted hen-roosts, through the door whichwas wide open on the other side, he saw the sunny space of the yardbeyond. All the fowls were gathered in an open place that had beenshovelled between heaps of hard-packed snow. There were the bright tuftsof cocks' tails and the glossy backs of hens brown and yellow; therewere white ducks, and ducks that were green and black, and great graygeese of slender make that were evidently descended from the wild gooseof the region. On the snow-heaps pigeons were standing--flitting andconstantly alighting--with all the soft dove-colours in their dress. Infront of the large feathered party was a young woman who stood, basin inhand, scattering corn, now on one side, now on another, with fitfulcaprice. She made game of the work of feeding them, coquettishlypretending to throw the boon where she did not throw it, laughing thewhile and talking to the birds, as if she and they led the same life andtalked the same language. Caius could not hear what she said, but hefelt assured that the birds could understand. 

For some few minutes Caius looked at this scene; he did not know howlong he looked; his heart within him was face to face with a pain thatwas quite new in his life, and was so great that he could not at firstunderstand it, but only felt that in comparison all smaller issues oflife faded and became as nothing. 

Beyond the youthful figure of the corn-giver Caius saw another woman. Itwas the wife of O'Shea, and in a moment her steadfast, quiet face lookedup into his, and he knew that she saw him and did not tell of hispresence; but, as her eyes looked long and mutely into his, it seemed tohim that this silent woman understood something of the pain he felt. Then, very quietly, he turned his horse and rode back by the path thathe had come. 

The woman he had seen was the wife of the sea-captain Le Maître. He saidit to himself as if to be assured that the self within him had not insome way died, but could still speak and understand. He knew that he hadseen the wife of this man, because the old cloak and hood, which he knewso well, had only been cast off, and were still hanging to the skirtsbelow the girlish waist, and the white cap, too, had been thrown asideupon the snow--he had seen it. As for the girl herself, he had loved herso long that it seemed strange to him that he had never known until nowhow much he loved her. Her face had been his one thought, his onestandard of womanly beauty, for so many years that he was amazed to findthat he had never known before how beautiful she was. A moment since andhe had seen the March sunshine upon all the light, soft rings of curlinghair that covered her head, and he had seen her laughter, and the ovalturn of the dimpled chin, and within the face he had seen what he knewnow he had always seen, but never before so clearly--the soul that wasstrong to suffer as well as strong to enjoy. 

By the narrow farm-path which his horse was treading Caius came to theroad he had left, and, turning homeward, could not help coming in frontof the little cottage whose back wall he had so lately visited. He hadno thought but of passing as quickly as might be, but he saw O'Shea'swife standing before the door, looking for him with her quiet, eagereyes. She came out a few steps, and Caius, hardly stopping, stooped hishead to hear what she had to say. 

"I won't tell her, " said the woman; then she pleaded: "Let her be, poorthing! Let her be happy while she can. "

She had slipped back into the house; Caius had gone on; and then he knewthat he had this new word to puzzle over. For why should he be supposedto molest the happy hours of the woman he loved, and what could be thesorrow that dogged her life, if her happy hours were supposed to be rareand precious? O'Shea's wife he had observed before this to be a faithfuland trusted friend of her mistress; no doubt she spoke then with theauthority of knowledge and love. 

Caius went home, and put away his horse, and entered his small house. Everything was changed to him; a knowledge that he had vaguely dreadedhad come, but with a grief that he had never dreamed of. For he hadfancied that if it should turn out that his lady-love and Madame LeMaître were one, his would only be the disappointment of having loved ashadow, a character of his own creating, and that the woman herself hewould not love; but now that was not what had befallen him. 

All the place was deserted; not a house had shown a sign of life as hepassed. All the world had gone after the seals. This, no doubt, was thereason why the two women who had not cared for the hunting had takenthat day for a holiday. Caius stood at his window and looked out on thesea of ice for a little while. He was alone in the whole locality, buthe would not be less alone when the people returned. They had theirinterests, their hopes and fears; he had nothing in common with any ofthem; he was alone with his pain, and his pain was just this, that hewas alone. Then he looked out further and further into the world fromwhich he had come, into the world to which he must go back, and therealso he saw himself to be alone. He could not endure the thought ofsharing the motions of his heart and brain with anyone but the one womanfrom whom he was wholly separated. Time might make a difference; he wasforced to remember that it is commonly said that time and absence abateall such attachments. He did not judge that time would make muchdifference to him, but in this he might be mistaken. 

A man who has depth in him seldom broods over real trouble--not atfirst, at least. By this test may often be known the real from thefanciful woe. Caius, knew, or his instincts knew, that his only chanceof breasting the current was, not to think of its strength, but to keepon swimming. He took his horse's bits and the harness that had beengiven him for his little sleigh, cleaning and burnishing everything withthe utmost care, and at the same time with despatch. He had somechemical work that had been lying aside for weeks waiting to be done, and this afternoon he did it. He had it on his mind to utilize some ofhis leisure by writing long letters that he might post when it waspossible for him to go home; to-night he wrote two of them. 

While he was writing he heard the people coming in twos and threes alongthe road back to their houses for the night. He supposed that O'Shea hadgot home with the girls he had been escorting, and that his wife hadcome home, and that Madame Le Maître had come back to her house andtaken up again her regular routine of life. 

CHAPTER III. 

"LOVE, I SPEAK TO THY FACE. "

Caius thought a good deal about the words that O'Shea's wife had said tohim. He did not know exactly what she meant, nor could he guess at allfrom what point of view concerning himself she had spoken; but thegeneral drift of her meaning appeared to be that he ought not to letMadame Le Maître know where and how he had seen her the day before. Inspite of this, he knew that he could neither be true to himself, nor tothe woman he was forced to meet daily, if he made any disguise of therecognition which had occurred. He was in no hurry to meet her; he hopedlittle or nothing from the interview, but dreaded it. Next day he wentwithout his horse out to where the men were killing the seals upon theedge of the ice. 

The warm March sun, and the March winds that agitated the open sea, weredoing their work. To-day there was water appearing in places upon theice where it joined the shore, and when Caius was out with a large bandof men upon the extreme edge of the solid ice, a large fragment brokeloose. There were some hundred seals upon this bit of ice, which werebeing butchered one by one in barbarous fashion, and so busy were themen with their work that they merely looked at the widening passage ofgray water and continued to kill the beasts that they had hedged roundin a murderous ring. It was the duty of those on the shore to bringboats if they were needed. The fragment on which they were could notfloat far because the sea outside was full of loose ice, and, as ithappened, when the dusk fell the chasm of water between them and theshore was not too broad to be jumped easily, for the ice, having firstmoved seaward, now moved landward with the tide. 

For two or three days Caius lent a hand at killing and skinning thegentle-eyed animals. It was not that he did not feel some disgust at thework; but it meant bread to the men he was with, and he might as wellhelp them. It was an experience, and, above all, it was distraction. When the women had seen him at work they welcomed him with demonstrativejoy to the hot meals which they prepared twice a day for the hunters. Caius was not quite sure what composed the soups and stews of which hepartook, but they tasted good enough. 

When he had had enough of the seal-hunt it took him all the next day tocleanse the clothes he had worn from the smell of the fat, and he felthimself to be effeminate in the fastidiousness that made him do it. 

During all these days the houses and roads of the island were almostcompletely deserted, except that Caius supposed that, after the firstholiday, the maids who lived with Madame Le Maître were kept to theirusual household tasks, and that their mistress worked with them. 

At last, one day when Caius was coming from a house on one of the hillswhich he had visited because there was in it a little mortal very new tothis world, he saw Madame Le Maître riding up the snowy road that hewas descending. He felt glad, at the first sight of her, that he was nolonger a youth but had fully come to man's estate, and had attained tothat command of nerve and conquest over a beating heart that is thenormal heritage of manhood. This thought came to him because he was sovividly reminded of the hour in which he had once before sought aninterview with this lady--even holding her hand in his--and of hisignominious repulse. In spite of the sadness of his heart, a smilecrossed his face, but it was gone before he met her. He had quite givenup wondering now about that seafaring episode, and accepted it only as afact. It did not matter to him why or how she had played her part; itwas enough that she had done it, and all that she did was right in hiseyes. 

The lady's horse was walking slowly up the heavy hill; the reins shehardly held, letting them loose upon its neck. It was evident that withher there was no difference since the time she had last seen Caius; itappeared that she did not even purpose stopping her horse. Caius stoppedit gently, laying his hand upon its neck. 

"What is it?" she asked, with evident curiosity, for the face that heturned to her made her aware that there was something new in her quietlife. 

It was not easy to find his words; he did not care much to do soquickly. "I could not go on, " he said, "without letting you know----" Hestopped. 

She did not answer him with any quick impatient question. She looked atthe snowy hill in front of her. "Well?" she said. 

"The other day, you know, " he said, "I rode by the back of your poultryfarm, and--I saw you when you were feeding the birds. "

"Yes?" she said; she was still looking gravely enough at the snow. Thecommunication so far did not affect her much. 

"Then, when I saw you, I knew that I had seen you before--in the sea--athome. "

A red flush had mantled her face. There was perhaps an air of offence, for he saw that she held her head higher, and knew what the turn of theneck would be in spite of the clumsy hood; but what surprised him mostwas that she did not express any surprise or dismay. 

"I did not suppose, " she said, in her own gentle, distant way, "that ifyou had a good memory for that--foolish play, you would not know meagain. " Her manner added: "I have attempted no concealment. "

"I did not know you in that dress you wear"--there was hatred for thedress in his tone as he mentioned it--"so I supposed that you did notexpect me to know who you were. "

She did not reply, leaving the burden of finding the next words uponhim. It would seem that she did not think there was more to say; andthis, her supreme indifference to his recognition or non-recognition, half maddened him. He suddenly saw his case in a new aspect--she was acruel woman, and he had much with which to reproach her. 

"'That foolish play, ' as you call it----" he had begun angrily, but acertain sympathy for her, new-born out of his own trouble, stopped him, and he went on, only reproach in his tone: "It was a sad play for me, because my heart has never been my own since. I could not find out whoyou were then, or where you hid yourself; I do not know now, but----"He stopped; he did not wish to offend her; he looked at the glossy neckof the horse he was holding. "I was young and very foolish, but I lovedyou. "

The sound of his own low sad tones was still in his ears when he alsoheard the low music of irrepressible laughter, and, looking up, he sawthat the recollection which a few minutes before had made him smile hadnow entirely overcome the lady's gravity. She was blushing, she wastrying not to laugh; but in spite of herself she did laugh more and moreheartily, and although her merriment was inopportune, he could not helpjoining in it to some extent. It was so cheerful to see thelaughter-loving self appear within the grave face, to be beside her, andto have partnership in her mirth. So they looked in each other's eyes, and they both laughed, and after that they felt better. 

"And yet, " said he, "it was a frolic that has worked sorrow for me. "

"Come, " said she, lifting her reins, "you will regret if you go ontalking this way. "

She would have gone on quite lightly and contentedly, and left him thereas if he had said nothing of love, as if their words had been the merereminiscence of a past that had no result in the present, as if hisheart was not breaking; but a fierce sense of this injustice made himkeep his hold of her bridle. She could weep over the pains of the poorand the death of their children. She should not go unmindful that hishappiness was wrecked. 

"Do you still take me for the young muff that I used to be, that you payno heed to what I say? I would scorn to meet you every day while I mustremain here and conceal from you the fact which, such is my weakness, is the only fact in life for me just now. My heart is breaking because Ihave found that the woman I love is wholly out of my reach. Can you notgive that a passing thought of pity? I have told you now; when we meet, you will know that it is not as indifferent acquaintances, butas--enemies if you will, for you, a happy married woman--will count meyour enemy! Yet I have not harmed you, and the truth is better at allcosts. "

She was giving him her full attention now, her lips a little parted asif with surprise, question plainly written upon her face. He could notunderstand how the cap and hood had ever concealed her from him. Herchief beauty lay, perhaps, in the brow, in the shape of the face, and inits wreath of hair--or at least in the charm that these gave to thestrong character of the features; but now that he knew her, he knew herface wholly, and his mind filled in what was lacking; he could perceiveno lack. He looked at her, his eyes full of admiration, puzzled thewhile at her evident surprise. 

"But surely, " she said, "you cannot be so foolish--you, a man now--tothink that the fancy you took to a pretty face, for it could have beennothing more, was of any importance. "

"Such fancies make or mar the lives of men. "

"Of unprincipled fools, yes--of men who care for appearance more thansympathy. But you are not such a man! It is not as if we had beenfriends; it is not as if we had ever spoken. It is wicked to call such afoolish fancy by the name of love; it is desecration. "

While she was speaking, her words revealed to Caius, with swiftanalysis, a distinction that he had not made before. He knew now thatbefore he came to this island, before he had gone through the threemonths of toil and suffering with Josephine Le Maître, it would trulyhave been foolish to think of his sentiment concerning her as more thana tender ideal. Now, that which had surprised him into a strength oflove almost too great to be in keeping with his character, was the unityof two beings whom he had believed to be distinct--the playmate and thesaint. 

"Whether the liking we take to a beautiful face be base or nobledepends, madame, upon the face; and no man could see yours without beinga better man for the sight. But think: when I saw the face that had beenenshrined for years in my memory yesterday, was it the face of a womanwhom I did not know--with whom I had never spoken?" He was not lookingat her as he spoke. He added, and his heart was revealed in the tone:"_You_ do not know what it is to be shut out from all that is good onearth. "

There came no answer; in a moment he lifted his eyes to see whatresponse she gave, and he was astonished to detect a look upon her facethat would have become an angel who had received some fresh beatitude. It was plain that now she saw and believed the truth of his love; itappeared, too, that she felt it to be a blessing. He could notunderstand this, but she wasted no words in explanation. When her eyesmet his, the joy in her face passed into pity for a minute; she lookedat him quietly and frankly; then she said:

"Love is good in itself, and suffering is good, and God is good. Ithink, " she added very simply, as a child might have done, "that youare good, too. Do not fear or be discouraged. "

Then, with her own hand, she gently disengaged his from the bridle androde up the hill on her errand of mercy. 

CHAPTER IV. 

HOPE BORN OF SPRING. 

"Love is good; suffering is good; God is good"--that was what she hadanswered him when he had said that for her sake he was shut out from allthat was good on earth. His heart did not rebel so bitterly against thisanswer as it would have done if he had not felt assured that she spokeof what she had experienced, and that his present experience was in somesort a comradeship with her. Then, again, there was the inexplicablefact that the knowledge of the way in which he regarded her had givenher pleasure; that was a great consolation to him, although he did notgather from it any hope for the future. Her whole manner indicated thatshe was, as he supposed her to be, entirely out of his reach, not onlyby the barrier of circumstance, but by her own deliberate preference;and yet he was certain that she was glad that he loved her. What didthat mean? He had so seen her life that he knew she was incapable ofvanity or selfish satisfaction; when she was glad it was because it wasright to be glad. Caius could not unravel this, and yet, deep withinhim, he knew that there was consistency in it. Had she not said thatlove in itself was good? it must be good, then, both to the giver andreceiver. He felt a certain awe at finding his own poor love embracedin such a doctrine; he felt for the first time how gross and selfish, how unworthy, it was. 

It was now the end of March; the snow was melting; the ice was breaking;it might be three or four weeks before ships could sail in the gulf, butit would not be longer. There was no sign of further outbreak ofdiphtheria upon the island. Caius felt the time of his going home to benear; he was not glad to think of leaving his prison of ice. Twodistinct efforts were made at this time to entertain him. 

O'Shea made an expedition to the island of the picture rocks, and, inrough kindliness, insisted upon taking Caius with him, not to see therocks--O'Shea thought little of them. They had an exciting journey, rowing between the ice-floes in the bay, carrying their boat over oneice fragment and then another, launching it each time into a sea ofdangers. They spent a couple of days entertained by the chief man ofthis island, and came back again at the same delightful jeopardy oftheir lives. 

After this Mr. Pembroke took Caius home with him, driving again over thesand-dune, upon which, now that the drifts had almost melted, a roadcould be made. All winter the dunes had been absolutely deserted, impassable by reason of the depth of snow. It would seem that even thedevil himself must have left their valleys at this time, or havehibernated. The chief interest to Caius in this expedition was to seekthe hollow where he had seen, or thought he had seen, the band ofmysterious men to which O'Shea introduced him; but so changed was theappearance of the sand by reason of the streams and rivulets of meltingsnow, and so monotonous was the dune, that he grew confused, and couldnot in the least tell where the place had been. He paid a visit toPembroke's house, and to the inn kept by the old maids, and then wentback to his own little wooden domicile with renewed contentment in itsquaint appointments, in its solitude, but above all in its nearness tothat other house in which the five women lived guarded by the mastiffs. 

Caius knew well enough that these plans for his amusement had beeninstigated by Madame Le Maître. She was keeping out of his way, exceptthat now and then he met her upon the roads and exchanged with her afriendly greeting. 

The only satisfaction that Caius sought for himself at this time was anoccasional visit to O'Shea's house. All winter there had been growingupon him a liking for the man's wife, although the words that heexchanged with her were at all times few. Now the feeling that he andshe were friends had received a distinct increase. It was a long timesince Caius had put to anyone the questions which his mind wasconstantly asking concerning Madame Le Maître. Apart from any thought oftalking about the object of their mutual regard, it was a comfort to himto be in the presence of O'Shea's wife. He felt sure that she understoodher mistress better than anyone else did, and he also suspected her of alively sympathy with himself, although it was not probable that she knewmore concerning his relation to Josephine Le Maître than merely the factthat it would be hard for any man to see so much grace and beauty andremain insensible. Caius sat by this woman's hearth, and whittled topsand boats for her children on the sunny doorstep when the days grewwarm at noon, and did not expect any guerdon for doing it except therest that he found in the proximity and occupation. Reward came to him, however. The woman eyed him with more and more kindliness, and at lengthshe spoke. 

It was one day towards the end of the month, when the last film of snowhad evaporated from many a field and slope, and the vivid green of grassappeared for the first time to gladden the eyes, although many anice-wreath and snowy hollow still lay between. On such a day the sightof a folded head of saxifrage from which the pearls are just breakingmakes the heart of man bound with a pleasure that has certainly norational cause which is adequate. 

Caius came up from the western shore, where he had been watching adistant ship that passed on the other side of the nearer ice-floes, andwhich said, by no other signal than that of her white sails, that winterwas gone. The sea, whose rivers and lakes among the ice had of latelooked so turbid by reason of frozen particles in the water, was clearnow to reflect once more the blue above it, and the ice-cakes were verywhite in the sunshine. Caius turned his back upon this, and came up astony path where large patches of the hill were green; and by chance hecame upon O'Shea's wife, who was laying out linen to bleach at somedistance from her own house. Close to her Caius saw the ledge of rock onwhich the first flowers of the year were budding, and straightway fellin love with them. Knowing that their plants would flourish indoors aswell as out, he stooped to lift the large cakes of moss in which theirroots were set. The woman, who wore a small pink shawl tied over herhead and shoulders, came near to where he was stooping, and made nopreface, but said:

"He's dead, sir; or if he isn't, and if he should come back, O'Shea willkill him!"

Caius did not need to ask of whom she spoke. 

"Why?" he asked. "Why should O'Shea want to kill him?"

"It would kill her, sir, if he came back to her. She couldn't abide himno ways, and O'Shea says it's as good one murder should be done asanother, and if he was hung for it he wouldn't mind. O'Shea's the sortof man that would keep his word. He'd just feel it was a kind ofinteresting thing to do, and he worships her to that extent. But I feelsure, sir, that Le Maître is dead. God would not be so unkind as to haveme and the children bereft in that way. "

Her simple belief in her husband's power to settle the matter wasshocking to Caius, because he felt that she probably knew her husbandperfectly. 

"But why, " said he again, "would it kill her if he came back?"

"Well, what sort of a decent man is it that would have stayed away fromher all these years, poor lamb? Why, sir, she wasn't but a child at theconvent when her father had them married, and she back to school, and heaway to his ship, and never come to see her since. "

Caius turned as he knelt upon the grass, and, holding the emerald mossand saxifrage plants in his hand, looked up at her. "He went away twoyears ago, " he said, repeating defiantly what he believed he had heard. 

"He went away six year ago, " corrected she; "but it's two years nowsince aught was heard of him, and his ship went down, sir, coming backfrom Afriky--that we know; but word came that the crew were saved, butnever a word from him, nor a word of him, since. "

"Did she"--his throat would hardly frame the words--a nervous spasmimpeded them; yet he could not but ask--"did she care for him?"

"Oh well, sir, as to that, he was a beautiful-looking man, and she but achild; but when she came to herself she wrote and asked him never tocome back; she told me so; and he never did. "

"Well, that at least was civil of him. " Caius spoke in full earnest. 

"No, sir; he's not civil; he's a beast of a man. There's no sort of lowtrick that he hasn't done, only it can't be proved against him; for he'sthe sort of beast that is a snake; he only married madame for the moneyhe'll get with her. It was when _she_ learned that that she wrote to himnot to come back; but he never sent an honest word to say whether he'dstay away or not. She knows what he is, sir, for folks that he'd cheatedand lied to come to her to complain. Young as she is, there's whitethreads in her hair, just to think that he might come back at any time. It's making an old woman of her since she's come of an age to think; andshe the merriest, blithest creature that ever was. When she first cameout of the convent, to see her dance and sing was a sight to make oldeyes young. "

"Yes, " said Caius eagerly, "I know it was--I am sure it was. "

"Oh, but you never saw her, sir, till the shadow had come on her. "

"Do you know when it was I first saw her?" said Caius, looking down atthe grass. 

"She told me 'twas when she went to Prince Edward's Land, the time shewent to see the wife of her father's brother. 'Twas the one time thatO'Shea let her out of his sight; but no one knew where she was, so ifthe Captain had come at that time he couldn't have found her withoutcoming to O'Shea first. And the other time that O'Shea let her go wasthe first winter she came here, for he knew no one could come at theislands for the snow, and we followed by the first ship in spring. "

"Couldn't she get a separation?"

"O'Shea says the law is that way made that she couldn't. "

"If she changed her name and went away somewhere----" Caius spokethoughtfully. 

"And that's what O'Shea has been at her to do, for at least it wouldgive her peace; but she says, no, she'll do what's open and honest, andGod will take care of her. And I'm sure I hope He will. But it's hard, sir, to see a young thing, so happy by nature as her, taking comfort innothing but prayers and hymns and good works, so young as she is; it'senough to make the angels themselves have tears in their eyes to seeit. "

At this the woman was wiping her own eyes; and, making soft sniffingsounds of uncultivated grief, she went back to her work of strewing wetgarments upon the grass. 

Caius felt that O'Shea's wife had read the mind of the angels aright. 

CHAPTER V. 

TO THE HIGHER COURT. 

If Caius, as he went his way carrying the moss and budding flowers, could have felt convinced with O'Shea's wife that Le Maître was dead, hewould have been a much happier man. He could not admit the woman'slogic. Still, he was far happier than he had been an hour before. LeMaître might be dead. Josephine did not love Le Maître. He felt thatnow, at least, he understood her life. 

Having the flowers, the very first darlings of the spring, in his hand, he went, in the impulse of the new sympathy, and knocked at her housedoor. He carried his burden of moss, earth, moisture, and little grayscaly insects that, having been disturbed, crawled in and out of it, boldly into the room, whose walls were still decorated with the fadedgarlands of the previous autumn. 

"Let me talk to you, " said Caius. 

The lady and the one young girl who happened to be with her hadbestirred themselves to receive his gift. Making a platter serve as therock-ledge from which the living things had been disturbed, they setthem in the window to grow and unfold the more quickly. They had broughthim a bowl also in which to wash his hands, and then it was that helooked at the lady of the house and made his request. 

He hardly thought she would grant it; he felt almost breathless with hisown hardihood when he saw her dismiss the girl and sit before him tohear what he might have to say. He knew then that had he asked her totalk to him he would have translated the desire of his heart far better. 

"O'Shea's wife has been talking to me, " he said. 

"About me?"

"I hope you will forgive us. I think she could not help speaking, and Icould not help listening. "

"What did she say?"

It was the absolutely childlike directness of her thoughts and wordsthat always seemed to Caius to be the thing that put the greatestdistance between them. 

"I could not tell you what she said; I would not dare to repeat it toyou, and perhaps she would not wish you to know; but you know she isloyal to you, and what I can tell you is, that I understand better nowwhat your life is--what it has been. "

Then he held out his hands with an impulsive gesture towards her. Thelarge table was between them; it was only a gesture, and he let hishands lie on the table. "Let me be your friend; you may trust me, " hesaid. "I am only a very ordinary man; but still, the best friendship Ihave I offer. You need not be afraid of me. "

"I am not afraid of you. " She said it with perfect tranquillity. 

He did not like her answer. 

"Are we friends, then?" he asked, and tried to smile, though he feltthat some unruly nerve was painting the heaviness of his heart in hisface. 

"How do you mean it? O'Shea and his wife are my friends, each of them ina very different way----" She was going on, but he interrupted:

"They are your friends because they would die to serve you; but have younever had friends who were your equals in education and intelligence?"He was speaking hastily, using random words to suggest that more couldbe had out of such a relation than faithful service. 

"Are you my equal in intelligence and education?" she asked appositely, laughter in her eyes. 

He had time just for a momentary flash of self-wonder that he should solove a woman who, when she did not keep him at some far distance, laughed at him openly. He stammered a moment, then smiled, for he couldnot help it. 

"I would not care to claim that for myself, " he said. 

"Rather, " she suggested, "let us frankly admit that you are the superiorin both. "

He was sitting at the table, his elbows upon it, and now he covered hisface with his hands, half in real, half in mock, despair:

"What can I do or say?" he groaned. "What have I done that you will notanswer the honest meaning you can understand in spite of my clumsywords?"

Then he had to look at her because she did not answer, and when he sawthat she was still ready to laugh, he laughed, too. 

"Have you never ceased to despise me because I could not swim? I canswim now, I assure you. I have studied the art. I could even show you aprize that I took in a race, if that would win your respect. "

"I am glad you took the prize. "

"I have not yet learned the magic with which mermaids move. "

"No, and you have not heard any excuse for the boldness of that playyet. And I was almost the cause of your death. Ah! how frightened I wasthat night--of you and for you! And again when I went to see Mr. Pembroke before the snow came, and the storm came on and I was obligedto travel with you in O'Shea's great-coat--that again cannot seem niceto you when you think of it. Why do you like what appears so strange?You came here to do a noble work, and you have done it nobly. Why not gohome now, and be rid of such a suspicious character as I have shownmyself to be? Wherever you go, our prayers and our blessings will followyou. "

Caius looked down at the common deal board. There were dents and marksupon it that spoke of constant household work. At length he said:

"There is one reason for going that would seem to me enough: if you willtell me that you neither want nor need my companionship or help in anyway; but if you cannot tell me that----"

"Want, " she said very sadly. "Ah, do you think I have no heart, no mindthat likes to talk its thoughts, no sympathies? I think that if_anyone_--man, woman, or child--were to come to me from out the bigworld, where people have such thoughts and feelings as I have, and offerto talk to me, I could not do anything else than desire theircompanionship. Do you think that I am hard-hearted? I am so lonely thatthe affection even of a dog or a bird would be a temptation to me, if itwas a thing that I dared not accept, because it would make me weaker tolive the life that is right. That is the way we must tell what is rightor wrong. "

In spite of himself, he gathered comfort from the fact that, pausinghere, without adequate reason that was apparent, she took for grantedthat the friendship he offered would be a source of weakness to her. 

She never stooped to try to appear reasonable. As she had been speaking, a new look had been coming out of the habitual calmness of her face, andnow, in the pause, the calm went suddenly, and there was a flash of firein her eyes that he had never seen there before:

"If I were starving, would you come and offer me bread that you knew Iought not to eat? It would be cruel. " She rose up suddenly, and he stoodbefore her. "It is cruel of you to tantalize me with thoughts ofhappiness because you know I must want it so much. I could not live andnot want it. Go! you are doing a cowardly thing. You are doing what thedevil did when our Lord was in the wilderness. But He did not need thebread He was asked to take, and I do not need your friendship. Go!"

She held out the hand--the hand that had so often beckoned to him inplay--and pointed him to the door. He knew that he was standing before awoman who had been irritated by inward pain into a sudden gust of anger, and now, for the first time, he was not afraid of her. In losing herself-control she had lost her control of him. 

"Josephine, " he cried, "tell me about this man, Le Maître! He has noright over you. Why do you think he is not dead? At least, tell me whatyou know. "

It seemed that, in the confusion of conflicting emotions, she hardlywondered why he had not obeyed her. 

"Oh, he is not dead!" She spoke with bitterness. "I have no reason tosuppose so. He only leaves me in suspense that he may make me the moremiserable. " And then, as if realizing what she had said, she lifted herhead again proudly. "But remember it is nothing to you whether he isalive or dead. "

"Nothing to me to know that you would be freed from this horribleslavery! It is not of my own gain, but of yours, I am thinking. "

He knew that what he had said was not wholly true, yet, in the heat ofthe moment, he knew that to embody in words the best that might be wasto give himself the best chance of realizing it; and he did not believenow that her fierce assertion of indifference for him was true either, but his best self applauded her for it. For a minute he could not tellwhat Josephine would do next. She stood looking at him helplessly; itseemed as though her subsiding anger had left a fear of herself in itsplace. But what he dreaded most was that her composure should return. 

"Do not be angry with me, " he said; "I ask because it is right that Ishould know. Can you not get rid of this bond of marriage?"

"Do you think, " she asked, "that the good God and the Holy Virgin woulddesire me to put myself--my life--all that is sacred--into courts andnewspapers? Do you think the holy Mother of God--looking down upon me, her child--wants me to get out of trouble in _that_ way?" Josephine hadasked the question first in distress; then, with a face of peerlessscorn, she seemed to put some horrid scene from before her with herhand. "The dear God would rather I would drown myself, " she said; "itwould at least be"--she hesitated for a word, as if at a loss in herEnglish--"at least be cleaner. "

She had no sooner finished that speech than the scorn died out of herface:

"Ah, no, " she cried repentant; "the men and women who are driven to seeksuch redress--I--I truly pity them--but for me--it would not be any useeven if it were right. O'Shea says it would be no use, and he knows. Idon't think I would do it if I could; but I could not if I would. "

"Surely he is dead, " pleaded Caius. "How can you live if you do notbelieve that?"

She came a little nearer to him, making the explanation with child-likeearnestness:

"You see, I have talked to God and to the holy Mother about this. I knowthey have heard my prayers and seen my tears, and will do what is goodfor me. I ask God always that Le Maître may not come back to me, so nowI know that if" (a gasping sigh retarded for a moment the breath thatcame and went in her gentle bosom) "if he does come back it will beGod's will. Who am I that I should know best? Shall I choose to be whatyou call a 'missionary' to the poor and sick--and refuse God's will? Godcan put an end to my marriage if He will; until He does, I will do myduty to my husband: I will till the land that he left idle; I willhonour the name he gave me. I dare not do anything except what is very, very right, because I have appealed to the Court of Heaven. You askedme just now if I did not want and need friendship; it does not matterat all what I want, and whatever God does not give me you may be sure Ido not need. "

He knew that the peace he dreaded had come back to her. She had goneback to the memory of her strength. Now he obeyed the command she hadgiven before, and went out. 

CHAPTER VI. 

"THE NIGHT IS DARK. "

Caius went home to his house. Inconsistency is the hall-mark of real indistinction from unreal life. A note of happy music was sounding in hisheart. The bright spring evening seemed all full of joy. He saw a flockof gannets stringing out in long line against the red evening sky, andknew that all the feathered population of the rocks was returning to itssummer home. Something more than the mere joy of the season was makinghim glad; he hardly knew what it was, for it appeared to him thatcircumstances were untoward. 

It was in vain that he reasoned that there was no cause for joy in thebelief that Josephine took delight in his society; that delight wouldonly make her lot the harder, and make for him the greater grievance. Hemight as well have reasoned with himself that there was no cause for joyin the fact of the spring; he was so created that such things made upthe bliss of life to him. 

Caius did not himself think that Josephine owed any duty to La Maître;he could only hope, and try to believe, that the man was dead. Reason, common-sense, appeared to him to do away with what slight moral orreligious obligation was involved in such a marriage; yet he was quitesure of one thing--that this young wife, left without friend orprotector, would have been upon a very much lower level if she hadthought in the manner as he did. He knew now that from the first day hehad seen her the charm of her face had been that he read in it acharacter that was not only wholly different to, but nobler than, hisown. He reflected now that he should not love her at all if she took astand less high in its sweet unreasonableness, and his reason for thiswas simply that, had she done otherwise, she would not have beenJosephine. 

The thought that Josephine was what she was intoxicated him; all thenext day time and eternity seemed glorious to him. The islands werestill ringed with the pearly ring of ice-floes, and for one brief springday, for this lover, it was enough to be yet imprisoned in the same bitof green earth with his lady, to think of all the noble things she hadsaid and done, and, by her influence, to see new vistas opening intoeternity in which they two walked together. There was even someself-gratulation that he had attained to faith in Heaven. He was one ofthose people who always suppose that they would be glad to have faith ifthey could. It was not faith, however, that had come to him, only arefining and quickening of his imagination. 

Quick upon the heels of these high dreams came their test, for life isnot a dream. 

Between the Magdalen Islands and the mainland, besides the many strayschooners that came and went, there were two lines of regularcommunication--one was by a sailing vessel which carried freightregularly to and from the port of Gaspé; the other was by a smallpacket steamer that once a week came from Nova Scotia and PrinceEdward's Island, and returned by the same route. It was by this steamer, on her first appearance, that Caius ought reasonably to return to hishome. She would come as soon as the ice diminished; she would bring himnews, withheld for four months, of how his parents had fared in hisabsence. Caius had not yet decided that he would go home by the firsttrip; the thought of leaving, when it forced itself upon him, was verypainful. This steamer was the first arrival expected, and the islanders, eager for variety and mails, looked excitedly to see the ice melt or bedrifted away. Caius looked at the ice ring with more intense longing, but his longing was that it should remain. His wishes, like prayers, besought the cold winds and frosty nights to conserve it for him. 

It so happened that the Gaspé schooner arrived before the southernpacket, and lay outside of the ice, waiting until she could make her waythrough. So welcome was the sight that the islanders gathered upon theshores of the bay just for the pleasure of looking at her as she laywithout the harbour. Caius looked at her, too, and with comparativeindifference, for he rejoiced that he was still in prison. 

Upon that day the night fell just as it falls upon all days; but atmidnight Caius had a visitor. O'Shea came to him in the darkness. 

Caius was awakened from sound sleep by a muffled thumping at his doorthat was calculated to disturb him without carrying sharp sound into thesurrounding air. His first idea was that some drunken fellow hadblundered against his wall by mistake. As the sounds continued and thefull strangeness of the event, in that lonely place, entered his wakingbrain, he arose with a certain trepidation akin to that which one feelsat the thought of supernatural visitors, a feeling that was perhaps theresult of some influence from the spirit of the man outside the door;for when he opened it, and held his candle to O'Shea's face, he saw alook there that made him know certainly that something was wrong. 

O'Shea came in and shut the door behind him, and went into the innerroom and sat down on the foot of the bed. Caius followed, holding thecandle, and inspected him again. 

"Sit down, man. " O'Shea made an impatient gesture at the light. "Getinto bed, if ye will; there's no hurry that I know of. "

Caius stood still, looking at the farmer, and such nervousness had comeupon him that he was almost trembling with fear, without the slightestnotion as yet of what he feared. 

"In the name of Heaven----" he began. 

"Yes, Heaven!" O'Shea spoke with hard, meditative inquiry. "It's Heavenshe trusts in. What's Heaven going to do for her, I'd loike to know?"

"What is it?" The question now was hoarse and breathless. 

"Well, I'll tell you what it is if ye'll give me time"--the tone wassarcastic--"and you needn't spoil yer beauty by catching yer death ofcold. 'Tain't nicessary, that I know of. There's things that arenicessary; there's things that will be nicessary in the next few days;but that ain't. "

For the first time Caius did not resent the caustic manner. Itssharpness was turned now towards an impending fate, and to Caius O'Sheahad come as to a friend in need. Mechanically he sat in the middle ofthe small bed, and huddled its blankets about him. The burly farmer, infur coat and cap, sat in wooden-like stillness; but Caius was like a manin a fever, restless in his suspense. The candle, which he had put uponthe floor, cast up a yellow light on all the scant furniture, on the twomen as they thus talked to each other, with pale, tense faces, and threwdistorted shadows high up on the wooden walls. 

Perhaps it was a relief to O'Shea to torture Caius some time with thissuspense. At last he said: "He's in the schooner. "

"Le Maître? How do you know?"

"Well, I'll tell ye how I know. I told ye there was no hurry. "

If he was long now in speaking, Caius did not know it. Upon his braincrowded thoughts and imaginations: wild plans for saving the woman heloved; wild, unholy desires of revenge; and a wild vision of misery inthe background as yet--a foreboding that the end might be submission tothe worst pains of impotent despair. 

O'Shea had taken out a piece of paper, but did not open it. 

"'Tain't an hour back I got this. The skipper of the schooner and meknow each other. He's been bound over by me to let me know if that manever set foot in his ship to come to this place, and he's managed to geta lad off his ship in the noight, and across the ice, and he brought methis. Le Maître, he's drunk, lyin' in his bunk; that's the way he'spreparing to come ashore. It may be one day, it may be two, afore theschooner can get in. Le Maître he won't get off it till it's in th'harbour. I guess that's about all there is to tell. " O'Shea added thiswith grim abstinence from fiercer comment. 

"Does she know?" Caius' throat hardly gave voice to the words. 

"No, she don't; and I don't know who is to tell her. I can't. I can domost things. " He looked up round the walls and ceiling, as if hunting inhis mind for other things he could not do. "I'll not do that. 'Tain't inmy line. My wife is adown on her knees, mixing up prayers and crying ata great rate; and says I to her, 'You've been a-praying about this someyears back; I'd loike to know what good it's done. Get up and tellmadame the news;' and says she that she couldn't, and she says that inthe morning you're to tell her. " O'Shea set his face in grim defiance ofany sentiment of pity for Caius that might have suggested itself. 

Caius said nothing; but in a minute, grasping at the one straw of hopewhich he saw, "What are you going to do?" he asked. 

O'Shea smoothed out the letter he held. 

"Well, you needn't speak so quick; it's just that there I thought wemight have our considerations upon. I'm not above asking advoice of agintleman of the world like yerself; I'm not above giving advoice, neither. "

He sat looking vacantly before him with a grim smile upon his face. Caius saw that his mind was made up. 

"What are you going to do?" he asked again. 

At the same moment came the sharp consciousness upon him that he himselfwas a murderer, that he wanted to have Le Maître murdered, that hisquestion meant that he was eager to be made privy to the plot, willingto abet it. Yet he did not feel wicked at all; before his eyes was theface of Josephine lying asleep, unconscious and peaceful. He felt thathe fought in a cause in which a saint might fight. 

"What I may or may not do, " said O'Shea, "is neither here nor there justnow. The first thing is, what you're going to do. The schooner's outthere to the north-east; the boat that's been used for the sealing isover here to the south-west; now, there ain't no sinse, that I know of, in being uncomfortable when it can be helped, or in putting ourselvesabout for a brute of a man who ain't worth it. It's plain enough what'sthe easy thing to do. To-morrow morning ye'll make out that ye can'tabide no longer staying in this dull hole, and offer the skipper of oneof them sealing-boats fifty dollars to have the boat across the ice andtake you to Souris. Then ye will go up and talk plain common-sinse tomadame, and tell her to put on her man's top-coat she's worn before, andskip out of this dirty fellow's clutches. There ain't nothing like beingscared out of their wits for making women reasonable--it's about theonly time they have their sinses, so far as I know. "

"If she won't come, what then?" Caius demanded hastily. 

"My woife says that if ye're not more of a fool than we take ye for, she'll go. "

There was something in the mechanical repetition of what his wife hadsaid that made Caius suspect. 

"You don't think she'll go?"

O'Shea did not answer. 

"That is what you'll do, any way, " he said; "and ye'll do it the bestway ye know how. "

He sat upon the bed some time longer, wrapped in grim reserve. Thecandle guttered, flared, burned itself out. The two men were together inthe dark. Caius believed that if the first expedient failed, and he feltit could not but fail, murder was their only resource against whatseemed to them intolerable evil. 

O'Shea got up. 

"Perhaps ye think the gintleman that is coming has redeeming featuresabout him?" A fine edge of sarcasm was in his tone. "Well, he hain't. Before we lost sight of him, I got word concarning him from one part ofthe world and another. If I haven't got the law of him, it's becausehe's too much of a sneak. He wasn't anything but a handsome sort ofbeast to begin with; and, what with drinking and the life he's led, he'sgrown into a sort of thing that had better go on all fours likeNebuchadnezzar than come nigh decent people on his hind-legs. Why has helet her alone all these years?" The speech was grimly dramatic. "Why, just because, first place, I believe another woman had the upper hand ofhim; second place, when he married madame it was the land and money herfather had to leave her that made him make that bargain. He hadn't thatin him that would make him care for a white slip of a girl as she wasthen, and, any way, he knew that the girl and the money would keep tillhe was sick of roving. It's as nasty a trick as could be that he'sserved her, playing dead dog all these years, and coming to catch herunawares. I tell ye the main thing he has on his mind is revenge for theletters she wrote him when she first got word of his tricks, and then, too, he's coming back to carouse on her money and the money she's madeon his father's land, that he niver looked to himself. "

O'Shea stalked through the small dark rooms and went out, closing theouter door gently behind him. Caius sat still, wrapped in his blankets. He bowed his head upon his knees. The darkness was only the physicalpart of the blackness that closed over his spirit. There was only onelight in this blackness--that was Josephine's face. Calm he saw it, touched with the look of devotion or mercy; laughing and dimpled he sawit, a thing at one with the sunshine and all the joy of earth; and thenhe saw it change, and grow pale with fear, and repulsion, and disgust. Around this one face, that carried light with it, there were horridshapes and sounds in the blackness of his mind. He had been a good man;he had preferred good to evil: had it all been a farce? Was the thingthat he was being driven to do now a thing of satanic prompting, and hehimself corrupt--all the goodness which he had thought to be himselfonly an organism, fair outside, that rotted inwardly? Or was this fearthe result of false teaching, the prompting of an artificial conscience, and was the thing he wished to do the wholesome and natural course totake--right in the sight of such Deity as might be beyond the curtain ofthe unknown, the Force who had set the natural laws of being in motion?Caius did not know. While his judgment was in suspense he was beset byhorrible fears--the fear that he might be driven to do a villainousdeed, the greater fear that he should not accomplish it, the awful fear, rising above all else in his mind, of seeing Josephine overtaken by thehorrible fate which menaced her, and he himself still alive to feel hermisery and his own. 

No, rather than that he would himself kill the man. It was not the partthat had been assigned to him, but if she would not save herself itwould be the noblest thing to do. Was he to allow O'Shea, with a wifeand children, to involve himself in such dire trouble, when he, who hadno one dependent upon him, could do the deed, and take what consequencesmight be? He felt a glow of moral worth like that which he had felt whenhe decided upon his mission to the island--greater, for in that hismotives had been mixed and sordid, and in this his only object was tosave lives that were of more worth than his own. Should he kill the man, he would hardly escape death, and even if he did, he could never lookJosephine in the face again. 

Why not? Why, if this deed were so good, could he not, after the doingof it, go back to her and read gratitude in her eyes? BecauseJosephine's standard of right and wrong was different from his. What washer standard? His mind cried out an impatient answer. "She believes itis better to suffer than to be happy. " He did not believe that; he wouldsettle this matter by his own light, and, by freeing her and saving herfaithful friends, be cut off from her for ever. 

It would be an easy thing to do, to go up to the man and put a knife inhis heart, or shoot him like a dog!

His whole being revolted from the thought; when the deed came before hiseyes, it seemed to him that only in some dark feverish imagination couldhe have dreamed of acting it out, that of course in plain common-sense, that daylight of the mind, he could not will to do this. 

Then he thought again of the misery of the suffering wife, and hebelieved that, foreign as it was to his whole habit of life, he could dothis, even this, to save her. 

Then again came over him the sickening dread that the old rules of rightand wrong that he had been taught were the right guides after all, andthat Josephine was right, and that he must submit. 

The very thought of submission made his soul rise up in a mad tempest ofanger against such a moral law, against all who taught it, against theGod who was supposed to ordain it; and so strong was the tempest of thiswrath, and so weak was he, perplexed, wretched, that he would have beenglad even at the same moment to have appealed to the God of his fathers, with whom he was quarrelling, for counsel and help. His quarrel was toofierce for that. His quarrel with God made trust, made mere belief even, impossible, and he was aware that it was not new, that this was only theculminating hour of a long rebellion. 

CHAPTER VII. 

THE WILD WAVES WHIST. 

Next morning, when Caius walked forth into the glory of the Aprilsunshine, he felt himself to be a poor, wretched man. There was not afisherman upon the island, lazy, selfish as they were, and despised inhis eyes, that did not appear to him to be a better man than he. All theforce of training and habit made the thing that he was going to doappear despicable; but all the force of training and habit was notstrong enough to make his judgment clear or direct his will. 

The muddy road was beginning to steam in the sunshine; the thin shiningice of night that coated its puddles was melting away. In the greenstrip by the roadside he saw the yellow-tufted head of a dandelion justlevel with the grass. The thicket of stunted firs on either side smeltsweet, and beyond them he saw the ice-field that dazzled his eyes, andthe blue sea that sparkled. From this side he could not see the bay andthe ship of fate lying at anchor, but he noticed with relief that theice was not much less. 

There was no use in thinking or feeling; he must go on and do what wasto be done. So he told himself. He shut his heart against the influenceof the happy earth; he felt like a guest bidden by fate, who knew notwhether the feast were to be for bridal or funeral. That he was not astrong man was shown in this--that having hoped and feared, dreamed andsuffered, struggling to see a plain path where no path was, for half thenight, he now felt that his power of thought and feeling had burned out, that he could only act his part, without caring much what its resultsmight be. 

It was eight o'clock. He had groomed his horse, and tidied his house, and bathed, and breakfasted. He did not think it seemly to intrude uponthe lady before this hour, and now he ascended her steps and knocked ather door. The dogs thumped their tails on the wooden veranda; it wasonly of late they had learned this welcome for him. Would they give itnow, he wondered, if they could see his heart? As he stood there waitingfor a minute, he felt that it would be good, if possible, to have laidhis dilemma fairly before the canine sense and heart, and to have letthe dogs rise and tear him or let him pass, as they judged best. It wasa foolish fancy. 

It was O'Shea's wife who opened the door; her face was disfigured bycrying. 

"You have told her?" demanded Caius, with relief. 

The woman shook her head. 

"It was the fine morning that tempted her out, sir, " she said. "She sentdown to me, saying how she had taken a cup of milk and gone to ride onthe beach, and I was to come up and look after the girls. But look here, sir"--eagerly--"it's a good thing, I'm thinking, for her spirits arehigh when she rides in fine weather, and she's more ready for games andplays, and thinking of pleasure. She's gone on the west shore, round bythe light, for O'Shea he looked at the tracks. Do you get your horseand ride after, where you see her tracks in the sand. "

Caius went. He mounted his horse and rode down upon the western shore. He found the track, and galloped upon it. The tide was low; the ice wasfar from shore; the highway, smoothed by the waves, was firm and good. Caius galloped to the end of the island where the light was, where thesealing vessels lay round the base of the lighthouse, and out upon thedune, and still the print of her horse's feet went on in front of him. It was not the first time that he and she had been upon the dunetogether. 

A mile, two miles, three; he rode at an easy pace, for now he knew thathe could not miss the rider before him. He watched the surf break gentlyon the broad shallow reach of sand-ridges that lay between him and thefloating ice. And when he had ridden so far he was not the same man aswhen he mounted his horse, or at least, his own soul, of which man hashardly permanent possession, had returned to him. He could now see, overthe low mists of his own moods, all the issues of Josephine's case--all, at least, that were revealed to him; for souls are of different stature, and it is as the head is high or low that the battlefield is trulydiscerned. 

Long before he met her he saw Josephine. She had apparently gone as faras she thought wise, and was amusing herself by making her horse set hisfeet in the cold surf. It was a game with the horse and the waveletsthat she was playing. Each time he danced back and sunned himself he hadto go in again; and when he stood, his hind-feet on the sand and hisfore-feet reared over the foam, by way of going where she wished andkeeping himself dry, Caius could see her gestures so well that itseemed to him he heard the tones of playful remonstrance with which sheargued the case. 

When she perceived that Caius intended to come up to her, she rode tomeet him. Her white cap had been taken off and stuffed into the breastof her dress; the hood surrounded her face loosely, but did not hide it;her eyes were sparkling with pleasure--the pure animal pleasure of lifeand motion, the sensuous pleasure in the beauty and the music of thewaves; other pleasures there might be, but these were certain, andpredominated. 

"Why did you come?"

She asked the question as a happy child might ask of its playmate--nohint of danger. 

To Caius it was a physical impossibility to answer this question withthe truth just then. 

"Is not springtime an answer?" he asked, then added: "I am going awayto-day. I came for one last ride. "

She looked at him for a few moments, evidently supposing that heintended to go to Harbour Island to wait there for his ship. If thatwere so, it seemed that she felt no further responsibility about herconduct to him. His heart sank to see that her joy in the spring and themorning was such that the thought of parting did not apparently grieveher much. 

In a moment more her eyes flashed at him with the laughter at hisexpense which he knew so well; she tried not to laugh as she spoke, butcould not help it. 

"I have been visiting the band of men who were going to murder you thenight you came. Would you like to see them?"

"If you will take care of me. "

As she turned and rode before him he heard her laughing. 

"There, " she said, stopping and pointing to the ground--"there is theplace where the quicksand was. I have not gone over it this morning. Sometimes they last from one season to another; sometimes they changethemselves in a few days. I was dreadfully frightened when we began tosink, but it was you who saved the pony. "

"Don't, " said Caius--"don't attempt to make the best of me. I wouldrather be laughed at. " He spoke lightly, without feeling, and thatseemed to please her. 

"I think, " she said candidly, "we behaved very badly; but it wasO'Shea's fault--I only enjoyed it. And I don't see what else we couldhave done, because those two French sailors had to watch if anyone cameto steal from the wreck, and they were going to help us so far as to goto the sheds on the cliff for boards to get up the cart; but O'Sheacould not have stayed all night with the bags unless I had left him mycoat as well as his own. "

"You might have trusted me, " said Caius. Still he spoke with nosensibility; she grew more at her ease. 

"O'Shea wouldn't; and I couldn't control O'Shea. And then we had to meetso often, that I could not bear that you should know I had worn a man'scoat. I had to do it, for I couldn't drive home any other way. " Here apause, and her mind wandered to another recollection. "Those men we metbrought us word that one of my friends was so ill; I had to hurry tohim. In my heart I thought you would not respect me because I had worn aman's coat; and because---- Yes, it was very naughty of me indeed tobehave as I did in the water that summer. Even then I did try to getO'Shea to let me walk with you, but he wouldn't. "

She had been slowly riding through a deep, soft sand-drift that washeaped at the mouth of the hollow, and when they had got through theopening, Caius saw the ribs of one side of an enormous wreck protrudingfrom the sand, about six feet in height. A small hardy weed had grownupon their heads in tufts; withered and sear with the winter, it stillhung there. The ribs bent over a little, as the men he had seen hadbent. 

"The cloud-shadows and the moonlight were very confusing, " remarkedJosephine; "and then O'Shea made the two sailors stand in the same way, and they were real. I never knew a man like O'Shea for thinking ofthings that are half serious and half funny. I never knew him yet failto find a way to do the thing he wanted to do; and it's always a waythat makes me laugh. "

If Josephine would not come away with him, would O'Shea find a way ofkilling Le Maître? and would it be a way to make her laugh? With theawful weight of the tidings he brought upon his heart, all that he saidor did before he told them seemed artificial. 

"I thought"--half mechanically--"that I saw them all hold up theirhands. "

"Did you?" she asked. "The first two did; O'Shea told them to hold uptheir hands. "

"There is something you said a minute ago that I want to answer, " hesaid. 

She thought he had left the subject of his illusion because it mortifiedhim. 

"You said"--he began now to feel emotion as he spoke--"that you thoughtI should not respect you. I want to tell you that I respected you as Irespect my mother, even when you were only a mermaid. I saw you when Ifell that night as we walked on this beach. If you had worn a boy'scoat, or a fishskin, always, I had sense enough to see that it was asaint at play. Have you read all the odd stories about the saints andthe Virgin--how they appear and vanish, and wear odd clothes, and playbeneficent tricks with people? It was like that to me. I don't know howto say it, but I think when good people play, they have to be very, verygood, or they don't really enjoy it. I don't know how to explain it, butthe moderate sort of goodness spoils everything. "

Caius, when he had said this, felt that it was something he had neverthought before; and, whatever it might mean, he felt instinctively thatit meant a great deal more than he knew. He felt a little shabby athaving expressed it from her religious point of view, in which he had nopart; but his excuse was that there was in his mind at least the doubtthat she might be right, and, whether or not, his mission just then wasto gain her confidence. He brushed scruples aside for the end in view. 

"I am glad you said that, " she said. "I am not good, but I should liketo be. It wasn't becoming to play a mermaid, but I didn't think of thatthen. I didn't know many things then that I know now. You see, myuncle's wife drowned her little child; and afterwards, when she was ill, I went to take care of her, and we could not let anyone know, becausethe police would have interfered for fear she would drown me. But she isquite harmless, poor thing! It is only that time stopped for her whenthe child was drowned, and she thinks its little body is in the wateryet, if we could only find it. I found she had made that dress you calla fishskin with floats on it for herself, and she used to get into thesea, from the opening of an old cellar, at night, and push herself aboutwith a pole. It was the beautiful wild thing that only a mad person withnice thoughts could do. But when she was ill, I played with it, for Ihad nothing else to do; it was desecration. "

"I thought you were like the child that was lost. I think you are likeher. "

"She thought so, too; she used to think sometimes that I was her littledaughter grown up. It was very strange, living with her; I almost thinkI might have gone mad, too, if I hadn't played with you. "

It was very strange, Caius thought, that on this day of all days sheshould be willing to talk to him about herself, should be willing tolaugh and chat and be happy with him. The one day that he dare notlisten long, that he must disturb her peace, was the only time that shehad seemed to wish to make a friend of him. 

"When you lived so near us, " he asked, "did you ever come across thewoods and see my father's house? Did you see my father and mother? Ithink you would like them if you did. "

"Oh, no, " she said lightly; "I only knew who you were because my aunttalked about you; she never forgot what you had done for the child. "

"Do not turn your horse yet. " He allowed himself to be urgent now. "Ihave something to say to you which must be said. I am going home; I donot want to wait for the steamer; I want to bribe one of those sealingvessels to start with me to-day. I have come to ask you if you will notcome with me to see my mother. You do not know what it is to have amother. Mothers are very good; mine is. You would like to be with her, Iknow; you would have the calm of feeling taken care of, instead ofstanding alone in the world. "

He said all this without letting his tone betray that thatdouble-thoughted mind of his was telling him that this was doubtful, that his mother might be slow to believe in Josephine, and that he wasnot sure whether Josephine would be attracted by her. 

Josephine looked at him with round-eyed surprise; then, apparentlyconjecturing that the invitation was purely kind, purely stupid, shethanked him, and declined it graciously. 

"Is there no folly with which you would not easily credit me?" He smiledfaintly in his reproach. "Do you think I do not know what I am saying? Ihave been awake all night thinking what I could do for you. " For amoment he looked at her helplessly, hoping that some hint of the truthwould come of itself; then, turning away his face, he said hoarsely: "LeMaître is on the Gaspé schooner. O'Shea has had the news. He is lyingdrunk in his berth. "

He did not turn until he heard a slight sound. Then he saw that she hadslipped down from her horse, perhaps because she was afraid of fallingfrom it. Her face was quite white; there was a drawn look of abjectterror upon it; but she only put her horse's rein in his hand, andpointed to the mouth of the little valley. 

"Let me be alone a little while, " she whispered. 

So Caius rode out upon the beach, leading her horse; and there he heldboth restive animals as still as might be, and waited. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

"GOD'S IN HIS HEAVEN. "

Caius wondered how long he ought to wait if she did not come out to him. He wondered if she would die of misery there alone in the sand-dune, orif she would go mad, and meet him in some fantastic humour, all theintelligence scorched out of her poor brain by the cruel words he hadsaid. He had a notion that she had wanted to say her prayers, and, although he did not believe in an answering Heaven, he did believe thatprayers would comfort her, and he hoped that that was why she asked tobe left. 

When he thought of the terror in her eyes, he felt sanguine that shewould come with him. Now that he had seen her distress, it seemed to himworse than any notion he had preconceived of it. It was right that sheshould go with him. When she had once done that, he would stand betweenher and this man always. That would be enough; if she should never carefor him, if he had nothing more than that, he would be satisfied, andthe world might think what it would. If she would not go with him--well, then he would kill Le Maître. His mind was made up; there was nothingleft of hesitation or scruple. He looked at the broad sea and thesunlight and the sky, and made his vow with clenched teeth. He laughedat the words which had scared him the night before--the names of thecrimes which were his alternatives; they were made righteousness to himby the sight of fear in a woman's face. 

It is one form of weakness to lay too much stress upon the emotion ofanother, just as it is weak to take too much heed of our own emotions;but Caius thought the sympathy that carried all before it was strength. 

After awhile, waiting became intolerable. Leading both horses, he walkedcautiously back to a point where he could see Josephine. She was sittingupon the sandy bank near where he had left her. He took his cap in hishand, and went with the horses, standing reverently before her. He feltsure now that she had been saying her prayers, because, although herface was still very pallid, she was composed and able to speak. Hewished now she had not prayed. 

"You are very kind to me. " Her voice trembled, but she gave him a littlesmile. "I cannot pretend that I am not distressed; it would be false, and falsehood is not right. You are very, very kind, and I thankyou----"

She broke off, as if she had been going to say something more but hadwearily forgotten what it was. 

"Oh, do not say that!" His voice was like one pleading to be spared ablow. "I love you. There is no greater joy to me on earth than to serveyou. "

"Hush, " she said; "don't say that. I am very sorry for you, but sorrowmust come to us all in some way. "

"Don't, don't!" he cried--"don't tell me that suffering is good. It isnot good; it is an evil. It is right to shun evil; it is the onlyright. The other is a horrid fable--a lie concocted by priests anddevils!"

"Suppose you loved someone--me, for instance--and I was dead, and youknew quite certainly that by dying you would come to where I was--wouldyou call death good or evil?"

He demurred. He did not want to admit belief in anything connected withthe doctrine of submission. 

"I said 'suppose, '" she said. 

"I would go through far more than death to come near you. "

"Suffering is just a gate, like death. We go through it to get thethings we really want most. "

"I don't believe in a religion that calls suffering better thanhappiness; but I know you do. "

"No, I don't, " she said, "and God does not; and people who talk as if Hedid not want us to seek happiness--even our own happiness--are making tothemselves a graven image. I will tell you how I think about it, becauseI have been alone a great deal and been always very much afraid, andthat has made me think a great deal, and you have been very kind, foryou risked your life for my poor people, and now you would risksomething more than that to help me. Will you listen while I try to tellyou?"

Caius signified his assent. He was losing all his hope. He was thinkingthat when she had done talking he would go and get ready to do murder;but he listened. 

"You see, " she began, "the greatest happiness is love. Love is greedy toget as well as to give. It is all nonsense talking about love that givesand asks for no return. We only put up with that when we cannot get theother, and why? Why should we think it the grandest thing to give whatwe would scorn to take? You, for instance--you would rather have aperson you loved do nothing for you, yet enjoy you, always demandingyour affection and presence, than that he or she should be endlesslygenerous, and indifferent to what you give in return. "

"Yes. " He blushed as he said it. 

"Well then, it is cant to speak as if the love that asks for no returnis the noblest. Now listen. I have something very solemn to say, becauseit is only by the greatest things that we learn what the little ought tobe. When God came to earth to live for awhile, it was for the sake ofHis happiness and ours; He loved us in the way that I have been saying;He was not content only to bless us, He wanted us to enjoy Him. Hewanted that happiness from us; and He wanted us to expect it from Himand from each other; and if we had answered, all would have been likethe first marriage feast, where they had the very best wine, and suchlots of it. But, you see, we couldn't answer; we had no souls. We werejust like the men on Cloud Island who laughed at you when you wantedthem to build a hospital. The little self or soul that we had was ofthat sort that we couldn't even love each other very much with it, andnot Him at all. So there was only one way, and that was for us to growout of these stupid little souls, and get good big ones, that can enjoyGod, and enjoy each other, and enjoy everything perfectly. " She lookedup over the yellow sand-hills into the deep sunny sky, and drew a longbreath of the April air involuntarily. "Oh, " she said, "a good, big, perfect soul could enjoy so much. "

It seemed as if she thought she had said it all and finished thesubject. 

"Well, " said Caius, interested in spite of himself, "if God wanted tomake us happy, He could have given us that kind of soul. "

"Ah, no! We don't know why things have to grow, but they must;everything grows--_you_ know that. For some reason, that is the bestway; so there was just one way for those souls to grow in us, and Heshowed us how. It is by doing what is quite perfectly right, and bearingall the suffering that comes because of it, and doing all the givingside of love, because here we can't get much. Pain is not good initself; it is a gate. Our souls are growing all through the gate of thesuffering, and when we get to the other side of it, we shall find wehave won them. God wants us to be greedy for happiness; but we must findit by going through the gate He went through to show us the way. "

Caius stood before her holding the horses; even they had been stillwhile she was speaking, as if listening to the music of her voice. Caiusfelt the misery of a wavering will and conflicting thoughts. 

"If I thought, " he said, "that God cared about happiness--just simplehappiness--it would make religion seem so much more sensible; but I'mafraid I don't believe in living after death, or that He cares----"

What she said was wholly unreasonable. She put out her hand and tookhis, as if the hand-clasp were a compact. 

"Trust God and see, " she said. 

There was in her white face such a look of glorious hope, that Caius, half carried away by its inspiration, still quailed before her. Afterhe had wrung her hand, he found himself brushing his sleeve across hiseyes. As he thought that he had lost her, thought of all that she wouldhave to endure, of the murder he still longed to commit, and felt allthe agony of indecision again, and suspected that after this he wouldscruple to commit it--when all this came upon him, he turned and leanedagainst one of the horses, sobbing, conscious in a vague way that he didnot wish to stop himself, but only craved her pity. 

Josephine comforted him. She did not apparently try to, she did not door say anything to the purpose; but she evinced such consternation atthe sight of his tears, that stronger thoughts came. He put aside histrouble, and helped her to mount her horse. 

They rode along the beach slowly together. She was content to go slowly. She looked physically too exhausted to ride fast. Even yet probably, within her heart, the conflict was going forward that had only been wellbegun in her brief solitude of the sand valley. 

Caius looked at her from time to time with feelings of fierceindignation and dejection. The indignation was against Le Maître, thedejection was wholly upon his own account; for he felt that his plan ofhelp had failed, and that where he had hoped to give strength andcomfort, he had only, in utter weakness, exacted pity. Caius had onevirtue in these days: he did not admire anything that he did, and he didnot even think much about the self he scorned. With regard to Josephine, he felt that if her philosophy of life were true it was not for him topresume to pity her. So vividly had she brought her conception of theuse of life before him that it was stamped upon his mind in a briefseries of pictures, clear, indelible; and the last picture was one ofwhich he could not think clearly, but it produced in him an idea of theafter-life which he had not before. 

Then he thought again of the cloud under which Josephine was entering. Her decision would in all probability cut down her bright, useful lifeto a few short years of struggle and shame and sorrow. At last he spoke:

"But why do you think it right to sacrifice yourself to this man? Itdoes not seem to me right. "

He knew then what clearness of thought she had, for she looked withalmost horror in her face. 

"Sacrifice myself for Le Maître! Oh no! I should have no right to dothat; but to the ideal right, to God--yes. If I withheld anything fromGod, how could I win my soul?"

"But how do you know God requires this?"

"Ah! I told you before. Why will you not understand? I have prayed. Iknow God has taken this thing in his own hand. "

Caius said no more. Josephine's way of looking at this thing might notbe true; that was not what he was considering just then. He knew that itwas intensely true for her, would remain true for her until the event ofdeath proved it true or false. This was the factor in the presentproblem that was the enemy to his scheme. Then, furthermore, whether itwere true or false, he knew that there was in his mind the doubt, andthat doubt would remain with him, and it would prevent him from killingLe Maître; it would even prevent him from abetting O'Shea, and hesupposed that that abetting would be necessary. Here was cause enoughfor dejection--that the whole miserable progress of events which hefeared most should take place. And why? Because a woman held a gloriousfaith which might turn out to be delusion, and because he, a man, hadnot strength to believe for certain that it was a delusion. 

It raised no flicker of renewed hope in Caius to meet O'Shea at the turnof the shore where the boats of the seal fishery were drawn up. O'Sheahad a brisk look of energy that made it evident that he was still bentupon accomplishing his design. He stopped in front of the lady's horse, and said something to her which Caius did not hear. 

"Have ye arranged that little picnic over to Prince Edward's, " he calledto Caius. 

Caius looked at Josephine. O'Shea's mere presence had put much of thespiritual aspect of the case to flight, and he suddenly smarted underthe realization that he had never put the question to her since she hadknown her danger--never put the request to her strongly at all. 

"Come, " said Josephine; "I am going home. I am going to send all mygirls to their own homes and get the house ready for my husband. "

O'Shea, with imperturbable countenance, pushed off his hat and scratchedhis head. 

"I was thinking, " he remarked casually, "that I'd jist send Mammy alongwith ye to Prince Edward. " (Mammy was what he always called his wife. )"I am thinking he'll be real glad to see her, for she's a realrespectable woman. "

"Who?" asked Josephine, puzzled. 

"Prince Edward, that owns the island, " said O'Shea. "And she's that downin the mouth, it's no comfort for me to have her; and she can take thebaby and welcome. It's a fair sea. " He looked to the south as he spoke. "I'd risk both her and the brat on it; and Skipper Pierre is gettingready to take the boat across the ice. "

Caius saw that resolution had fled from Josephine. She too looked at thecalm blue southern sea, and agonized longing came into her eyes. Itseemed to Caius too cruel, too horribly cruel, that she should betortured by this temptation. Because he knew that to her it could benothing but temptation, he sat silent when O'Shea, seeing that thelady's gaze was afar, signed to him for aid; and because he hoped thatshe might yield he was silent, and did not come to rescue her from thetormentor. 

O'Shea gave him a look of undisguised scorn; but since he would not woo, it appeared that this man was able to do some wooing for him. 

"Of course, " remarked O'Shea, "I see difficulties. If the doctor herewas a young man of parts, I'd easier put ye and Mammy in his care; butold Skipper Pierre is no milksop. "

Josephine looked, first alert, as if suspecting an ill-bred joke, andthen, as O'Shea appeared to be speaking to her quite seriously, forgetting that Caius might overhear, there came upon her face a look ofgentle severity. 

"That is not what I think of the doctor; I would trust him more quicklythan anyone else, except you, O'Shea. "

The words brought to Caius a pang, but he hardly noticed it in watchingthe other two, for the lady, when she had spoken, looked off again withlonging at the sea, and O'Shea, whose rough heart melted under thetrustful affection of the exception she made, for a moment turned awayhis head. Caius saw in him the man whom he had only once seen before, and that was when his child had died. It was but a few moments; the easyquizzical manner sat upon him again. 

"Oh, well, he hasn't got much to him one way or the other, but----" thisin low, confidential tones. 

Caius could not hear her reply; he saw that she interrupted, earnestlyvindicating him. He drew his horse back a pace or two; he would notoverhear her argument on his behalf, nor would he trust O'Shea so far asto leave them alone together. 

The cleverness with which O'Shea drove her into a glow of enthusiasm forCaius was a revelation of power which the latter at the moment couldonly regard curiously, so torn was his heart in respect to the issue ofthe trial. He was so near that their looks told him what he could nothear, and he saw Josephine's face glow with the warmth of regard whichgrew under the other's sneers. Then he saw O'Shea visibly cast thatsubject away as if it was of no importance; he went near to her, speaking low, but with the look of one who brought the worst news, andCaius knew, without question, that he was pouring into her ears all theevil he had ever heard of Le Maître, all the detail of his presentdrunken condition. Caius did not move; he did not know whether the scenebefore him represented Satan with powerful grasp upon a soul that wouldotherwise have passed into some more heavenly region, or whether it wasa wise and good man trying to save a woman from her own fanaticalfolly. The latter seemed to be the case when he looked about him at thebeach, at the boats, at the lighthouse on the cliff above, with aclothes-line near it, spread with flapping garments. When he looked, notoutward, but inward, and saw Josephine's vision of life, he believed heought to go forward and beat off the serpent from the dove. 

The colloquy was not very long. Then O'Shea led Josephine's horse nearerto Caius. 

"Madame and my wife will go with ye, " he said. "I've told the men to getthe boat out. "

"I did not say that, " moaned Josephine. 

Her face was buried in her hands, and Caius remembered how those prettywhite hands had at one time beckoned to him, and at another had angrilywaved him away. Now they were held helplessly before a white face thatwas convulsed with fear and shame and self-abandonment. 

"There ain't no particular hurry, " remarked O'Shea soothingly; "butMammy has packed up all in the houses that needs to go, and she'll bringwarm clothes and all by the time the boat's out, so there's no call formadame to go back. It would be awful unkind to the girls to set themcrying; and"--this to Caius--"ye jist go and put up yer things as quickas ye can. "

His words were accompanied by the sound of the fishermen putting rollersunder the small schooner that had been selected. The old skipper, Pierre, had begun to call out his orders. Josephine took her hands fromher face suddenly, and looked towards the busy men with such eagerhungry desire for the freedom they were preparing for her that it seemedto Caius that at that moment his own heart broke, for he saw thatJosephine was not convinced but that she had yielded. He knew thatMammy's presence on the journey made no real difference in its guiltfrom Josephine's standpoint; her duty to her God was to remain at herpost. She had flinched from it out of mere cowardice--it was a fall. Caius knew that he had no choice but to help her back to her betterself, that he would be a bastard if he did not do it. 

Three times he essayed to speak; he had not the right words; then, evenwithout them, he broke the silence hurriedly:

"I think you are justified in coming with me; but if you do what youbelieve to be wrong--you will regret it. What does your heart say?Think!"

It was a feeble, stammered protest; he felt no dignity in it; he almostfelt it to be the craven insult seen in it by O'Shea, who swore underhis breath and glared at him. 

Josephine gave only a long sobbing sigh, as one awakening from a dream. She looked at the boat again, and the men preparing it, and then atCaius--straight in his eyes she looked, as if searching his face forsomething more. 

"Follow your own conscience, Josephine; it is truer than ours. I waswrong to let you be tempted, " he said. "Forgive me!"

She looked again at the boat and at the sea, and then, in the stayedsubdued manner that had become too habitual to her, she said to O'Shea:

"I will go home now. Dr. Simpson is right. I cannot go. "

O'Shea was too clever a man to make an effort to hold what he knew to belost; he let go her rein, and she rode up the path that led to theisland road. When she was gone O'Shea turned upon Caius with a look ofmingled scorn and loathing. 

"Ye're afraid of Le Maître coming after ye, " he hissed; "or ye have agirl at home, and would foind it awkward to bring her and madam face toface; so ye give her up, the most angel woman that ever trod this earth, to be done to death by a beast, because ye're afraid for yer own skin. Bah! I had come to think better of ye. "

With that he cut at the horse with a stick he had in his hand, and thecreature, wholly unaccustomed to such pain and indignity, dashed alongthe shore, by chance turning homeward. Caius, carried perforce as uponthe wings of the wind for half a mile, was thrown off upon the sand. Hepicked himself up, and with wet clothes and sore limbs walked to hislittle house, which he felt he could no longer look upon as a home. 

He could hardly understand what he had done; he began to regret it. Aman cannot see the forces at work upon his inmost self. He did not knowthat Josephine's soul had taken his by the hand and lifted it up--thathis love for her had risen from earth to heaven when he feared theslightest wrong-doing for her more than all other misfortune. 

CHAPTER IX. 

"GOD'S PUPPETS, BEST AND WORST. "

All that long day a hot sun beat down upon the sea and upon the ice inthe bay; and the tide, with its gentle motion of flow and ebb, madevisibly more stir among the cakes of floating ice, by which it was seenthat they were smaller and lighter than before. The sun-rays were doingtheir work, not so much by direct touch upon the ice itself as byraising the temperature of all the flowing sea, and thus, when the sunwent down and the night of frost set in, the melting of the ice did notcease. 

Morning came, and revealed a long blue channel across the bay from itsentrance to Harbour Island. The steamer from Souris had made thischannel by knocking aside the light ice with her prow. She was built totravel in ice. She lay now, with funnel still smoking, in the harbour, aquarter of a mile from the small quay. The Gaspé schooner still laywithout the bay, but there was a movement of unfurling sails among hermasts, by which it was evident that her skipper hoped by the faint butfavourable breeze that was blowing to bring her down the same bluehighway. 

It was upon this scene that Caius, wretched and sleepless, looked atearly dawn. He had come out of his house and climbed the nearest knollfrom which the bay could be seen, for his house and those near it lookedon the open western sea. When he reached this knoll he found that O'Sheawas there before him, examining the movements of the ship with his glassin the gray cold of the shivering morning. The two men stood togetherand held no communication. 

Pretty soon O'Shea went hastily home again. Caius stood still to see thesun rise clear and golden. There were no clouds, no vapours, to catchits reflections and make a wondrous spectacle of its appearing. The bluehorizon slowly dipped until the whole yellow disc beamed above it; iceand water glistened pleasantly; on the hills of all the sister islesthere was sunshine and shade; and round about him, in the hilly field, each rock and bush cast a long shadow. Between them the sun struck thegrass with such level rays that the very blades and clumps of bladescast their shadows also. 

Caius had remained to watch if the breeze would strengthen with thesun's uprising, and he prayed the forces of heat and cold, and allthings that preside over the currents of air, that it might notstrengthen but languish and die. 

What difference did it make, a few hours more or less? No difference, heknew, and yet all the fresh energy the new day brought him went forth inthis desire that Josephine might have a few hours longer respite beforeshe began the long weary course of life that stretched before her. 

Caius had packed up all his belongings. There was nothing for him to dobut drive along the dune with his luggage, as he had driven four monthsbefore, and take the steamer that night to Souris. The cart that tookhim would no doubt bring back Le Maître. Caius had not yet hired a cart;he had not the least idea whether O'Shea intended to drive him and bringback his enemy or not. That would, no doubt, be Josephine's desire. Caius had not seen Josephine or spoken to O'Shea; it mattered nothing tohim what arrangement they would or would not make for him. 

As he still stood watching to see if the breeze would round and fill thesails which the Gaspé schooner had set, O'Shea came back and called fromthe foot of the knoll. Caius turned; he bore the man no ill will. Josephine's horse had not been injured by the accident of yesterday, andhis own fall was a matter of complete indifference. 

"I'm thinking, as ye packed yer bags, ye'll be going for the steamer. "

O'Shea spoke with that indefinable insult in his tone which had alwayscharacterized it in the days of their first intercourse, but, apart fromthat, his manner was crisp and cool as the morning air; not a shade ofdiscouragement was visible. 

"I am going for the steamer, " said Caius, and waited to hear what offerof conveyance was to be made him. 

"Well, I'm thinking, " said O'Shea, "that I'll just take the boat acrossthe bay, and bring back the captain from Harbour Island; but as hishonour might prefer the cart, I'll send the cart round by the dune. There's no saying but, having been in tropical parts, he may be a bitscared of the ice. Howsomever, knowing that he's in that haste to meethis bride, and would, no doubt, grudge so much as a day spent betweenhere and there on the sand, I'll jist give him his chice; being who heis, and a foine gintleman, he has his right to it. As for you"--the toneinstantly slipped into insolent indifference--"ye can go by one or theother with yer bags. "

It was not clear to Caius that O'Shea had any intention of himselfescorting Le Maître if he chose to go by the sand. This inclined him tosuppose that he had no fixed plan to injure him. What right had he tosuppose such plan had been formed? The man before him wore no look ofdesperate passion. In the pleasant weather even the dune was not anunfrequented place, and the bay was overlooked on all sides. Caius couldnot decide whether his suspicion of O'Shea had been just or a monstrousinjustice. He felt such suspicion to be morbid, and he said nothing. Thefutility of asking a question that would not be answered, the difficultyof interference, and his extreme dislike of incurring from O'Sheafarther insult, were enough to produce his silence. Behind that lay thefact that he would be almost glad if the murder was done. Josephine'sfaith had inspired in him such love for her as had made him save herfrom doing what she thought wrong at any cost; but the inspiration didnot extend to this. It appeared to him the lesser evil of the two. 

"I will go with the boat, " said Caius. "It is the quicker way. "

He felt that for some reason this pleased O'Shea, who began at once tohurry off to get the luggage, but as he went he only remarked grimly:

"They say as it's the longest way round that is the shortest way home. If you're tipped in the ice, Mr. Doctor, ye'll foind that true, I'mthinking. "

Caius found that O'Shea's boat, a heavy flat-bottomed thing, wasalready half launched upon the beach, furnished with stout boat-hooksfor pushing among the ice, as well as her oars and sailing gear. He wasglad to find that such speedy departure was to be his. He had no thoughtof saying good-bye to Josephine. 

CHAPTER X. 

"DEATH SHRIVE THY SOUL!"

It was an immense relief to stand in the boat with the boat-hook, whoseuse demanded all the skill and nerve which Caius had at command. For themost part they could only propel the boat by pushing or pulling the bitsof ice that surrounded it with their poles. It was a very different sortof travel from that which they had experienced together when they hadcarried their boat over islands of ice and launched it in the great gapsbetween them. The ice which they had to do with now would not have bornetheir weight; nor was there much clear space for rowing between thefragments. O'Shea pushed the boat boldly on, and they made their journeywith comparative ease until, when they came near the channel made by thesteamship, they found the ice lying more closely, and the difficulty oftheir progress increased. 

Work as they would, they were getting on but slowly. The light wind blewpast their faces, and the Gaspé schooner was seen to sail up the pathwhich the steamer had made across the bay. 

"The wind's in the very chink that makes her able to take the channel. I'm thinking she'll be getting in before us. "

O'Shea spoke with the gay indifference of one who had staked nothing onthe hope of getting to the harbour first; but Caius wondered if thisshort cut would have been undertaken without strong reason. 

A short period of hard exertion, of pushing and pulling the bits of ice, followed, and then:

"I'm thinking we'll make the channel, any way, before she comes by, andthen we'll just hail her, and the happy bridegroom can come off if he'sso moinded, being in the hurry that he is. 'Tain't many bridegrooms thatmakes all the haste he has to jine the lady. "

Caius said nothing; the subject was too horrible. 

"Ye and yer bags could jist go on board the ship before the lovinghusband came off; ye'd make the harbour that way as easy, and I'mthinking the ice on the other side of the bay is that thick ye'd bescared and want me to sit back in my boat and yelp for help, like afroightened puppy dog, instead of making the way through. "

Cains thought that O'Shea might be trying to dare him to remain in theboat. He inclined to believe that O'Shea could not alone enter intoconflict with a strong unscrupulous man in such a boat, in such a sea, with hope of success. At any rate, when O'Shea, presuming on hisfriendship with the skipper, had accomplished no less a thing thanbringing the sailing vessel to a standstill, Caius was prepared to boardher at once. 

The little boat was still among the ice, but upon the verge of clearwater. The schooner, already near, was drifting nearer. O'Shea wasshouting to the men on her deck. The skipper stood there looking overher side; he was a short stout man, of cheery aspect. Several sailors, and one or two other men who might be passengers, had come to the sidealso. Beside the skipper stood a big man with a brown beard; his veryway of standing still seemed to suggest habitual sluggishness of mind ormanner; yet his appearance at this distance was fine. Caius discoveredthat this was Le Maître; he was surprised, he had supposed that he wouldbe thin and dark. 

"It's Captain Le Maître I've come for; it's his wife that's wanting tosee him, " O'Shea shouted. 

"He's here!"

The skipper gave the information cheerfully, and Le Maître made a slightsign showing that it was correct. 

"I'll just take him back, then, in the boat with me now, for it's easyenough getting this way, but there's holes in the sand that makesdrivin' unpleasant. Howsomever, I can't say which is the best passage. This city gentleman I've got with me now thinks he's lost his lifesiveral times already since he got into this boat. "

He pointed to Caius as he ended his invitation to Le Maître. The men onthe schooner all grinned. It was O'Shea's manner, as well as his words, that produced their derision. 

Caius was wondering what would happen if Le Maître refused to come inthe boat. Suspicion said that O'Shea would cause the boat to be towedashore, and would then take the Captain home by the quicksands. WouldO'Shea make him drunk, and then cast him headfirst into the swallowingsand? It seemed preposterous to be harbouring such thought against thecheerful and most respectable farmer at his side. What foundation had hefor it? None but the hearing of an idle boast that the man had made oneday to his wife, and that she in simplicity had taken for earnest. 

Le Maître signified that he would go with O'Shea. Indeed, looked at froma short distance, the passage through the ice did not look so difficultas it had proved. 

O'Shea and Caius parted without word or glance of farewell. Caiusclambered over the side of the schooner; the one thought in his mind wasto get a nearer view of Le Maître. 

This man was still standing sleepily. He did not bear closer inspectionwell. His clothes were dirty, especially about the front of vest andcoat; there was everything to suggest an entire lack of neatness inpersonal habits; more than that, the face at the time bore unmistakablesigns that enough alcohol had been drunk to benumb, although not tostupefy, his faculties: the eye was bloodshot; the face, weather-beatenas it was, was flabby. In spite of all this, Caius had expected a morevillainous-looking person, and so great was his loathing that he wouldrather have seen him in a more obnoxious light. The man had a certaindignity of bearing; his face had that unfurrowed look that means a lowmoral sense, for there is no evidence of conflict. His eyes were toonear each other; this last was, perhaps, the only sign by which Naturefrom the outset had marred a really excellent piece of manly proportion. 

Caius made these observations involuntarily. As Le Maître stepped hereand there in a dull way while a chest that belonged to him was beinglowered into the boat, Caius could not help realizing that hispreconceived notions of the man as a monster had been exaggerated; hewas a common man, fallen into low habits, and fixed in them by middleage. 

Le Maître got into the boat in seaman-like fashion. He was perfectly athome there, and dull as his eye looked, he tacitly assumed command. Hetook O'Shea's pole from him, stepped to the prow, and began to turn theboat, without regarding the fact that O'Shea was still holding hastyconversation with the men on the schooner concerning the public eventsof the winter months--the news they had brought from the mainland. 

Everything had been done in the greatest haste; it was not twelveminutes after the schooner had been brought to a stand when her sailswere again turned to catch the breeze. The reason for this haste was toprevent more sideways drifting, for the schooner was drifting with thewind against the floating ice amongst which O'Shea's boat was lying. Thewind blew very softly; her speed when sailing had not been great, andthe drifting motion was the most gentle possible. 

Caius had not taken his eyes from the boat. He was watching the strengthwith which Le Maître was turning her and starting her for Cloud Island. He was watching O'Shea, who, still giving back chaff and sarcasm to themen on the schooner, was forced to turn and pick up the smaller polewhich Caius had relinquished; he seemed to be interested only in histalk, and to begin to help in the management of the boat mechanically. The skipper was swearing at his men and shouting to O'Shea withalternate breath. The sails of the schooner had hardly yet swelled withthe breeze when O'Shea, bearing with all his might against a bit of ice, because of a slip of his pole, fell heavily on the side of his own boat, tipping her suddenly over on a bit of ice that sunk with her weight. LeMaître, at the prow, in the violent upsetting, was seen to fall headlongbetween two bits of ice into the sea. 

"By----! Did you ever see anything like that?" The skipper of theschooner had run to the nearest point, which was beside Caius. 

Then followed instantly a volley of commands, some of which related tothrowing ropes to the small boat, some concerning the movement of theschooner, for at this moment her whole side pressed against all the bitsof ice, pushing them closer and closer together. 

The boat had not sunk; she had partially filled with water that hadflowed over the ice on which she had upset; but when the weight of LeMaître was removed and O'Shea had regained his balance, the ice roseagain, righting the boat and almost instantly tipping her toward theother side, for the schooner had by this time caused a jam. It was notsuch a jam as must of necessity injure the boat, which was heavilybuilt; but the fact that she was now half full of water and that therewas only one man to manage her, made his situation precarious. Thedanger of O'Shea, however, was hardly noticed by the men on theschooner, because of the horrible fact that the closing of the bits ofice together made it improbable that Le Maître could rise again. 

For a moment there was an eager looking at every space of blue waterthat was left. If the drowning man could swim, he would surely make forsuch an aperture. 

"Put your pole down to him where he went in!" The men on the schoonershouted this to O'Shea. 

"Put the rope round your waist!" This last was yelled by the skipper, perceiving that O'Shea himself was by no means safe. 

A rope that had been thrown had a noose, through which O'Shea dashed hisarms; then, seizing the pole, he struck the butt-end between the blocksof ice where Le Maître had fallen. 

It seemed to Caius that the pole swayed in his hands, as if he werewrenching it from a hand that had gripped it strongly below; but itmight have been only the grinding of the ice. 

O'Shea thrust the pole with sudden vehemence further down, as if in afrantic effort to bring it better within reach of Le Maître if he werethere; or, as Caius thought, it might have been that, feeling where theman was, he stunned him with the blow. 

Standing in a boat that was tipping and grinding among the ice, O'Sheaappeared to be exercising marvellous force and dexterity in thus usingthe pole at all. 

The wind was now propelling the schooner forward, and her pressure onthe ice ceased. O'Shea threw off the noose of the rope wildly, andlooked to the men on the vessel, as if quite uncertain what to do next. 

It was a difficult matter for anyone to decide. To leave him there wasmanifestly impossible; but if the schooner again veered round, thejamming of the ice over the head of La Maître would again occur. The menon the schooner, not under good discipline, were all shouting andtalking. 

"He's dead by now, wherever he is. " The skipper made this quietparenthesis either to himself or to Caius. Then he shouted aloud: "Workyour boat through to us!"

O'Shea began poling vigorously. The ice was again floating loosely, andit was but the work of a few minutes to push his heavy boat into theopen water that was in the wake of the schooner. There was a pause, likea pause in a funeral service, when O'Shea, standing ankle-deep in thewater which his boat held, and the men huddled together upon theschooner's deck, turned to look at all the places in which it seemedpossible that the body of Le Maître might again be seen. They looked andlooked until they were tired with looking. The body had, no doubt, floated up under some cake of ice, and from thence would speedily sinkto a bier of sand at the bottom of the bay. 

"By----! I never saw anything like that. " It was the remark which beganand ended the episode with the skipper. Then he raised his voice, andshouted to O'Shea: "It's no sort of use your staying here! Make the ropefast to your boat, and come up on deck!"

But this O'Shea would not do. He replied that he would remain, and lookabout among the ice a bit longer, and that, any way, it would be twiceas far to take his boat home from Harbour Island as from the place wherehe now was. The schooner towed his boat until he had baled the water outand got hold of his oars. The ice had floated so far apart that itseemed easy for the boat to go back through it. 

During this time excited pithy gossip had been going on concerning theaccident. 

"You did all a man could do, " shouted the captain to O'Shea consolingly, and remarked to those about him: "There wasn't no love lost betweenthem, but O'Shea did all he could. O'Shea might as easy as not have goneover himself, holding the pole under water that time. "

The fussy little captain, as far as Caius could judge, was not acting apart. The sailors were French; they could talk some English; and theyspoke in both languages a great deal. 

"His lady won't be much troubled, I dare say, from all I hear. " Thecaptain was becoming easy and good-natured again. He said to Caius: "Youare acquainted with her?"

"She will be shocked, " said Caius. 

He felt as he spoke that he himself was suffering from shock--so much sothat he was hardly able to think consecutively about what had occurred. 

"They won't have an inquest without the body, " shouted the captain toO'Shea. Then to those about him he remarked: "He was as decent andgood-natured a fellow as I'd want to see. "

The pronoun referred to Le Maître. The remark was perhaps prompted bynatural pity, but it was so instantly agreed to by all on the vesselthat the chorus had the air of propitiating the spirit of the dead. 

CHAPTER XI. 

THE RIDDLE OF LIFE. 

The schooner slowly moved along, and lay not far from the steamship. Thesteamship did not start for Souris until the afternoon. Caius was put onshore there to await the hour of embarking. In his own mind he wasquestioning whether he would embark with the steamer or return to CloudIsland; but he naturally did not make this problem known to those aroundhim. 

The skipper and several men of the schooner came ashore with Caius. There was a great bustle as soon as they reached the small wharf becauseof what they had to tell. It was apparent from all that was told, andall the replies that were made, that no shadow of suspicion was to fallupon O'Shea. Why should it? He had, as it seemed, no personal grudgeagainst Le Maître, whose death had been evidently an accident. 

A man who bore an office akin to that of magistrate for the islands camedown from a house near the harbour, and the story was repeated to him. When Caius had listened to the evidence given before this officialpersonage, hearing the tale again that he had already heard many timesin a few minutes, and told what he himself had seen, he began to wonderhow he could still harbour in his mind the belief in O'Shea's guilt. Hefound, too, that none of these people knew enough about Josephine to seeany special interest attaching to the story, except the fact that herhusband, returning from a long voyage, had been drowned almost withinsight of her house. "Ah, poor lady! poor lady!" they said; and thussaying, and shaking their heads, they dispersed to eat their dinners. 

Caius procured the bundle of letters which had come for him by thisfirst mail of the year. He sauntered along the beach, soon getting outof sight and hearing of the little community, who were not given towalking upon a beach that was not in this case a highroad to any place. He was on the shingle of the bay, and he soon found a nook under a highblack cliff where the sun beat down right warmly. He had not opened hisletters; his mind did not yet admit of old interests. 

The days were not long passed in which men who continued to be goodhusbands and fathers and staunch friends killed their enemies, whennecessary, with a good conscience. Had O'Shea a good conscience now?Would he continue to be in all respects the man he had been, and thestaunch friend of Josephine? In his heart Caius believed that Le Maîtrewas murdered; but he had no evidence to prove it--nothing whatever butwhat O'Shea's wife had said to him that day she was hanging out herlinen, and such talk occurs in many a household, and nothing comes ofit. 

Now Josephine was free. "What a blessing!" He used the common idiom tohimself, and then wondered at it. Could one man's crime be another man'sblessing? He found himself, out of love for Josephine, wonderingconcerning the matter from the point of view of the religious theory oflife. Perhaps this was Heaven's way of answering Josephine's appeal, andsaving her; or perhaps human souls are so knit together that O'Shea, bythe sin, had not blessed, but hindered her from blessing. It was a wearyround of questions, which Caius was not wise enough to answer. Anothermore practical question pressed. 

Did he dare to return now to Cloud Island, and watch over Josephine inthe shock which she must sustain, and find out if she would discover thetruth concerning O'Shea? After a good while he answered the question:No; he did not dare to return, knowing what he did and his own cowardlyshare in it. He could not face Josephine, and, lonely as she was, shedid not need him; she had her prayers, her angels, her heaven. 

Perhaps Time, the proverbial healer of all wounds, would wash the senseof guilt from his soul, and then he could come back and speak toJosephine concerning this new freedom of hers. Then he remembered thatsome say that for the wound of guilt Time no healing art. Could he find, then, other shrift? He did not know. He longed for it sorely, because helonged to feel fit to return to Josephine. But, after all, what had hedone of which he was ashamed? What was his guilt? Had he felt anyemotion that it was not natural to feel? Had he done anything wrong?Again he did not know. He sat with head bowed, and felt in dull miserythat O'Shea was a better man than he--more useful and brave, and notmore guilty. 

He opened his letters, and found that in his absence no worse mishap hadoccurred at home than that his father had been laid up some time with abad leg, and that both father and mother had allowed themselves toworry and fret lest ill should have befallen their son. 

Caius embarked on the little steamship that afternoon, and the next noonfound him at home. 

The person who met him on the threshold of his father's house was JimHogan. Jim grinned. 

"Since you've taken to charities abroad, " he said, "I thought I'd beginat home. "

Jim's method of beginning at home was not in the literal sense of theproverb. It turned out that he had been neighbouring to some purpose. Old Simpson could not move himself about indoors or attend to his workwithout, and Jim, who had not before this attached himself by regularemployment, had by some freak of good-nature given his services day byday until Caius should return, and had become an indispensable member ofthe household. 

"He's not a very respectable young man, " said the mother apologeticallyto her son, while she was still wiping her tears of joy; "but it's justwonderful what patience he's had in his own larky way with your father, when, though I say it who shouldn't, your father's been as difficult tomanage as a crying baby, and Jim, he just makes his jokes when anyoneelse would have been affronted, and there's father laughing in spite ofhimself sometimes. So I don't know how it is, but we've just had him tostop on, for he's took to the farm wonderful. "

An hour after, when alone with his father, Simpson said to him:

"Your mother, you know, was timorous at night when I couldn't helpmyself; and then she'd begin crying, as women will, saying as she knewyou were dead, and that, any way, it was lonesome without you. So whenI saw that it comforted her a bit to have someone to cook for, Iencouraged the fellow. I told him he'd nothing to look for from me, forhis father is richer than I am nowadays; but he's just the sort to likevagary. "

Jim went home, and Caius began a simple round of home duties. His fatherneeded much attendance; the farm servants needed direction. Caius soonfound out, without being told, that neither in one capacity nor theother did he fulfil the old man's pleasure nearly so well as therough-and-ready Jim. Even his mother hardly let a day pass withoutinnocently alluding to some prank of Jim's that had amused her. Shewould have been very angry if anyone had told her that she did not findher son as good a companion. Caius did not tell her so, but he wasperfectly aware of it. 

Caius had not been long at home when his cousin Mabel came to visitthem. This time his mother made no sly remarks concerning Mabel's reasonfor timing her visit, because it seemed that Mabel had paid a long andcomforting visit while he had been at the Magdalen Islands. Mabel didnot treat Caius now with the unconscious flattery of blind admiration, neither did she talk to him about Jim; but her silence whenever Jim'sname was mentioned was eloquent. 

Caius summed all this up in his own mind. He and Jim had commenced lifeas lads together. The one had trodden the path of virtue and laudableambition; the other had just amused himself, and that in manyreprehensible ways; and now, when the ripe age of manhood was attainedin that state of life to which--as the Catechism would have it--it hadpleased God to call them, it was Jim who was the useful and honouredman, not Caius. 

It was clear that all the months and years of his absence had enabledhis parents to do very well without their son. They did not know it, butin all the smaller things that make up the most of life, his interestshad ceased to be their interests. Caius had the courage to realize thateven at home he was not much wanted. If, when Jim married Mabel, hewould settle down with the old folks, they would be perfectly happy. 

On his return, Caius had learned that the post for which he had appliedin the autumn had not been awarded to him. He knew that he must go assoon as possible to find out a good place in which to begin hisprofessional life, but at present the state of his father's bad leg wasso critical, and the medical skill of the neighbourhood so poor, that hewas forced to wait. 

All this time there was one main thought in his mind, to which allothers were subordinate. He saw his situation quite clearly; he had nodoubts about it. If Josephine would come to him and be his wife, hewould be happy and prosperous. Josephine had the power to make him twicethe man he was without her. It was not only that his happiness was boundup in her; it was not only that Josephine had money and could manage itwell, although he was not at all above thinking of that; it was not eventhat she would help and encourage and console him as no one else would. There was that subtle something, more often the fruit of what is calledfriendship than of love, by which Josephine's presence increased all hisstrong faculties and subdued his faults. Caius knew this with theunerring knowledge of instinct. He tried to reason about it, too: evena dull king reigns well if he have but the wit to choose good ministers;and among men, each ruling his small kingdom, they are often the mostsuccessful who possess, not many talents, but the one talent of choosingwell in friendship and in love. 

Ah! but it is one thing to choose and another to obtain. Caius stillfelt that he dared not seek Josephine. Since Le Maître's death somethingof the first blank horror of his own guilt had passed away, but still heknew that he was not innocent. Then, too, if he dared to woo her, whatwould be the result? That last admonition and warning that he had givenher when she was about to leave the island with him clogged his hopewhen he sought to take courage. He knew that popular lore declared that, whether or not she acknowledged its righteousness, her woman's vanitywould take arms against it. 

Caius had written to Josephine a letter of common friendliness upon theoccasion of her husband's death, and had received in return a briefsedate note that might, indeed, have been written by the ancient ladywhom the quaint Italian handwriting learned in the country convent hadat first figured to his imagination. He knew from this letter thatJosephine did not suppose that blame attached to O'Shea. She spoke ofher husband's death as an accident. Caius knew that she had accepted itas a deliverance from God. It was this attitude of hers which made thewhole circumstance appear to him the more solemn. 

So Caius waited through the lovely season in which summer hovers withwarm sunshiny wings over a land of flowers before she settles down uponit to abide. He was unhappy. A shade, whose name was Failure, livedwith him day by day, and spoke to him concerning the future as well asthe past. Debating much in his mind what he might do, fearing to makehis plight worse by doing anything, he grew timid at the very thought ofaddressing Josephine. Happily, there is something more merciful to a manthan his own self--something which in his hour of need assists him, andthat often very bountifully. 

CHAPTER XII. 

TO CALL A SPIRIT FROM THE VASTY DEEP. 

It was when the first wild-flowers of the year had passed away, andscarlet columbine and meadow-rue waved lightly in the sunny glades ofthe woods, and all the world was green--the new and perfect green ofJune--that one afternoon Caius, at his father's door, met a visitor whowas most rarely seen there. It was Farmer Day. He accosted Caius, perhaps a little sheepishly, but with an obvious desire to be civil, forhe had a favour to ask which he evidently considered of greatermagnitude than Caius did when he heard what it was. Day's wife was ill. The doctor of the locality had said more than once that she would notlive many days, but she had gone on living some time, it appeared, sincethis had been first said. Day did not now call upon Caius as a medicalman. His wife had taken a fancy to see him because of his rememberedefforts to save her child. Day said apologetically that it was a woman'swhim, but he would be obliged if Caius, at his convenience, would callupon her. It spoke much for the long peculiarity and dreariness of Day'sdomestic life that he evidently believed that this would be adisagreeable thing for Caius to do. 

Day went on to the village. Caius strolled off through the warm woodsand across the hot cliffs to make this visit. 

The woman was not in bed. She was dying of consumption. The fever wasflickering in her high-boned cheeks when she opened the door of thedesolate farmhouse. She wore a brown calico gown; her abundant blackhair was not yet streaked with gray. Caius could not see that she lookedmuch older than she had done upon the evening, years ago, when he hadfirst had reason to observe her closely. He remembered what Josephinehad told him--that time had stood still with her since that night: itseemed true in more senses than one. A light of satisfaction showeditself in her dark face when, after a moment's inspection, she realizedwho he was. 

"Come in, " she said briefly. 

Caius went in, and had reason to regret, as well on his own account ason hers, that she shut the door. To be out in the summer would have beenlonger life for her, and to have the summer shut out made him realizeforcibly that he was alone in the desolate house with a woman whosemadness gave her a weird seeming which was almost equivalent toghostliness. 

When one enters a house from which the public has long been excluded andwhich is the abode of a person of deranged mind, it is perhaps naturalto expect, although unconsciously, that the interior arrangements shouldbe very strange. Instead of this, the house, gloomy and sparselyfurnished as it was, was clean and in order. It lacked everything tomake it pleasant--air, sunshine, and any cheerful token of comfort; butit was only in this dreary negation that it failed; there was nopositive fault to be found even with the atmosphere of the kitchen andbare lobby through which he was conducted, and he discovered, to hissurprise, that he was to be entertained in a small parlour, which had around polished centre table, on which lay the usual store of such thingsas are seen in such parlours all the world over--a Bible, a couple ofalbums, a woollen mat, and an ornament under a glass case. 

Caius sat down, holding his hat in his hand, with an odd feeling that hewas acting a part in behaving as if the circumstances were at allordinary. 

The woman also sat down, but not as if for ease. She drew one of the bigcheap albums towards her, and began vigorously searching in it from thebeginning, as if it were a book of strange characters in which shewished to find a particular passage. She fixed her eyes upon each smallcheap photograph in turn, as if trying hard to remember who itrepresented, and whether it was, or was not, the one she wanted. Caiuslooked on amazed. 

At length, about the middle of the book, she came to a portrait at whichshe stopped, and with a look of cunning took out another which washidden under it, and thrust it at Caius. 

"It's for you, " she said; "it's mine, and I'm going to die, and it's youI'll give it to. "

She looked and spoke as if the proffered gift was a thing more preciousthan the rarest gem. 

Caius took it, and saw that it was a picture of a baby girl, about threeyears old. He had not the slightest doubt who the child was; he stood bythe window and examined it long and eagerly. The sun, unaided by thedeceptive shading of the more skilled photographer, had imprinted thelittle face clearly. Caius saw the curls, and the big sad eyes withtheir long lashes, and all the baby features and limbs, his memoryaiding to make the portrait perfect. His eager look was for the purposeof discovering whether or not his imagination had played him false; butit was true what he had thought--the little one was like Josephine. 

"I shall be glad to have it, " he said--"very glad. "

"I had it taken at Montrose, " said the poor mother; and, strange to say, she said it in a commonplace way, just as any woman might speak ofprocuring her child's likeness. "Day, he was angry; he said it was wasteof money; that's why I give it to you. " A fierce cunning look flittedagain across her face for a moment. "Don't let him see it, " shewhispered. "Day, he is a bad father; he don't care for the children orme. That's why I've put her in the water. "

She made this last statement concerning her husband and child with anonchalant air, like one too much accustomed to the facts to bedistressed at them. 

For a few minutes it seemed that she relapsed into a state of dulness, neither thought nor feeling stirring within her. Caius, supposing thatshe had nothing more to say, still watched her intently, because theevidences of disease were interesting to him. When he least expected it, she awoke again into eagerness; she put her elbows on the table andleaned towards him. 

"There's something I want you to do, " she whispered. "I can't do it anymore. I'm dying. Since I began dying, I can't get into the water to lookfor her. My baby is in the water, you know; I put her in. She isn'tdead, but she's there, only I can't find her. Day told me that once yougot into the water to look for her too, but you gave it up too easy, andno one else has ever so much as got in to help me find her. "

The last part of the speech was spoken in a dreary monotone. She stoppedwith a heart-broken sigh that expressed hopeless loneliness in this madquest. 

"The baby is dead, " he said gently. 

She answered him with eager, excited voice:

"No, she isn't; that's where you are wrong. You put it on the stone thatshe was dead. When I came out of th' asylum I went to look at the stone, and I laughed. But I liked you to make the stone; that's why I like you, because nobody else put up a stone for her. "

Caius laid a cool hand on the feverish one she was now brandishing athim. 

"You are dying, you say"--pityingly. "It is better for you to think thatyour baby is dead, for when you die you will go to her. "

The woman laughed, not harshly, but happily. 

"She isn't dead. She came back to me once. She was grown a big girl, andhad a wedding-ring on her hand. Who do you think she was married to? Ithought perhaps it was you. "

The repetition of this old question came from her lips so suddenly thatCaius dropped her hand and stepped back a pace. He felt his heartbeating. Was it a good omen? There have been cases where a half-crazedbrain has been known, by chance or otherwise, to foretell the future. The question that was now for the second time repeated to him seemed tohis hope like an instance of this second sight, only half understood bythe eye that saw it. 

"It was not your little daughter that came back, Mrs. Day. It was hercousin, who is very like her, and she came to help you when you wereill, and to be a daughter to you. "

She looked at him darkly, as if the saner powers of her mind werestruggling to understand; but in a minute the monomania had againpossession of her. 

"She had beautiful hair, " she said; "I stroked it with my hand; itcurled just as it used to do. Do you think I don't know my own child?But she had grown quite big, and her ring was made of gold. I would liketo see her again now before I die. "

Very wistfully she spoke of the beauty and kindness of the girl whosevisit had cheered her. The poor crazed heart was full of longing for theone presence that could give her any comfort this side of death. 

"I thought I'd never see her again. " She fixed her dark eyes on Caius asshe spoke. "I was going to ask you, after I was dead and couldn't lookfor her any more, if you'd keep on looking for her in the sea till youfound her. But I wish you'd go now and see if you couldn't fetch herbefore I die. "

"Yes, I will go, " answered Caius suddenly. 

The strong determination of his quick assent seemed to surprise even herin whose mind there could be no rational cause for surprise. 

"Do you mean it?"

"Yes, I mean it. I will go, Mrs. Day. "

A moment more she paused, as if for time for full belief in his promiseto dawn upon her, and then, instead of letting him go, she rose upquickly with mysterious looks and gestures. Her words were whispered:

"Come, then, and I'll show you the way. Come; you mustn't tell Day. Daydoesn't know anything about it. " She had led him back to the door of thehouse and gone out before him. "Come, I'll show you the way. Hush! don'ttalk, or someone might hear us. Walk close to the barn, and no one willsee. I never showed anyone before but her when she came to me wearingthe gold ring. What are you so slow for? Come, I'll show you the way tolook for her. "

Impelled by curiosity and the fear of increasing her excitement if herefused, Caius followed her down the side of the open yard in which hehad once seen her stand in fierce quarrel with her husband. It hadseemed a dreary place then, when the three children swung on the gateand neither the shadow of death nor madness hung over it; it seemed farmore desolate now, in spite of the bright summer sunlight. The barns andstable, as they swiftly passed them, looked much neglected, and therewas not about the whole farmstead another man or woman to be seen. Asthe mad woman went swiftly in front of him, Caius remembered, perhapsfor the first time in all these years, that after her husband had struckher upon that night, she had gone up to the cowshed that was nearest thesea, and that afterwards he had met her at the door of the root-housethat was in the bank of the chine. It was thither she went now, openingthe door of the cowshed and leading him through it to a door at theother end, and down a path to this cellar cut in the bank. 

The cellar had apparently been very little used. The path to it was wellbeaten, but Caius observed that it ran past the cellar down the chine toa landing where Day now kept a flat-bottomed boat. They stood on thispath before the heavy door of the cellar. Rust had eaten into the ironlatch and the padlock that secured it, but the woman produced a key andopened the ring of the lock and took him into a chamber about twelvefeet square, in which props of decaying beams held up the earth of thewalls and roof. The place was cold, smelling strongly of damp earth anddecaying roots; but, so far, there was nothing remarkable to be seen;just such a cellar was used on his father's farm to keep stores ofpotatoes and turnips in when the frost of winter made its way throughall the wooden barns. In three corners remains of such root stores werelying; in the fourth, the corner behind the door, nearest the sea, someboards were laid on the floor, and on them flower-pots containing stalksof withered plants and bulbs that had never sprouted. 

"They're mine, " she said. "Day dursn't touch them;" and saying this, shefell to work with eager feverishness, removing the pots and boards. Whenshe had done so, it was revealed that the earth under the boards hadbroken through into another cellar or cave, in which some light could beseen. 

"I always heard the sea when I was in this place, and one day I brokethrough this hole. The man that first had the farm made it, I s'pose, topitch his seaweed into from the shore. "

She let her long figure down through the hole easily enough, for therewere places to set the feet on, and landed on a heap of earth and driedweed. When Caius had dropped down into this second chamber, he saw thatit had evidently been used for just the purpose she had mentioned. Theseaweed gathered from the beach after storms was in common use forenriching the fields, and someone in a past generation had apparentlydug this cave in the soft rock and clay of the cliff; it was at a heightabove the sea-line at which the seaweed could be conveniently pitchedinto it from a cart on the shore below. Some three or four feet of dryrotten seaweed formed its carpet. The aperture towards the sea wasalmost entirely overgrown with such grass and weeds as grew on thebluff. It was evident that in the original cutting there had been anopening also sideways into the chine, which had caved in and been grownover. The cellar above had, no doubt, been made by someone who was notaware of the existence of this former place. 

To Caius the secret chamber was enchanted ground. He stepped to itswindow, framed in waving grasses, and saw the high tide lapping just alittle way below. It was into this place of safety that Josephine hadcrept when she had disappeared from his view before he could mount thecliff to see whither she went. She had often stood where he now stood, half afraid, half audacious, in that curious dress of hers, before shesummoned up courage to slip into the sea for daylight or moonlightwanderings. 

He turned round to hear the gaunt woman beside him again talkingexcitedly. Upon a bit of rusty iron that still held its place on thewall hung what he had taken to be a heap of sacking. She took this downnow and displayed it with a cunning look. 

"I made it myself, " she said, "it holds one up wonderful in the water;but now I've been a-dying so long the buoys have burst. "

Caius pityingly took the garment from her. Her mad grief, and anotherwoman's madcap pleasure, made it a sacred thing. His extreme curiosityfound satisfaction in discovering that the coarse foundation wascovered with a curious broidery of such small floats as might, withuntiring industry, be collected in a farmhouse: corks and small piecesof wood with holes bored through them were fastened at regularintervals, not without some attempt at pattern, and between them thebladders of smaller animals, prepared as fishermen prepare them fortheir nets. Larger specimens of the same kind were concealed inside theneck of the huge sack, but on the outside everything was comparativelysmall, and it seemed as if the hands that had worked it so elaboratelyhad been directed by a brain in which familiarity with patchwork, andother homely forms of the sewing-woman's art, had been confused with anadequate idea of the rough use for which the garment was needed. Someknowledge of the skill with which fishermen prepare their floats hadalso evidently been hers, for the whole outside of the garment wassmeared or painted with a brownish substance that had preserved it to awonderful extent from the ravages of moisture and salt. It was torn now, or, rather, it seemed that it had been cut from top to bottom; but, besides this one great rent, it was in a rotten condition, ready to fallto pieces, and, as the dying woman had said, many of the air-blownfloats had burst. 

Caius was wondering whether the occasion on which this curiousbathing-dress had been torn was that in which he, by pursuing Josephine, had forced her to cease pushing herself about in shallow water and taketo more ordinary swimming. He looked around and saw the one otherimplement which had been necessary to complete the strange outfit; it, too, was a thing of ordinary appearance and use: a long pole or poker, with a handle at one end and a small flat bar at the other, a thingused for arranging the fire in the deep brick ovens that were still inuse at the older farmsteads. It was about six feet long. The woman, seeing his attention directed to it, took it eagerly and showed how itmight be used, drawing him with her to the aperture over the shore andpointing out eagerly the landmarks by which she knew how far the shallowwater extended at certain times of the tide. Her topographical knowledgeof all the sea's bed within about a mile of the high-water mark wasextraordinarily minute, and Caius listened to the information she pouredupon him, only now beginning to realize that she expected him to wearthe dress, and take the iron pole, and slip from the old cellar into thetide when it rose high enough, and from thence bring back the girl withthe soft curls and the golden ring. It was one of those moments in whichlaughter and tears meet, but there was a glamour of such strange fantasyover the scene that Caius felt, not so much its humour or its pathos, asits fairy-like unreality, and that which gave him the sense of unrealitywas that to his companion it was intensely real. 

"You said you would go. " Some perception of his hesitation must havecome to her; her words were strong with insistence and wistful withreproach. "You said you would go and fetch her in to me before I die. "

Then Caius put back the dress she held on the rusty peg where it hadhung for so long. 

"I am a man, " he said. "I can swim without life-preservers. I will goand try to bring the girl back to you. But not now, not from here; itwill take me a week to go and come, for I know that she lives far awayin the middle of the deep gulf. Come back to the house and take care ofyourself, so that you may live until she comes. You may trust me. I willcertainly bring her to you if she's alive and if she can come. "

With these promises and protestations he prevailed upon the poor womanto return with him to her lonely home. 

Caius had not got far on his road home, when he met Day coming from thevillage. Caius was full of his determination to go for Josephine by thenext trip of the small steamer. His excuse was valid; he could paint theinterview from which he had just come so that Josephine would be movedby it, would welcome his interference, and come again to nurse heruncle's wife. Thus thinking, he had hurried along, but when he met Dayhis knight-errantry received a check. 

"Your wife ought not to be alone, " he said to Day. 

"No; that's true!" the farmer replied drearily; "but it isn't everybodyshe'll have in the house with her. "

"Your son and daughter are too far away to be sent for?"

"Yes"--briefly--"they are in the west. "

Caius paused a moment, thinking next to introduce the subject which hadset all his pulses bounding. Because it was momentous to him, hehesitated, and while he hesitated the other spoke. 

"There is one relation I've got, the daughter of a brother of mine whodied up by Gaspé Basin. She's on the Magdalens now. I understood thatyou had had dealings with her. "

"Yes; I was just about to suggest--I was going to say----"

"I wrote to her. She is coming, " said Day. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE EVENING AND THE MORNING. 

Josephine had come. All night and all the next day she had been by heraunt's bedside; for Day's wife lay helpless now, and death was verynear. This much Caius knew, having kept himself informed bycommunication with the village doctor, and twenty-four hours afterJosephine's arrival he walked over to the Day farm, hoping that, as thecool of the evening might relax the strain in the sick-room, she wouldbe able to speak to him for a few minutes. 

When he got to the dreary house he met its owner, who had just finishedhis evening work. The two men sat on wooden chairs outside the door andwatched the dusk gathering on sea and land, and although they did nottalk much, each felt glad of the other's companionship. 

It was nine years since Caius had first made up his mind that Day was amonster of brutality and wickedness; now he could not think himself backinto the state of mind that could have formed such a judgment When Caiushad condemned Day, he had been a religions youth who thought well ofhimself; now his old religious habits and beliefs had dropped off, buthe did not think well of himself or harshly of his neighbour. In thosedays he had felt sufficient for life; now all his feeling was summed upin the desire that was scarcely a hope, that some heavenly power, holyand strong, would come to his aid. 

It is when the whole good of life hangs in a trembling balance thatpeople become like children, and feel the need of the motherly powers ofHeaven. Caius sat with Day for two hours, and Josephine did not comedown to speak to him. He was glad to know that Day's evening passed themore easily because he sat there with him; he was glad of that when hewas glad of nothing that concerned himself. 

Day and Caius did not talk about death or sorrow, or anything like that. All the remarks that they interchanged turned upon the horses Day wasrearing and their pastures. Day told that he had found the grass on thelittle island rich. 

"I remember finding two of your colts there one day when I explored it. It was four years ago, " said Caius dreamily. 

Day took no interest in this lapse of time. 

"It's an untidy bit of land, " he said, "and I can't clear it. 'Tisn'tmine; but no one heeds the colts grazing. "

"Do you swim them across?" asked Caius, half in polite interest, halfbecause his memory was wandering upon the water. 

"They got so sharp at swimming, I had to raise the fence on the top ofthe cliff, " said Day. 

The evening wore away. 

In the morning Caius, smitten with the fever of hope and fear, rose upat dawn, and, as in a former time he had been wont to do, ran to theseashore by the nearest path and walked beside the edge of the waves. He turned, as he had always done, towards the little island and the DayFarm. 

How well he knew every outward curve and indentation of the soft redshelving bank! how well he knew the colouring of the cool scene in therising day, the iridescent light upon the lapping waves, the glisteningof the jasper red of the damp beach, and the earthen pinks of the uppercliffs! The sea birds with low pathetic note called out to himconcerning their memories of the first dawn in which he had walked theresearching for the body of the dead baby. Then the cool tints of dawnpassed into the golden sunrise, and the birds went on calling to himconcerning the many times in which he had trodden this path as a loverwhose mistress had seemed so strange a denizen of this same wide sea. 

Caius did not think with scorn now of this old puzzle and bewilderment, but remembered it fondly, and went and sat beneath baby Day's epitaph, on the very rock from which he had first seen Josephine. It was veryearly in the morning; the sun had risen bright and warm. At that seasoneven this desolate bit of shore wag garlanded above with the most lovelygreen; the little island was green as an emerald. 

Caius did not intend to keep his present place long. The rocky pointwhere the red cliff ended hid any portion of the Day farm from his view, and as soon as the morning was far enough advanced he intended to go andsee how the owner and his household had fared during the night. 

In the meantime he waited, and while he waited Fate came to himsmiling. 

Once or twice as he sat he heard the sound of horse's feet passing onthe cliff above him. He knew that Day's horses were there, for they werepastured alternately upon the cliff and upon the richer herbage of thelittle island. He supposed by the sounds that they were catching one ofthem for use on the farm. The sounds went further away, for he did nothear the tread of hoofs again. He had forgotten them; his face haddropped upon his hands; he was looking at nothing, except that, beneaththe screen of his fingers, he could see the red pebbles at his feet. Something very like a prayer was in his heart; it had no form; it wasnot a thing of which his intellect could take cognizance. Just then heheard a cry of fear and a sound as if of something dashing into thewater. The sounds came from behind the rocky point. Caius knew the voicethat cried and he rose up wildly, but staggered, baffled by his olddifficulty, that the path thither lay only through deep water or roundabove the cliff. 

Then he saw a horse swimming round the red rocks, and on its back awoman sat, not at ease--evidently distressed and frightened by thecourse the animal was taking. To Caius the situation became clear. Josephine had thought to refresh herself after her night's vigil bytaking an early ride, and the young half-broken horse, finding himselfat large, was making for the delicacies which he knew were to be foundon the island pasture. Josephine did not know why her steed had put outto sea, or whither he was going. She turned round, and, seeing Caius, held out her hand, imploring his aid. 

Caius thanked Heaven at that moment It was true that Josephine kept herseat upon the horse perfectly, and it was true that, unless the animalintended to lie down and roll when he got into the deep grass of theisland, he had probably no malicious intention in going there. That didnot matter. Josephine was terrified by finding herself in the sea andshe had cried to him for aid. A quick run, a short swim, and Caius wadedup on the island sands. The colt had a much longer distance to swim, andCaius waited to lay his hand on the bridle. 

For a minute or two there was a chase among the shallow, rippling waves, but a horse sinking in heavy sand is not hard to catch. Josephine satpassive, having enough to do, perhaps, merely to keep her seat. When atlength Caius stood on the island grass with the bridle in his hand, sheslipped down without a word and stood beside him. 

Caius let the dripping animal go, and he went, plunging with delightamong the flowering weeds and bushes. Caius himself was dripping also, but, then, he could answer for his own movements that he would not cometoo near the lady. 

Josephine no longer wore her loose black working dress; this morning shewas clad in an old habit of green cloth. It was faded with weather, andtoo long in the skirt for the fashion then in vogue, but Caius did notknow that; he only saw that the lower part of the skirt was wet, andthat, as she stood at her own graceful height upon the grass, the wetcloth twisted about her feet and lay beside them in a rounded fold, sothat she looked just now more like the pictures of the fabled sea-maidsthan she had ever done when she had floated in the water. 

The first thing Josephine did was to look up in his face and laugh; itwas her own merry peal of low laughter that reminded him always of achild laughing, not more for fun than for mere happiness. It bridged forhim all the sad anxieties and weary hours that had passed since he hadheard her laugh before; and, furthermore, he knew, without anothermoment's doubt, that Josephine, knowing him as she did, would never havelooked up to him like that unless she loved him. It was not that she wasthinking of love just then--that was not what was in her face; but itwas clear that she was conscious of no shadow of difference between themsuch as would have been there if his love had been doomed todisappointment. She looked to him to join in her laughter with perfectcomradeship. 

"Why did the horse come here?" asked Josephine. 

Caius explained the motives of the colt as far as he understood them;and she told how she had persuaded her uncle to let her ride it, and allthat she had thought and felt when it had run away with her down thechine and into the water. It was not at all what he could have believedbeforehand, that when he met Josephine they would talk with perfectcontentment of the affairs of the passing hour; and yet so it was. 

With graver faces they talked of the dying woman, with whom Josephinehad passed the night. It was not a case in which death was sad; it waslife, not death, that was sad for the wandering brain. But Josephinecould tell how in those last nights the poor mother had found peace inthe presence of her supposed child. 

"She curls my hair round her thin fingers and seems so happy, " saidJosephine. 

She did not say that the thin hands had fingered her wedding-ring; butCaius thought of it, and that brought him back the remembrance ofsomething that had to be said that must be said then, or every momentwould become a sin of weak delay. 

"I want to tell you, " he began--"I know I must tell you--I don't knowexactly why, but I must--I am sorry to say anything to remind you--todistress you--but I hated Le Maître! Looking back, it seems to me thatthe only reason I did not kill him was that I was too much of a coward. "

Josephine looked off upon the sea. The wearied pained look that she usedto wear when the people were ill about her, or that she had worn whenshe heard Le Maître was returning, came back to her face, so that sheseemed not at all the girl who had been laughing with him a minutebefore, but a saint, whose image he could have worshipped. And yet hesaw then, more clearly than he had ever seen, that the charm, theperfect consistency of her character, lay in the fact that the childlikejoy was never far off from the woman's strength and patience, and that awomanly heart always underlay the merriest laughter. 

They stood silent for a long time. It is in silence that God's creationgrows. 

At length Josephine spoke slowly:

"Yes, we are often very, very wicked; but I think when we are so muchashamed that we have to tell about it--I think it means that we willnever do it again. "

"I am not good enough to love you, " said Caius brokenly. 

"Ah! do not say that"--she turned her face away from him--"remember thelast time you spoke to me upon the end of the dune. "

Caius went back to the shore to get the boat that lay at the foot of thechine. The colt was allowed to enjoy his paradise of island flowers inpeace. 

THE END. 

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_AN AMERICAN GIRL IN LONDON. _ With 80 Illustrations by F. H. TOWNSEND. 12mo. Paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1. 50. 

"One of the most naïve and entertaining books of the season. "--_New YorkObserver. _

"So sprightly a book as this, on life in London as observed by anAmerican, has never before been written. "--_Philadelphia Bulletin. _

"Overrunning with cleverness and good-will. "--_New York CommercialAdvertiser. _

_THE SIMPLE ADVENTURES OF A MEM-SAHIB. _ With 37 Illustrations by F. H. TOWNSEND. 12mo. Cloth, $1. 50. 

"It is like traveling without leaving one's armchair to read it. MissDuncan has the descriptive and narrative gift in large measure, and shebrings vividly before us the street scenes, the interiors, thebewilderingly queer natives, the gayeties of the Englishcolony. "--_Philadelphia Telegraph. _

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New York: D. APPLETON & CO. , 72 Fifth Avenue. 

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ADA CAMBRIDGE'S NOVELS. 

_MY GUARDIAN. _ 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1. 00. 

"A story which will, from first to last, enlist the sympathies of thereader by its simplicity of style and fresh, genuine feeling. . . . Theauthor is _au fait_ at the delineation of character. "--_BostonTranscript. _

"The _dénouement_ is all that the most ardent romance-reader coulddesire. "--_Chicago Evening Journal. _

_THE THREE MISS KINGS. _ 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1. 00. 

"An exceedingly strong novel. It is an Australian story, teeming with acertain calmness of emotional power that finds expression in a continualoutflow of living thought and feeling. "--_Boston Times. _

"The story is told with great brilliancy, the character and societysketching is very charming, while delightful incidents and happysurprises abound. It is a triple love-story, pure in tone, and of veryhigh literary merit. "--_Chicago Herald. _

_NOT ALL IN VAIN. _ 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1. 00. 

"A worthy companion to the best of the author's former efforts, and insome respects superior to any of them. "--_Detroit Free Press. _

"Its surprises are as unexpected as Frank Stockton's, but they are thesurprises that are met with so commonly in human experience. . . . A betterstory has not been published in many moons. "--_Philadelphia Inquirer. _

_A MARRIAGE CEREMONY. _ 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1. 00. 

"'A Marriage Ceremony' is highly original in conception, its actiongraceful though rapid, and its characters speaking with that life andsprightliness that have made their author rank as a peer ofdelineators. "--_Baltimore American. _

"This story by Ada Cambridge is one of her best, and to say that is toat once award it high praise. "--_Boston Advertiser. _

"It is a pleasure to read this novel. "--_London Athenæum. _

_A LITTLE MINX. _ 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1. 00. 

"A thoroughly charming new novel, which is just the finest bit of workits author has yet accomplished. "--_Baltimore American. _

"The character of the heroine is especially cleverly drawn. "--_New YorkCommercial Advertiser. _

The Press on Ada Cambridge's Books. 

"Many of the types of character introduced would not have disgracedGeorge Eliot. "--Vanity Fair. 

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New York: D. Appleton & CO. , 72 Fifth Avenue.