// fpn source Gflower-src.txt for The Flower of the Gorse
// last edit; 23-jun-2014

.dt The Project Gutenberg eBook of Flower of the Gorse, by Louis Tracy

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<xl>FLOWER OF THE GORSE</xl>

BY

<l>LOUIS TRACY</l>

AUTHOR OF
THE WINGS OF THE MORNING,
ONE WONDERFUL NIGHT, <sc>Etc.</sc>
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[Illustration]
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NEW YORK
<l>GROSSET & DUNLAP</l>
PUBLISHERS
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Copyright 1915 by Edward J. Clode.
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<i>Dans la ville des meunières,
  Pont Aven, pays d'Amour,
Au Bord des ruisseaux d'eau claire,
  Fleur d'Ajonc chante toujours.</i>

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--<sc>Breton Song.</sc>
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<l>CONTENTS</l>

.ta rl
I|#<i>The Tower and the Well</i>:chI#
II|#<i>The Feast of Sainte Barbe</i>:chII#
III|#<i>The Wreck</i>:chIII#
IV|#<i>The Home-coming</i>:chIV#
V|#<i>The Lifting of the Veil</i>:chV#
VI|#<i>A Lull</i>:chVI#
VII|#<i>Mischief</i>:chVII#
VIII|#<i>The Tightening of the Net</i>:chVIII#
IX|#<i>Showing How Harvey Raymond Began the Attack</i>:chIX#
X|#<i>Madeleine's Flight</i>:chX#
XI|#<i>Mutterings of the Storm</i>:chXI#
XII|#<i>Wherein both the Reef and Mr. Raymond Yield Information</i>:chXII#
XIII|#<i>Showing How Tollemache Took Charge</i>:chXIII#
XIV|#<i>A Breton Reckoning</i>:chXIV#
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.h1 nobreak
FLOWER OF THE GORSE

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.h2 id=chI nobreak
CHAPTER I||THE TOWER AND THE WELL
.sp 2

"<i>O, là, là!</i> See, then, the best of good luck for
each one of us this year!"

Although Mère Pitou's rotund body, like Falstaff's,
was fat and scant o' breath, and the Pilgrims' Way
was steep and rocky, some reserve of energy enabled
her to clap her hands and scream the tidings of high
fortune when the notes of a deep-toned bell pealed from
an alp still hidden among the trees.

Three girls, fifty paces higher up the path, halted
when they heard that glad cry--and, indeed, who would
not give ear to such augury?

"Why should the clang of a bell foretell good luck,
Mother?" cried Barbe, the youngest, seventeen that
September day, and a true Breton maid, with eyes like
sloes, and cheeks the tint of ripe russet apples, and
full red lips ever ready to smile shyly, revealing the
big, white, even teeth of a peasant.

"Mother" signaled that explanations must await a
more opportune moment.

"Madame Pitou can't utter another word," laughed
Yvonne, the tallest girl of the trio.

"She has had some secret on the tip of her tongue
all day," said Madeleine, who was so like Barbe that
she might have been an elder sister; though the sole
// 012.png
tie between the two was residence in the same village.
"Don't you remember how she kept saying in the
train?--'Now, little ones, ask Sainte Barbe to be kind
to you. She'll hear your prayers a kilometer away,
even though you whisper them.'"

"Yes, and Mama would have liked us to begin singing
a hymn when we started from the foot of the hill,
but she thought Monsieur Ingersoll and Monsieur
Tollemache would only be amused," put in Barbe.

"They would certainly have been amused before
Madame Pitou reached the top, singing!" tittered
Yvonne.

"Is it possible that I shall ever be as stout as
Mama?" murmured Barbe, and the mere notion of
such a catastrophe evoked a poignant anxiety that was
mirrored in her eyes.

"Ah, Mignonne, now you know the form your petition
to Sainte Barbe must take," smiled Yvonne.

"It's all very well for you, Yvonne, to chaff us
smaller ones," pouted Madeleine. "You're tall, and
slim, and fair, and you carry yourself like the pretty
American ladies who come to Pont Aven in the season,
the ladies who wear such simple clothes, and hardly
look a year older than their daughters, and walk
leagues in men's boots, and play tennis before <i>déjeuner</i>.
Of course you can't help being elegant. You're American
yourself."

The recipient of this tribute turned it aside deftly.
"Sometimes I think I am more Breton than American,"
she said.
// 013.png

"Yes, everyone says that," agreed Barbe loyally.
"Next year, Yvonne, they'll make you Queen of the
Gorse."

With the innocence of youth, or perhaps with its
carelessness, Barbe had raised a topic as prickly as
the gorse itself, because Madeleine had been a maid of
honor that year, and might reasonably expect the
regal place in the succeeding Fête of the Fleurs
d'Ajonc. Happily, Yvonne, if endowed with a sense
of humor, was eminently good-natured and tactful.

"Nothing of the sort," she replied. "My father will
never allow me to be photographed, and there would
be a riot in Pont Aven if the shops couldn't sell picture
postcards of the Queen."

"Hurry up!" cried single-minded Barbe. "Let's
pray to Sainte Barbe before Mother comes, or she'll
be telling me what I must ask for, and I mean to take
your advice, Yvonne."

.tb

Two faces were turned instantly toward the invisible
shrine of the puissant saint, and it would place
no heavy strain on the intellect to guess what favors
were sought. But Yvonne hesitated. She had not
been reared in the precise religious faith of her companions.
Opinions garnered in the Bohemian atmosphere
of John Ingersoll's studio were in ill accord with
the uncompromising dogma taught in the convent on
the hill overlooking the estuary of the Aven and
labored by every sermon preached in the picturesque
church near the bridge.
// 014.png

Yet at that instant some words uttered by her
father reached her ears, and, moved by sudden impulse,
she raised her eyes to the tiny arch of light
that marked the spot near the summit where the interlacing
branches of the avenue of elms came to an end.

"Sweet Lady Barbara," she breathed, "if you have
it in your power to favor us poor mortals, please give
my dear father a happy year!"

The bell, after a few seconds of silence, renewed its
clamor, and the pretty unbeliever accepted the omen.
Her friends, of course, regarded the answer as more
than propitious: it was an assurance, an undoubted
promise of saintly intercession.

"I love Mama more than anyone in the world, but
I couldn't bear to measure a meter round my waist,"
said Barbe confidently.

"Even though I may never be Queen, it is something
to have been a maid of honor," said Madeleine,
demurely conciliatory now that her prayer was safely
lodged.

Yvonne heard, but paid no heed. She was looking
at the three people approaching the ledge of rock on
which she and the others were standing.

Madame Pitou, like the girls, wore the costume of
Brittany, conforming, of course, to the time-honored
fashion that allots a special headgear to womankind in
each district. Thus the coif supplies an unerring label
of residence. A woman from Pont Aven would recognize
a woman from Riec and another from Concarneau
though she had never seen either before in
// 015.png
her life; while all three would unite, without possibility
of error, in saying of a fourth, "She comes from
Auray."

The two men in Mère Pitou's company were just as
surely classed by their attire as the women by their
coifs. Both were artists, and each obeyed the unwritten
law which says that he who would paint must don
a knickerbocker suit, wear a wide-brimmed felt hat,
disregard collar buttons, and display a loosely knotted
necktie. Ingersoll, the elder, was content with clothes
of brown corduroy which had seen many, if not better,
days. His boots were strong and hobnailed, and his
easy stride up the rough and uneven track would reassure
one who doubted the stamina of his seemingly
frail body. Tollemache, who affected gray tweed, a
French gray silk tie, gray woolen stockings, and
brown brogues, looked what he was, a healthy young
athlete who would be equally at home on springy
heather whether carrying an easel or a gun.

Tollemache had caught Mère Pitou's arm when she
announced the message of the bell.

"One more outburst like that, my fairy, and we'll
have to carry you up the remainder of the hill," he
grinned.

"<i>Mon Dieu!</i> but I'm glad I made the best part of
the pilgrimage in a train and a carriage!" twittered
Madame. "Yet, though I dropped, I had to warn the
little ones that the dear saint knew they were coming
to her shrine."

"Is that what it means?"
// 016.png

"What else? A pity you are not a good Catholic,
Monsieur Tollemache, or you might be granted a favor
today."

"Oh, come now! That's no way to convert a black
Presbyterian. Tell me that Sainte Barbe will get my
next picture crowned by the Academy, and I'll fall on
my knees with fervor."

"<i>Tcha!</i> Even a saint cannot obtain what Heaven
does not allow."

Ingersoll laughed. "Mère Pitou may lose her
breath; but she never loses her wit," he said. "Now I
put forward a much more modest request. Most excellent
Sainte Barbe, send me some mad dealer who
will empty my studio at a thousand francs a canvas!"

Yvonne heard these words; yet, be it noted, she
asked the saint to make her father happy, not prosperous.
It was then that the bell rang a second time.

"<i>Tiens!</i>" exclaimed Madame Pitou. "The saint
replies!"

"Like every magician, you achieve your effect by
the simplest of contrivances--when one peeps behind
the scenes," said Ingersoll. "Old Père Jean, custodian
of the chapel, who will meet us at the summit, keeps a
boy on guard, so that all good pilgrims may be put
in the right frame of mind by hearing the bell accidentally.
The boy saw our girls first, and then spied
us. Hence the double tolling. Now, Madame, crush
me! I can see lightning in your eye."

"Mark my words, Monsieur Ingersoll, the saint will
send that dealer, and he will certainly be mad, since
// 017.png
none but a lunatic would pay a thousand francs for
any picture of yours."

Ingersoll seized her free arm. "Run her up, for
Heaven's sake, Tollemache!" he cried in English.
"Her tongue has scarified me every day for eighteen
years, and age cannot wither, nor custom stale, its
infinite variety."

Laughing, struggling, crying brokenly that <i>ces
Américains</i> would be the death of her, and tripping
along the while with surprising lightness of foot,--for
Mère Pitou had been noted as the best dancer of
the gavotte at any <i>pardon</i> held within a radius of ten
miles of Pont Aven,--she was hurried to the waiting
girls.

.tb

"Ah, that rascal of a father of yours!" she wheezed
to Yvonne, relapsing into the Breton language, as
was her invariable habit when excited, either in anger
or mirth. "And this other overgrown imp! When
they're beaten in argument they try to kill me. <i>Gars!</i>
A nice lot I'm bringing to the holy chapel!"

"Never mind, <i>chère maman</i>," said the girl, taking
her father's place, and clasping the plump arm affectionately.
"When we descend the other side of the
hill you'll have them at your mercy. Then you can tell
them what you really think of them."

"They know now. Artists, indeed! Acrobats, I
call them! Making sport of a poor old woman! Not
that I'm astonished at anything Monsieur Ingersoll
does. Everybody admits that he is touched here," and
// 018.png
she dabbed a fat finger at her glistening forehead, "or
he wouldn't bury himself alive in a Brittany village,
because he really has talent. But that hulking Monsieur
Tollemache ought to be showing off his agility
before you girls instead of lugging me up the Pilgrims'
Way. <i>Cré nom!</i> When little Barbe's father--Heaven
rest his soul!--met me here one fête day before
we were married, he wouldn't rest till he had swung
himself round Sainte Barbe's tower by the shepherd's
hooks; and me screaming in fright while I watched
him, though bursting with pride all the time, since the
other girls were well aware that he was only doing it
to find out if I cared whether or not he fell and broke
his neck."

"What's that?" inquired Tollemache; for Madame
Pitou was speaking French again. "Where is this
tower?"

"Oh, you'll shiver when you see it! You Americans
eat so much beef that you can never leave the earth.
That's why Frenchmen fly while you walk."

"Or run, my cabbage. You must admit that we
can run?"

"The good Lord gave you those long legs for some
purpose, no doubt."

"Well, <i>Maman</i>, we offered our petitions. What did
you ask for?" said Yvonne.

Madame flung up her hands with a woebegone cry.
"May the dear saint forgive me, but the monkey chatter
of those two infidels put my prayer clean out of
my head!"
// 019.png

"Gee whizz!" exclaimed Tollemache. "This time
I'll run in earnest, or I'll catch it hot and strong," and
he made off.

"No harm done," said Ingersoll. "Mère Pitou has
all she wants in this world, and will enter the next with
pious confidence."

For once the elderly dame kept a still tongue. Like
every Breton woman, she was deeply religious, and
rather given to superstition, and the momentary lapse
that led her to forget a carefully thought out plea for
saintly aid caused a pang of real distress.

Yvonne guessed the truth, and sympathized with
her. "Father dear," she said, "promise now, this
minute, that you will bring us all here again next year
on Barbe's fête day, and that we shall fall on our knees
while Madame offers her prayer, or she will be unhappy
all day."

Ingersoll read correctly the look of reproach his
daughter shot at him, and was genuinely sorry. He
too understood the tribulation that had befallen his
friend.

"By Jove!" he said instantly, "better than that,
though I make the promise willingly, Madame Pitou
and I must do immediate penance for our sins--she
for neglect and I for irreverence--by going halfway
down the hill again and toiling back."

He was by no means surprised when Mère Pitou took
at his word. Away they went, and Yvonne did not
fail to grasp the meaning of her father's significant
glance toward the belfry as he turned on his heel. On
// 020.png
no account was the boy to miss the arrival of yet a
third batch of pilgrims!

.tb

Now, the belfry stood on the farther edge of a tiny
plateau of rock and gorse that crowned the summit.
On the left was Père Jean's cottage with its stable and
weaving shed. Among the trees in the background
rose the diminutive spire of Sainte Barbe's chapel,
and it was evident that the slope of the hill was precipitous,
because spire and treetops, though quite near,
were almost on a level with the girl's eyes. From the
side of the belfry a paved causeway led to a quaintly
carved and weather-beaten open-air altar, and long
flights of broad steps fell thence on one hand to the
door of the chapel and on the other to the first of many
paths piercing the dense woodland of the hillside.

Père Jean, a sprightly and wizened old peasant
dressed in white linen, was already chatting with Tollemache
and the other two girls. The boy, thinking
the avenue was clear, had gone to the cottage for a
tray of picture postcards.

Yvonne followed, and sent him to his lookout with
definite instructions. "Make no mistake," she said,
"and we'll buy at least a franc's worth of cards later."
Then she rejoined her friends.

"Yes, I've seen it done," Père Jean was saying.
"Sailors were the best; but the shepherds were brave
lads too. Nowadays it is forbidden by the prefect."

"Why? Were there many accidents?" inquired
Tollemache.
// 021.png

"Oh, yes, a few. You see, it seems easy enough at
the commencement; but sometimes the heart failed
when the body was swinging over the cliff. It is fatal
to look down."

Madeleine's shoulders were bent over a low parapet.
Yvonne, leaning on her, saw that the caretaker was
talking of the feat that Barbe's father had accomplished
many years earlier. The altar at the end of
the causeway was shielded by a squat, square tower.
In its walls, about six feet above the causeway, some
iron rings were visible. They hung loose; but their
staples were imbedded in the masonry, and each ring
was about a yard apart from its fellow. A mass of
rock gave ready access to the first pair; but thenceforth
the venturesome athlete who essayed the passage
must swing himself in air, gripping a ring alternately
in the left hand and in both hands.

On one side, the left, the tower sank only to the level
of the path beneath; but a glance over the opposite
parapet revealed an awesome abyss.

Madeleine shuddered when she felt Yvonne's hand.
"To think that men should be so foolish as to risk
their lives in such a way!" she murmured.

"I suppose that anyone who let go was killed?"
said Tollemache.

"<i>Mais, non, M'sieu'</i>," Père Jean assured him.
"The blessed saint would not permit that. No one
was ever killed, I'm told. But the prefect has forbidden
it these twenty years."

"Are the rings in good condition?"
// 022.png

"Certainly, M'sieu'. Where now does one get such
iron as was made in those days?"

"Let's test some of 'em, anyhow," said Tollemache,
and before the horrified girls realized what he meant
he had leaped from parapet to rock, and was clinging
to a couple of rings.

.tb

"Oh, Monsieur Tollemache!" screamed Barbe.

"Please come back, Monsieur!" cried Madeleine.

"Hi! Hi! It is forbidden by the prefect!" bellowed
Père Jean.

But Yvonne, though angry and pallid with fright,
only said, "Don't be stupid, Lorry. I should never
have thought you would show off in that silly manner."

She spoke in English. Tollemache, gazing down at
her in a comical, sidelong way, answered in the same
language.

"I'm not showing off. Do you think that any
Frenchman ever lived who could climb where I
couldn't?"

"No one said a word about you."

"Yes. Mère Pitou said I'd shiver when I saw the
place. Now watch me shiver!"

He swung outward. Even in her distress, Yvonne
noticed that he took a strong pull at each ring before
trusting his whole weight to it. But she made no further
protest, nor uttered a sound; though Madeleine
and Barbe were screaming frantically, and the old caretaker's
voice cracked with reiteration of the prefect's
commands.
// 023.png

Tollemache was soon out of sight round the angle of
the tower, and the two Breton girls ran to the other
parapet to watch for his reappearance. Not so
Yvonne. The dread notion possessed her that she
might see Laurence Tollemache dashed to his death on
those cruel rocks some sixty feet beneath, and she
knew that, once witnessed, the horrific spectacle would
never leave her vision. So she waited spellbound in
front of the altar, and gazed mutely at some tawdry
images that stood there. Could they help, these grotesque
caricatures of heavenly beings, carved and
gilded wooden blocks with curiously inane eyes and
thick lips? Her senses seemed to be atrophied. She
was aware of a feeling of dull annoyance when the boy,
attracted by the screams and Père Jean's shrill
vehemence, came running from his post, and thus would
surely miss the second appearance of her father and
Mère Pitou. But the young peasant was quick witted.
He had seen the "pilgrims" turn and resume the ascent;
so he dashed into the belfry, because he could
thence obtain a rare view of an event that he had often
heard of but never seen,--a man swinging himself
round Sainte Barbe's tower by the shepherd's hooks,
such being the local name of the series of rings.

So the bell tolled its deep, strong notes, and simultaneously
Madeleine and Barbe shrieked in a wilder
pitch of frenzy. Tollemache had just swung round
the second angle of the tower. His left hand had
caught the outermost ring on that side; but the staple
yielded, and he vanished.
// 024.png

"Ah, <i>mon Dieu!</i> he has fallen!" cried Barbe, collapsing
forthwith in a faint.

Fortunately Madeleine saved her from a nasty
tumble on the rough stones; though she herself was
nearly distraught with terror. Père Jean raced off
down the right-hand flight of steps, moving with remarkable
celerity for so old a man, and gasping in his
panic:

"<i>Mille diables!</i> What will <i>M'sieu' le Préfet</i> say
now?"

Evidently the caretaker feared lest Sainte Barbe's
miraculous powers should not survive so severe a test.
Yet his faith was justified. A shout was heard from
the tower's hidden face.

"<i>Je m'en fiche de ça!</i>" was the cry. "I'm right as
a nail. I've got to return the way I came--that's all."

Yvonne listened as one in a dream. She saw her
father and Madame Pitou crossing the plateau. For
an instant her eyes dwelt on the features of the frightened
boy peering through an embrasure in the belfry.
From some point beneath came the broken ejaculations
of Père Jean, who was craning his neck from some
precarious perch on the edge of the precipice to catch
a glimpse of the mad American's shattered body.
Madeleine was sobbing hysterically over the prostrate
Barbe, and endeavoring with nervous fingers to undo
the stiff linen coif round the unconscious girl's throat.

Now, after leaving the cottage, Yvonne had looked
at the chapel, the entrance to which lay at the foot of
the left-hand stairway. The sanctuary had a belfry of
// 025.png
its own, a narrow, circular tower, pierced with lancet
windows beneath a pointed roof. These windows were
almost on a line with and about ten feet distant from
the top of the wall of rock left by the excavation that
provided a site for the building. Through one of them,
which faced the causeway, could be seen a tiny white
statue of Sainte Barbe. No more striking position
could have been chosen for it. The image was impressive
by reason of its very unexpectedness.

Hardly conscious of her action, Yvonne turned to
the saint now to invoke her help. She murmured an
incoherent prayer, and as she gazed distraught at the
Madonna-like figure, so calm, so watchful in its aery,
she heard the rhythmic clank of iron as the rings
moved in their sockets. One fleeting glance over the
left parapet revealed Tollemache in the act of swinging
himself to the pair of rings above the rock that
gave foothold.

Again he peered down at her, twisting his head awkwardly
for the purpose. "Nothing much to it," he
laughed, jerking out breathless words. "Of course
it was a bit of a twister when that ring came away;
but----"

He was safe. Yvonne deigned him no further heed.
She hurried to Barbe's side.

.tb

"For goodness' sake help me to shake her and slap
her hands!" she cried to Madeleine. "Monsieur Tollemache
has spoiled the day for us already, and Mère
Pitou will be ill if she thinks Barbe is hurt."
// 026.png

Barbe, vigorous little village girl, soon yielded to
drastic treatment, and was eager as either of her
friends to conceal from her mother the fact that she
had fainted.

Tollemache, feeling rather sheepish in face of
Yvonne's quiet scorn, strolled to the top of the steps
down which Père Jean had scuttled. The old man's
voice reached him in despairing appeal.

"M'sieu'! Speak, if you are alive! Speak, <i>pour
l'amour de Dieu</i>!"

"Hello there!" he cried. "What's the row about?
Here I am!"

Père Jean gazed up with bulging eyes, and himself
nearly fell over the precipice. "Ah, <i>Dieu merci</i>!" he
quavered. "But, M'sieu', didn't you hear me telling
you that the prefect----"

"What's the matter?" broke in Ingersoll's quiet
tones. "You all look as if you had seen a daylight
ghost."

"I behaved like a vain idiot," explained Tollemache,
seeing that none of the girls was minded to answer.
"I tried to climb round the tower by those rings, and
scared Yvonne and the others rather badly."

"How far did you go?"

"Oh, I was on the last lap; but a ring gave way."

Ingersoll knew the place of old, and needed no
elaborate essay on the danger Tollemache had escaped.
His grave manner betokened the depth of his annoyance.

"What happened then?" he said.
// 027.png
"I went back, of course."

"Where did the ring break?"

"It didn't break. I pulled the staple out. That
one--you see where the gap is."

Ingersoll leaned over the parapet. A glance sufficed.

"You crossed the valley face of the tower twice?"
he said.

"Couldn't help myself, old sport."

"Then you described yourself with marvelous accuracy,--a
vain idiot, indeed!"

"Dash it all!" protested Tollemache. "I've only
done the same as scores of Frenchmen."

"Many of whom lost their lives. You had a pretty
close call. Lorry, I'm ashamed of you!"

Mère Pitou added to Tollemache's discomfiture by
the biting comment that her man had got round the
tower, whereas <i>he</i> had failed.

.tb

Altogether it was a somewhat depressed party that
was shown round the quaint old chapel of the patroness
of armorers and artillerists by Père Jean, who had
lost a good deal of his smiling bonhomie, and eyed
Tollemache fearfully, evidently suspecting him of harboring
some fantastic design of dropping from the
gallery to the floor, or leaping from the chapel roof
to the cliff.

Their spirits revived, however, as they descended a
steep path to Sainte Barbe's well. Every chapel of
Saint Barbara has, or ought to have, a well, and that
// 028.png
at Le Faouet (three syllables, please, and sound the
final T when you are in Brittany) is specially famous
for its prophetic properties in affairs of the heart.
Thus, a spring bubbles into a trough surmounted by a
canopy and image of the saint. In the center of the
trough, beneath two feet of limpid water, the spring
rises through an irregular orifice, roughly four inches
square, and all unmarried young people who visit the
shrine try to drop pins into the hole. Success at the
first effort means that the fortunate aspirant for matrimony
will either be married within a year or receive
a favorable offer.

So, after luncheon, which had been carried by a boy
from the village on the hill opposite the Pilgrims'
Way, the girls produced a supply of pins. Barbe was
the first to try her luck. Three pins wriggled to the
floor of the well; but a fourth disappeared, and Mère
Pitou took the omen seriously.

"You will be married when you are twenty-one, <i>ma
petite</i>," she said, "and quite soon enough, too. Then
your troubles will begin."

Madeleine failed six times, and gave up in a huff.
Yvonne's second pin vanished.

"<i>O, là, là!</i>" cried Mère Pitou, still deeply interested
in this consultation of the fates. "Mark my
words, you'll refuse the first and take the second!"

The old lady darted a quick look at Ingersoll; but
he was smiling. He had schooled himself for an ordeal,
and his expression did not change. Tollemache,
too, created a diversion by seizing a pin, holding it
// 029.png
high above the surface of the water, whereas each of
the girls had sought apparently to lessen the distance
as much as possible, and dropping it out of sight
straight away.

"Look at that!" he crowed. "My girl will say
<i>snap</i> as soon as I say <i>snip</i>. Here's her engagement
ring!"

Plunging his left hand into a pocket, he brought to
light the ring and staple torn from Sainte Barbe's
tower. When hanging with one hand to the last hold-fast,
on the wall overlooking sixty feet of sheer precipice,
he had calmly pocketed the ring that proved
treacherous.

Evidently Laurence Tollemache was a young man
who might be trusted not to lose his head in an emergency.

Mère Pitou was not to be persuaded to tempt fortune,
and Ingersoll, who was sketching the well rapidly
and most effectively, was left alone, because Barbe,
who would have called him to come in his turn, was
bidden sharply by her mother to mind her own business.

.tb

Tollemache and Yvonne climbed the rocky path together
when they began the return journey to Le
Faouet. In the rays of the afternoon sun the rough
granite boulders sparkled as though they were studded
with innumerable small diamonds.

"Haven't you forgiven me yet, Yvonne?" he said,
noticing her distrait air.

She almost started, so far away were her thoughts.
// 030.png
"Oh, let us forget that stupidity," she replied. "I was
thinking of something very different. Tell me, Lorry,
has my father ever spoken to you of my mother?"

"No," he said.

"Do you know where she is buried?"

"No."

She sighed. Her light-hearted companion's sudden
taciturnity was not lost on her. Neither Madame
Pitou, Ingersoll's friend and landlady during eighteen
years, nor Tollemache, who worked with him daily,
could read his eyes like Yvonne, and she knew he was
acting a part when he smiled because Sainte Barbe's
well announced that she would be married at the second
asking. And the odd thing was that she had endeavored
to drop the first pin so that it would not fall into
the fateful space. None but she herself had noted how
it plunged slantwise through the water as though drawn
by a lodestone.

Even Tollemache nursed a grievance against the
well's divination. "I say," he broke in, "that pin
proposition is all nonsense, don't you think?"

For some occult reason she refused to answer as he
hoped she would. "You never can tell," she said.
"Mère Pitou believes in it, and she has had a long
experience of life's vagaries."

From some distance came Madeleine's plaint. "Just
imagine! Six times! In six years I shall be twenty-five.
I don't credit a word of it--so there! At the
last <i>pardon</i> Peridot danced with me all the afternoon."

Even little Barbe was not satisfied. "Mama said
// 031.png
the other day," she confided, "that I might be married
before I was twenty."

Ingersoll and Mère Pitou, bringing up the rear, were
silent; Madame because this hill also was steep, and
Ingersoll because of thoughts that came unbidden. In
fact, Sainte Barbe had perplexed some of her pilgrims.
// 032.png

.sp 4
.h2 id=chII
CHAPTER II||THE FEAST OF SAINTE BARBE
.sp 2

On the morning of December 4 in that same year a
postman walked up the narrow path leading to the
front door of Mère Pitou's house in the Rue Mathias,
Pont Aven, and handed in a bundle of letters. The
family was at breakfast, the <i>petit déjeuner</i> of coffee and
rolls that stays the appetite in every French household
until a more substantial meal is prepared at noon. The
weather was mild and bright, though a gusty sou'westerly
wind was blowing; so door and windows were
open.

Barbe saw the postman ere he unlatched the garden
gate, and rose excitedly, nearly upsetting a cup in
her haste.

"Why, what's the rush?" cried Ingersoll. "And
who in the world are all these letters for?"

"Father dear, have you forgotten the date? This
is Barbe's name day," said Yvonne.

"Oh, that's the explanation of tonight's festivity,"
laughed Ingersoll. "Sorry. It quite slipped my mind.
Of course she has wagonloads of friends who make a
point of remembering these things. Lucky Barbe!
And, by the way, Madame, what about those pictures
which the Lady of Le Faouet was to dispose of? It's
// 033.png
high time she was getting busy. Here are three months
sped and--if anything rather a slump in Ingersolls.
Actually, my best commission thus far is a series of
picture postcards of Le Pouldu--with benefits deferred
till next season."

"Perhaps the good saint knew that you kept your
tongue in your cheek while you were seeking her help,"
retorted Madame.

"Impossible. It was lolling out. You ungrateful
one, didn't I climb the hill twice for your sake?"

.tb

Barbe exchanged a friendly word with the postman,
who was well aware of the cause of this sudden increase
in the mail delivery at the cottage. Then she ran in.

"One for you, M'sieu'--all the rest for me," she
announced gleefully.

Ingersoll took his letter. It bore the Pouldu postmark
and the printed name of a hotel. Usually such
missives came from brother artists; but the handwriting
on the envelop was essentially of the type that
French hotelkeepers cultivate for the utter bamboozling
of their foreign patrons. Yvonne glanced at it with
some curiosity, and was still more surprised to see the
look of humorous bewilderment on her father's face
when he had mastered its contents.

"I take back everything I said, or even thought,
about Sainte Barbe," he cried. "Learn how she has
squelched me! The proprietor of the chief hotel at
Le Pouldu offers four hundred francs for a picture of
the <i>plage</i> with his hotel in the center. Certainly four
// 034.png
hundred is a heap short of a thousand, which was the
sum I named to her saintship; but then, a <i>hôtelier</i> isn't
a dealer, and he promises to pay cash if the sketch is
delivered in a week, because he wants it for a summer
poster. Yvonne, have you finished breakfast? Run and
find Peridot, there's a dear, and ask him if we can sail
to Le Pouldu this morning. It'll save time to go by
sea, and the tide will serve, I know. If Peridot says the
weather is all right, drop in at Julia's, and invite Tollemache.
We'll lunch gloriously with my hotel man, rub
in the best part of the drawing afterward, and be back
here in good time for the feast."

.tb

Yvonne hurried out. The hour was half-past eight,
and the tide in the estuary of the Aven was already on
the ebb. But she had not far to go. The Rue Mathias
(nowadays glorified by a much more ambitious name)
was not a minute's walk from the bridge that gives
the village its name. Another minute brought her
to the quay, where the brawling river escapes from its
last millwheel, and tumbles joyously into tidal water.
She was lucky. Peridot was there, mending a blue sardine
net,--a natty, square-shouldered sailor, unusually
fair for a Breton, though his blond hair was French
enough in its bristliness, as a section of his scalp would
have provided a first-rate clothes brush. He touched
his cap with a smile when she appeared, and in answer
to her query raised to the heavens those gray-green eyes
which had earned him such a euphonious nickname.

"Yes, Mademoiselle Yvonne, we can make Le Pouldu
// 035.png
by ten o'clock with this wind," he said. "We may get
a wetting; but it won't be the first. Is--er--is Madeleine
coming?"

"Not today. She promised to help Mère Pitou with
tonight's supper. You will be there?"

"Wind and weather permitting, Ma'mselle. We go
in your own boat, I suppose?"

"Yes. Can you allow fifteen minutes?"

"There will be plenty of water for the next half-hour."

Yvonne raced off again, this time to the Hotel Julia,
not the huge modern annex,--that dominates the tiny
marketplace of Pont Aven,--but the oldtime hostelry
itself, tucked in snugly behind its four sycamores, like
some sedate matron ever peering up in wonderment at
its overgrown child across the street. In winter the
habitués--the coterie of artists and writers who cluster
under the wing of the famous Julia Guillou--eat in the
dining room of the smaller hotel.

Crossing the terrace, a graveled part of the square
shielded by the trees, Yvonne met Mademoiselle Julia
herself, bustling forth to inspect eggs, poultry, and
buckets of fish. This kindly, outspoken, resourceful-looking
woman has tended and housed and helped at
least two generations of painters. In her way she has
done more for art than many academies.

"Is Monsieur Tollemache at breakfast, Mademoiselle?"
inquired Yvonne.

Julia smiled broadly. Evidently it was the most
natural thing imaginable that the pretty American girl,
// 036.png
known to everyone in the village, should be asking the
whereabouts of the stalwart youngster who would never
be an artist, but was one of the hotel's most valued
guests.

"<i>Oui, ma chérie!</i> I heard him shouting to Marie for
three boiled eggs not so long ago. Out of three eggs
one hatches a good meal. And how is your father? I
haven't set eyes on him this week."

"He is so busy, Mademoiselle. There is so little
daylight."

"Bring him to dinner on Sunday. We're roasting
two of the biggest geese you ever saw!"

"He will be delighted, I'm sure."

Then Julia marched to conquer the venders of eatables.
There would be a terrific argument; but the
founder of modern Pont Aven would prevail.

Yvonne looked in through an open window of a delightful
room, paneled in oak--on every panel a picture
bearing a signature more or less eminent in the
world of color. Tollemache was there, tapping his
third egg.

"Lorry," she said, "Father and I are sailing to Le
Pouldu. Will you come?"

"Will a duck swim?" was the prompt reply. "When
do we start?"

"Soon. Be at the quay in ten minutes."

"By the clock. Plenty of oilskins in the locker?"

"Yes."

She sped away. A Frenchman, an artist who knew
the Breton coast in all weathers, shook his head.
// 037.png

"Dangerous work, yachting off Finistère in December,"
he said. "What sort of boat are you going in?"

"Ingersoll's own tub, a <i>vague</i>--a sardine boat, you
know."

"First-rate craft, of course. But mind you're not
caught in a change of wind. The barometer is falling."

"Oh, as for that, we'll probably have Peridot in
charge, and he was born with a caul; so he'll never be
drowned. Even if he's not there, Ingersoll and Yvonne
are good sailors, and I'm no fresh-water amateur."

"Well--good luck! I only ask you not to despise
the Atlantic. Why is Ingersoll going to Le Pouldu at
this time of the year?"

"Don't know, and don't care. It's an unexpected
holiday for me; so my Salon study of the Bois d'Amour
in winter must miss a day."

The Frenchman sighed; whether on account of the
doubtful prospect before Tollemache's Salon picture
or because of his own vanished youth, it would be hard
to say.

"What a charming peasant girl--and how on earth
did she acquire English with that perfect accent?"
said a woman, a newcomer.

"She is the daughter of a celebrated American artist,"
explained the Frenchman.

"But why does she wear the Breton costume?"

"Because she has good taste."

"Oh! Is that a hit at current fashions?"

The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. "Madame
// 038.png
asked for information," he said. "To wander off into
an essay on clothes would be impolite."

.tb

Before nine o'clock the Hirondelle, registered No.
415 at Concarneau, was speeding down the seven kilometers
of the Aven estuary on a rapid-falling tide. Owing
to the force and direction of the wind it would have
been a waste of time to hoist a sail, even in those reaches
of the winding river where some use might have been
made of it. Tollemache and Peridot (whose real name
was Jean Jacques Larraidou) rigged two long sweeps,
and Yvonne took the tiller, keeping the boat in mid-stream
to gain the full benefit of the current. In forty
minutes they were abreast of the fortlike hotel at Port
Manech, the summer offshoot of the Hotel Julia, and a
steel-blue line on the horizon, widening each instant,
told of the nearness of the sea. It was an uneven
line too, ever and anon broken by a white-capped
hillock.

Peridot, pulling his oar inboard, poised himself erect
for a few seconds with an arm thrown round the foremast,
and gazed steadily seaward. "She'll jump a bit
out there," he said; though the fierce whistling of the
wind drowned his words. He was aware of that, because
he converted both hands into a megaphone when he
turned and shouted to Yvonne. "We'll take the inside
passage, Ma'mselle."

Before attempting to hoist the foresail he rummaged
in a locker and produced oilskin coats and sou'westers.
There was no delay. The four donned them quickly.
// 039.png
Yvonne had changed her Breton dress for a short skirt
and coat of heather mixture cloth, because coif and
collar of fine linen were ill adapted to seagoing in rough
weather.

Peridot held up three fingers. The girl nodded.
Peridot and Tollemache hauled at the sail, and Yvonne
kept the boat in the eye of the wind until three reefs
were tied securely. Then the Hirondelle swung round
to her task. She careened almost to the port gunwale
under the first furious lash of the gale, and a sheet
of spray beat noisily on oilskins and deck. But the
stanch little craft steadied herself, and leaped into her
best pace.

Ingersoll dived into the cabin, and reappeared with
his pipe alight, the bowl held in a closed and gloved
hand. Tollemache made play with a cigarette. Peridot
clambered aft to relieve Yvonne.

"We'll make Le Pouldu in little more than the hour,"
he said.

"It's blowing half a gale," said the girl.

"Yes. If the wind doesn't veer, we should have a
record trip. But we shouldn't start back a minute
after three o'clock."

"Oh, my father will see to that. Moreover, we're
due at Mère Pitou's at six."

Peridot showed all his white teeth in a smile. Madeleine
would be there. He meant to marry Madeleine.
There was no use in asking her to wed until after the
Festival of the Gorse Flowers next August, since her
heart was set on being Queen. Once that excitement
// 040.png
was ended, Heaven willing, Madeleine Demoret would
become Madame Larraidou!

In taking the rudder the man was not showing any
distrust of Yvonne's nerve; but there was just a possibility
that a crisis might call for instant decision,
when the only warning would come from that sixth sense
which coastal fishermen develop in counteracting the
sea's fitful moods.

Perhaps once during the hour--perhaps not once in
a year--some monstrous wave would roar in from the
Atlantic, seeking to devour every small craft in its
path. No one can account for these phenomena. They
may arise from lunar influence, or from some peculiar
action of the tides; but that they occur, and with disastrous
results if unheeded, every fisherman from Stornoway
to Cadiz will testify. Their size and fury are
more marked in a southwesterly gale than at any other
time, and the only safe maneuver for a boat sailing
across the wind is to bring her sharply head on to the
fast-moving ridge, and ride over it. Yvonne knew of
these occasional sea dragons, but had never seen one.
She knew what to do too, and for an instant was vexed
with Peridot. He read her thought.

"I'd trust my own life to you, Ma'mselle," he said
gallantly; "but I'd never forgive myself if anything
happened to you."

She smiled in spite of her pique. To make her voice
heard without screaming, she put her lips close to his
ear. "This time, if anybody goes, we all go," she
cried.
// 041.png
He shook his head. "No, no, Ma'mselle. The sea
will never get me," he said. "Hold tight here. This
is the bar."

.tb

Certainly, even among experienced yachtsmen, there
would not be lacking those who might have regarded
the Hirondelle's present voyage as a piece of folly.
There is no wilder coast in Europe than the barrier of
shaggy rock that France opposes to the ocean from St.
Malo to Biarritz. At Finistère, in particular, each
headland is not a breakwater, but a ruin. During
heavy storms the seas dash in frenzy up a hundred feet
of shattered cliff, the Atlantic having smashed and
overthrown every sheer wall of rock ages ago.

Of course the adventurers were not facing a No. 8
gale. That, indeed, would have been rank lunacy. But
the estuaries of the Aven and the Belon, joining at
Port Manech, were sending down no inconsiderable
volume of water to meet a strong wind, and the opposing
forces were waging bitter war. A mile farther on
a channel ran between the mainland and a group of
rocks called Les Verrés. There the tide and wind would
not be so greatly at variance, and the partly submerged
reef would lessen the force of the sea; though the only
signs of its existence were a patch of high-flung spray
and a small tower, with a black buoy at its easterly
extremity. This was what Peridot had called the "inside
passage." To the landsman it was a figure of
speech. To the sailor it meant seas diminished to half
their volume as compared with the "dirt" outside.
// 042.png

The Hirondelle raced through the turmoil at the bar
as though she enjoyed it, and, once the islets were to
windward, the journey became exhilarating. None of
the four people on board displayed the least concern.
Indeed, they reveled in the excursion. When their
craft swept into the sheltered cove at Le Pouldu, not
without a tossing on another bar, and was brought up
alongside the small quay, their flushed faces and shining
eyes showed that they looked on the outing as a
thoroughly enjoyable one.

.tb

They were ready for an early luncheon too, and did
full justice to the menu. Afterward, while Ingersoll
planned his picture, Yvonne and Tollemache strolled
along the right bank of the Laita to the hamlet of
Le Pouldu.

The girl told her companion of the singular coincidence
that brought her father an unexpected commission
by that morning's post; but Tollemache pooh-poohed
it.

"You're becoming almost as superstitious as these
Bretons," he said. "It's high time your father took
you to New York for a spell. Spooks can't live there
since the automobile came along. They don't like the
fumes of petrol, I fancy. But these silly Bretons appeal
to a saint or dread a devil for every little thing.
One stained-glass proposition can cure rheumatism in a
man and another spavin in a horse. It's unlucky to
gather and eat blackberries because the Crown of
Thorns was made out of brambles. You can shoot a
// 043.png
wretched tomtit; but you mustn't touch a magpie. If
you want to marry a girl, you pray to Saint This; if
you're anxious to shunt her, you go on your marrow-bones
to Saint That. I'm fond of Brittany and its
folk; but I can't stomach their legends. Look at that
pin-dropping business at Sainte Barbe's well! Poor
Madeleine couldn't get a pin home to save her life;
whereas everybody knows that she and Peridot will
make a match of it before this time next year."

Yvonne did not like to hear her friends' amiable
weaknesses exposed thus ruthlessly. "If Homer nods,
a poor girl who has watched ever so many love affairs
since A.D. 235 may surely be forgiven an occasional
mistake," she said.

"Has she been at it so long? What is the yarn?"

"Please don't speak so disrespectfully of Saint
Barbara. Because she wanted to marry someone whom
her father didn't approve of he imprisoned her in a
tower, and when she was converted to Christianity beheaded
her."

"The old rascal! Did the other fellow--the one she
liked--climb the tower? Perhaps that accounts for the
rings."

"It is possible. I have no doubt men were just as
foolish seventeen centuries ago as they are today."

"Thanks. That personal touch helps a lot. But,
supposing I asked your father to sanction----"

"If you will apply the moral, I must remind you that
I am to refuse my first offer. But don't let us talk
nonsense. It is time we made for the harbor."
// 044.png

"Crushed again!" murmured Tollemache, assuming
an air of blithe indifference. He was only partly successful.
Stealing a glance at Yvonne, he noted her
heightened color and a curiously defiant glint in her
blue eyes. Unconsciously she quickened her pace too,
and Tollemache interpreted these outward and visible
tokens of displeasure as hostile to the notion that had
sprung into thrilling life in his mind that day at Le
Faouet, when he peered down into Yvonne's agonized
face when he was clinging like a fly to the wall of the
tower.

"She regards me as a silly ass," he communed bitterly,
"and not without good cause. What place do I
fill in the world, anyhow? God created me a live-wire
American, and the devil egged me on to spoil clean
canvas. I'm little better than a hobo, and she knows it.
Well, I'll swallow my medicine.

"I say, Kiddie," he cried aloud, "you needn't go off
in a huff just because I was talking through my hat.
Wait till I light a cigarette."

Though he was not sure that the bantering protest
had deceived her, she pretended that it had; so the object
aimed at was achieved. But Tollemache was of
the tough fiber that regards no sacrifice as worth while
unless it is complete.

"If you knew the facts, Yvonne, you'd never get
mad with me when I talk about marrying anybody," he
went on. "Why do I live in Pont Aven all the year
round? Because it's cheap. Last year I earned three
hundred and twenty francs for three pictures. At that
// 045.png
rate of progress any girl who married me would jolly
soon starve."

Yvonne remembered the famous three. Two were
portraits of the oleograph order, in which Tollemache
had shamelessly flattered his sitters. For these he received
the three hundred francs. The twenty were
paid for a sketch of a new villa which the builder wished
to send to his mother-in-law! Still, she allowed herself
to be surprised.

"Of course I knew you were only joking, Lorry,"
she said. "And while we are on the subject, I may as
well tell you that I shall never leave my father. What
you say about your means is rather astonishing, for all
that. How can you possibly hire autos and live as you
do?"

"Oh, I don't," he explained, with a sudden grimness
of tone that she had never heard before. "My father
pays all my bills,--living expenses, tailors, and that
sort of thing, you know. The moment I marry without
his approval I revert to my pocket-money allowance."

The girl knew they were trenching again on a dangerous
topic. She was so exquisitely sensitive that she
felt the imminence of some avowal that it would be
better, perhaps, not to hear.

"What does money matter if we are happy?" she
cried cheerfully. "And our small community in Pont
Aven is a very united and pleasant one, don't you
think?"

"Top notch," said he. "There's Ingersoll, coming
// 046.png
down from the front. Bet you fifty centimes he has
washed in a little gem--something I couldn't touch if
I tried every day for ten years!"

"Dad is really very clever," agreed Yvonne, momentarily
deaf to the irony of the words. "I often
wonder why he has remained in our village eighteen
years. People say he would soon find a place in Paris
or New York. Sometimes I fancy that my mother's
death must have distressed him beyond measure. He
never speaks of her, even to me. Perhaps he can't bear
to revive sad memories."

"I can understand that," said Tollemache. "I believe
I should go dotty if married to a woman I really
loved, and I lost her."

Yvonne darted into a shop to buy caramels. She
had to escape somehow. When she emerged one side
of her face was bulging, and she held out a cardboard
box.

"Take one," she gurgled. Not yet twenty, she was
sufficient of a woman to play a part when it suited her.
By the time the two had joined Ingersoll they were boy
and girl again, and the curtain, lifted for an instant on
a tragedy, had fallen.

Tollemache, searching for some commonplace remark
to relieve the tension of his own feelings, noticed
the drift of smoke curling from a cottage chimney.

"What has happened to the wind?" he said.

"It has veered to the southeast, Monsieur," answered
Peridot.

"I thought something of the sort had taken place,
// 047.png
but was so busy that I did not pay any heed," said
Ingersoll. Then his forehead wrinkled reflectively.
"Southeast from southwest," he muttered. "On a rising
tide that change should kick up a nasty sea. Is the
return trip quite safe, Peridot?"

"The sea will be a trifle worse, Monsieur; but we'll
travel on an even keel."

"And be swept by an occasional wave from stem to
stern?"

"I've heard of such things," grinned Peridot.

"And very uncomfortable things they are too.
Yvonne, you must decide. Shall we take the rough
passage, or hire the hotel auto?"

Yvonne rounded her eyes at her father, and stepped
on board the Hirondelle.

He laughed. "That settles it!" he cried. "'Of
Christian souls more have been wrecked on shore than
ever were lost at sea.' But I warn you, my merry adventuress.
Before half an hour has passed you may be
ready to cry with honest old Gonzalo in 'The Tempest,'
'Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an
acre of barren ground, long heath, brown furze, anything,'
obviously having the coast of Finistère in his
mind."

.tb

The behavior of the maritime folk of Le Pouldu
showed that there was an element of risk in the voyage.
Knots of fishermen watched Peridot's preparations
with a professional eye, and spat approval when he cast
loose a small jibsail. A few carried interest so far that
// 048.png
they climbed the seaward cliff to watch the boat's progress
across the Basse Persac and Basse an Hiss, the two
nearest shallows on the homeward line across the Anse
du Pouldu.

The Hirondelle passed the bar of the Laita quickly
and safely. A sea that would have smothered her in
churning water broke within a boat's length. After
that escape she made a drier passage than her occupants
expected. She was abreast of Douélan, and
Yvonne was listening to the thunder of the Atlantic on
the black reef that stretches from Kerlogal Mill to Les
Cochons de Beg Morg, while her eyes were watching the
changing bearings of the church spires of Moëlan and
Clohars, when a shout from Peridot recalled her wandering
thoughts.

"There's a steam yacht out there, making heavy
weather," he said.

Ingersoll had evidently noted the other vessel already,
because he had gone into the cabin--not the
cubbyhole of a sardine boat, but the hold converted into
a saloon fitted with a table screwed to the deck, and
four comfortable bunks--and reappeared with a pair
of binoculars. From that moment all eyes were fixed
on the newcomer.

At a guess she might be coming from Brest to
Lorient, because it was safe to assume that her Captain
was not a fool, and he must have started the day's run
before the change of wind. It must remembered that
the very conditions that helped the five-ton Hirondelle
were the worst possible for the sixty- or seventy-ton
// 049.png
stranger, hard driven into a head sea whipped by a
fierce wind. She had shaped a course outside l'Isle
Verte, and was well clear of the Ar Gazek shallow when
first sighted by those on board the Hirondelle. The
tidal stream was running strongly there, and Yvonne
with difficulty repressed a cry of dismay when the
yacht's bare masts and white funnel vanished completely
in a cloud of spray.

"If that fellow has any sense, he'll turn while he is
able, and make for Concarneau," said Peridot, as the
spume dissipated, and the stricken vessel's spars came
into view again.

"Perhaps he doesn't know this coast. Can we signal
him?" inquired the girl.

"He wouldn't take any notice of a fishing boat. The
skipper of a ten-centime steam yacht thinks more of
himself than the commander of an Atlantic liner. Of
course he should make Lorient tonight--if he understands
the lights."

The self-confident Peridot seldom qualified his words:
now he had twice spoken with an if. Yvonne hauled
herself forward, and joined her father and Tollemache.

.tb

"Peridot thinks that the vessel out there may get
into difficulties," she said. "I suggested that we should
signal her; but he says she would pay no heed."

"What sort of signal?"

"To turn back--Concarneau for choice."

"Let's try, anyhow. Lorry, you'll find a codebook
in the chart locker, and flags in the one beneath. Look
// 050.png
for 'Recommend change of course' or something of
the sort, and the Concarneau code letters. Get the
necessary flags, and we'll run 'em up."

Peridot, who missed nothing, understood Tollemache's
quick descent into the cabin. His shout
reached father and daughter clearly.

"They're signaling from the Brigneau station already.
It'll do no harm if we give him a tip too."

During the next ten minutes the situation remained
unchanged, save that yacht and fishing boat neared each
other rapidly, the Hirondelle traveling three kilometers
to the yacht's one, while lines of flags, each identical--whereat
Tollemache winked at Yvonne and preened
himself--fluttered from signal station and mast.
The yacht disregarded these warnings, and pressed
on.

Ingersoll was watching her through the glasses; but
Yvonne's keen vision hardly needed such aid.

"They must have seen both signals," she said.
"There are two men on the bridge. What a big man
one of them is! Can you make out her name, Dad?"

"No. I've been trying to; but the seas pouring over
the fore part render the letters indistinct. You have a
look. Mind you brace yourself tight against that
stay."

He handed her the binoculars, and Yvonne lost a few
seconds in adjusting the focus.

"The first letter is an S," she announced. "There
are six. The last one is an A. Oh, what a blow that
sea must have given her! It pitched on board just
// 051.png
beneath the bridge. Why, what's the matter? She is
swinging round!"

The girl was sufficiently versed in the ways of the
sea to realize that no shipmaster would change course
in that manner, nor attempt such a maneuver at the
instant his craft was battling against hundreds of tons
of water in motion.

"<i>Gars!</i>" yelled Peridot excitedly. "She's broken
down--shaft snapped, or propeller gone!"

.tb

At once the fierce and thrilling struggle had become
a disaster. The yacht was drifting broadside on, utterly
at the mercy of wind and tide. Unless a miracle
happened, she would be ground to matchwood on that
rock-bound coast within a few minutes. Unhappily
she had gained considerable speed in the direction
where destruction awaited her before her crew could
let go the anchor. The agonized watchers from shore
and boat knew when a fluke caught in some crevice of
the rocks buried twelve fathoms deep, because the vessel's
bows were brought up against the sea with a jerk.
Then she fell away again. The cable couldn't stand the
strain. It had parted.

"Good God!" groaned Ingersoll. "Every soul on
board will be drowned before our eyes!"

Yvonne could not speak. Neither could she see. She
was blinded with tears. The suddenness of the affair
was appalling. At one instant she had been following
a fascinating fight between man and the elements, a
fight in which man was gaining ground yard by yard.
// 052.png
Now by some trick of Fate man was delivered, bound
and crippled, to become the sport of savage and relentless
enemies. She heard her father shouting to Peridot:

"Bear a couple of points to port. They may lower
a boat."

"No use," came the answer. "Better crack on.
They'll strike on Les Verrés. We may pick up one or
two in the channel if they wear life belts."

Tollemache had leaped down into the cabin. He was
out on deck again now, bareheaded, having discarded
oilskin coat and sou'wester. A cork jacket was
strapped round his tall, alert body. If any life could
be snatched back from the abyss, Tollemache might be
trusted not to spare himself in the effort. In that moment
of stress the cheery, devil-may-care American
artist had become a calm, clear-headed man of action.
He looked almost heroic, standing on the sloping deck
forward, with one sinewy, brown-skinned hand clasping
a mast-hoop, and the other thrust into a pocket of his
Norfolk jacket. By a queer trick of memory Yvonne
was reminded of her fright when she saw Lorry clinging
to the rings of Sainte Barbe's tower. He had come
through that ordeal unscathed.

Would he conquer in this far more dreadful test?
There he could depend on his own taut muscles and
iron nerve. Here he was at the mercy of circumstances.
Still, it was helpful to see Lorry's fingers clenched on
a ring. Somehow it seemed to offer good augury.
// 053.png

.sp 4
.h2 id=chIII
CHAPTER III||THE WRECK
.sp 2

There were brave hearts, too, on board the vessel
now seemingly doomed to utter destruction. Each of
her two masts carried canvas, and when the cable parted
a ready command had evidently sent the crew racing
to cast loose both sails from their lashings. But the
very trimness and tautness of everything on board
proved the yacht's final undoing. Knives were brought
into play, and the foresail was hoisted within a few
seconds. The yacht answered her helm promptly.
There seemed to be a real chance that she might haul
into the wind and clear the black fangs of Les Verrés,
in which case she would either run into the small
estuary at Brigneau, or at the worst beach herself on
the strip of sand there.

At that moment the occupants of the Hirondelle saw
her name, the Stella, and they were on the point of
breaking into a frantic cheer of relief when the unlucky
craft crashed into a submerged rock, swung broadside
on, and was saved from turning turtle only by another
rock which stove her in amidships.

"Ah, Les Verrés have caught her! I thought they
would. God help those poor fellows!"

It was Peridot who spoke, and the mere fact that he
// 054.png
had abandoned hope sounded the requiem of the Stella
and all her company.

Then indeed her plight was like to have passed beyond
human aid. She was lodged on the outer fringe
of an unapproachable reef, whence a rapidly rising tide
would lift her at any minute. Being built of steel, she
would sink forthwith, because her bows were crushed
and plates started below the load line. She carried four
boats; but, with the ingenuity of malice that the sea
often displays in its unbridled fury, the two to port
were crushed to splinters when she heeled over, and
those to starboard, swinging inward on their davits,
filled instantly, since the waves poured in cascades over
the hull, as though the mighty Atlantic was concentrating
all its venom on that one tiny adversary.

The marvel was that no one was swept overboard.
Nothing could have saved the men on deck had the
Stella lurched on to her beam ends without warning;
but the fleeting interval while she was being carried
round on the pivot of her fore part enabled them to
guard against the expected shock. Nine figures were
visible, two standing on the port rails of the bridge,
and the others on the deck rails, every man having
braced his shoulders against the deck itself. Masts,
funnel, and upper saloon were practically vertical with
the plane of the sea, and the hull quivered and moved
under the assault of each wave. Yet the very injuries
that would swamp the vessel instantly when she rolled
into deep water now gave her a brief lease of life. The
rocks that pierced the hull held her fast. Her plight
// 055.png
resembled that of some poor wretch stabbed mortally
who breathes and groans in agony, only to die when
the knife that causes his distress is withdrawn.

.tb

The horror of the sight brought a despairing cry to
Yvonne's lips. "Peridot, Peridot, can nothing be
done?" she shrieked, turning to the Breton sailor as
though, at his prayer, the sky might open and Providence
send relief.

The boat was now nearly abreast of the wreck, and
running free before the wind. The girl's frantic appeal
seemed to arouse the three men from a stupor of
helplessness.

"Look out, everybody!" shouted Peridot. "We're
going head on."

It was a dangerous maneuver in a heavy sea; but
fortune favored the Hirondelle in so far that no mountainous
wave struck her quarter as she veered round.
All were equally alive to the possibility of disaster. Ingersoll,
though he uttered no word till the boat had reversed
her course, was almost moved to protest.

"We are powerless," he said, coming aft to make
his voice audible. "Even if some of the yacht's people
are swept clear of the reef, they will be smothered
long before they drift in this direction. The thing was
so unexpected that none of them has secured a cork
jacket, or even a life belt."

"There is one chance in a hundred, Monsieur," said
Peridot, speaking so that Ingersoll alone could hear.
"The point is--will you take it? You and Monsieur
// 056.png
Tollemache would agree, of course. Will you risk
Mademoiselle's life as well?"

"A chance? What sort of chance?"

"I know every inch of Les Verrés. A little inlet, not
much longer than the yacht, and perhaps forty feet
wide, runs in from the south just where she lies. Her
hull and the reef itself form a breakwater. We can
make it, and get a line aboard."

"Then for the love of Heaven why wait?"

"One moment, Monsieur. We have yet a second
or two for decision. You see how the wreck lifts
each time a sea hits her. The tide is rising.
If she shifts when we are in there, goodby to the
Hirondelle!"

The eyes of the two met, and Ingersoll wavered, but
only as a brave man takes breath before essaying some
supreme test of hardihood.

"My daughter would never forgive me if she knew
I chose the coward's path," he said. "Go ahead,
Peridot! Tell us what we have to do, and it shall be
done."

A cheerful chuckle was the Breton's answer as he
thrust the tiller over to port and sent the boat reeling
on the starboard tack. Once she was fairly balanced,
he began to bellow instruction.

"Within a couple of minutes I'll put her head on
again, and we'll drift alongside the ship yonder.
Monsieur Ingersoll and Monsieur Tollemache will each
take a sweep, and fend the after part off the rocks.
Mademoiselle will remain for'ard, and be ready to drop
// 057.png
the anchor as a last resource if I find the tide running
too strong for the sweeps to hold us back. Leave the
rest to me!"

.tb

It is a glorious heritage of the English-speaking race
that the men of other nations regard sea valor as the
birthright of its sons and daughters. Peridot had
stated the case for and against the attempted rescue
to Ingersoll as a father. When the die was cast,
the decision made, he counted on <i>ces Américains</i>
acting with the same cool heroism he would himself
display.

The Hirondelle quickly reached the position from
which the Breton judged it possible to drop into a
natural dock, the existence of which he had learned
when catching lobsters and crabs. Wind and tide carried
the boat swiftly backward. At first it seemed that
she was simply rushing to destruction, and every eye
was bent on the swirling maelstrom toward which she
was speeding rather than on the stricken yacht. Even
Peridot's face paled beneath its bronze, and he had a
hand uplifted as a warning to Yvonne to be ready instantly
with the anchor, while Ingersoll and Tollemache
were standing, each with a long oar couched like a
knight's lance, when the Hirondelle swept past the bows
of the wreck; only to be checked immediately by a backwash
from the higher part of the reef.

"<i>Dieu merci!</i>" sighed Peridot, jubilant because his
faith was justified. "Keep her steady now, <i>mes amis</i>,
and with God's help we'll succeed!"
// 058.png

A tremendous sea dashed over the Stella, and for one
appalling moment it appeared that she must roll bodily
into deep water, and involve the Hirondelle in her own
ruin. But she settled again, with a rending of her
framework and inner fittings that was sweetest music
in Peridot's ears, since it meant that she was becoming
wedged more firmly on the teeth of the rock, and, owing
to her construction, possessed no natural buoyancy to
be affected by the rising tide.

Already he had a coil of rope in his right hand, and
was yelling orders to the crew of the Stella. The noise
of the seas pounding on Les Verrés was deafening;
but a hoarse cry from one of the men on the bridge
penetrated the din:

"No <i>comprenez</i>! Heave away!"

So they were English or Americans--which, none
could tell. Even at a distance of fifteen feet or thereabouts
it was hardly possible to distinguish nationality
by facial traits owing to the torrents falling continuously
over the rounded hull, the smoke pouring from
the funnel, the flapping of the loosened sails, and the
clouds of spray that lashed the Hirondelle. At any
rate, Tollemache, deciding instantly, as was his way,
sent back an answering shout:

"Haul in twenty feet of the rope when it reaches
you, make fast, and throw back the loose end. You
must get across as best you can. No time to rig a
safer tackle."

"Ay, ay, Sir!" was the reply.

"Heave away, Peridot!"
// 059.png

Tollemache, though not neglecting his special duty,
spared one glance over his shoulder; but the rope did
not undertake its spiral flight at once. The resourceful
Breton awaited a momentary lull in the wind. Then
the heavy coil was flung, and fell into the hands of one
of the men on the bridge. As he was securing it to a
stanchion, his companion, he whose gigantic stature had
first caught Yvonne's attention, climbed into the tiny
wheelhouse, and reappeared almost immediately, carrying
a woman in his arms.

The sight caused a fresh thrill on board the Hirondelle.
Somehow it was totally unexpected.

"Fools!" said Tollemache, meaning, no doubt, that
men might, if they chose, venture their lives in fair
fight against the storm gods, but they had no right to
subject a woman to the ordeal.

Ingersoll overheard, and understood. He even
smiled. Lorry regarded Yvonne as a chum to be
trusted in fair weather or foul. It did not occur to him
that her father might reasonably have urged the same
plea against attempting a seemingly mad and impracticable
rescue.

Evidently some fierce dispute was being waged on the
Stella. The other man on the bridge, who turned out
to be the captain, had thrown back the rope to Peridot,
and summoned all hands to gather near. Now he was
urging the big man to intrust his inanimate burden to
one of the sailors, but met with the most positive refusal.
Every second was vital, and Peridot blazed into
annoyance.
// 060.png

"<i>Gars!</i>" he roared. "If they waste time, I'll back
out!"

The commander of the yacht, however, was well
aware of the greatest peril which threatened now; so
without more ado he steadied the giant while the latter
raised the woman's body to his left shoulder, grasped
the double rope in both hands, and lowered himself into
the water.

The passage was not difficult. The ropes were fairly
taut, and the distance between the two craft not more
than sixteen feet. Indeed, such a Hercules in physique
might well regard the task as a mere nothing, and he
set out with quiet confidence, extending his left arm in
each onward movement, and closing up with the right.

Yvonne, watching his progress, suddenly yielded to
another memory of Tollemache swinging from the
shepherds' hooks of Sainte Barbe's tower. Suppose the
rope were to break--just as one of the rings had come
away in Lorry's grip? Of course the notion was stupid.
She knew that each strand of that particular rope was
sound, that it might be trusted to hold the Hirondelle
herself against the straining of wind and tide, let alone
bear the dead weight of two people; but a woman's intuition
is stronger than reason. And in this instance
her foreboding came true, though from a cause that
she had not foreseen.

.tb

All at once Peridot uttered a yell that degenerated
into a semihysterical shriek; for temperament counts
// 061.png
in such crises, and the Breton nature was being strung
to a high pitch.

"Hold tight, all hands! Here's a tidal wave!"
The monster whose coming the fisherman had feared
all day was upon them before Tollemache could translate
the warning. It broke against the Stella's hull,
and literally dashed solid tons of water on the
Hirondelle and the hapless pair now midway between the
two vessels. During some seconds the stanch sardine boat
seemed veritably to have foundered. Even in the convulsive
and choking effort needed to cling with the
strength of desperation to the nearest rope or stay,
her occupants were aware that she sank appreciably beneath
the sheer weight and fury of that tremendous sea.

Then their blinded eyes emerged into blessed daylight
again, their lungs filled with air, the flood subsided, the
Hirondelle rose, trembling like a living creature, and
the wave boomed away across the half-mile of channel
to tear at the rocks of Finistère in a last paroxysm.

Peridot, secure in the faith that one born with a caul
could not drown, was perhaps the first to regain his
senses. When he swept the water from his eyes he
looked for the Stella; but that unfortunate little vessel
had only been driven still more tightly into the jaws of
the reef, though a great gap showed to starboard amidships.
She was breaking in two.

"God be thanked for that, at any rate!" he muttered.

The concession was due to the strong commonsense
// 062.png
of a Breton, which told him that signs and portents
would prove of no avail against instant death if the
Stella had rolled over. Then, having ascertained that
his own people were safe, he looked for the colossus he
had last seen clutching the ropes. The ropes were
there; but man and woman had vanished. Something
bobbed up among the spume and foam close to
the Hirondelle's side. He leaned over and grabbed a
huge arm. With one powerful tug he drew a body half
out of the water. It was the man; but the woman had
been reft from his close embrace at the moment when
some chance of safety seemed to have come most surely
within reach. His sou'wester cap had been wrenched
off, and, even when hauling the limp body on board,
Peridot knew that his quickness of eye and hand would
avail naught.

He held a corpse in his grasp. The top of the unfortunate
man's skull was visibly flattened, and the gray
hair was already darkened by an ominous dye. In all
likelihood the wave struck him when least prepared, tore
his fingers from the ropes, and dashed him head foremost
against the Hirondelle's timbers.

Peridot was no sentimentalist. He did not waste a
needless sigh over the fate of one when the lives of
many were trembling in the balance. Even when he
was placing the body at Yvonne's feet, where it would
be out of the way for the time, he peered up at her with
a grim smile.

"Two gone, Ma'mselle," he said; "but with the help
of the Madonna we'll save the rest!"
// 063.png

A shriek from the girl's lips, and an expression of
terror in her eyes which assuredly was not there after
the gallant Hirondelle had thrown off her mightiest
and most vindictive assailant, told him that some worse
tragedy was imminent. He turned, and saw Tollemache
leaping into the frothing vortex that raged between the
stern of the boat and the nearest rock. The Breton
guessed instantly that the young American had seen
the drowning woman. Leaving the Stella momentarily
in charge of Ingersoll and Yvonne, he raced aft, and
seized the sweep that Tollemache had dropped. Simultaneously
his friend's head rose above the maelstrom;
for the cork jacket bore Lorry bravely. He was clasping
the woman's apparently lifeless form with one hand,
and battling against the sea with the other when the
long oar was thrust within reach, and he too was drawn
to the side.

Meanwhile Ingersoll, exercising splendid self control,
had not deserted his post. After the heavy backwash
caused by the tidal wave, a sea had curled in from the
open to fill the inlet again, and the Hirondelle was carried
so near the reef that the stout oar bent under the
strain of fending her off, and might conceivably have
snapped had not some assistance been given by the
ropes attached to the Stella. Another and more normal
backwash came in the nick of time, and the boat retreated
to her earlier position. Now, if the Fates
were aught but merciless, there might be a breathing
space.

Peridot's gray-green eyes sparkled as they met
// 064.png
Tollemache's brown eyes, gazing up steadily from the swirl
of waters.

"You all right?" he said, seizing the woman's arms.

"Why not?" said Tollemache. "Lift her aboard.
Don't bother about me."

Ere Peridot had laid the dead or unconscious woman
by the side of the man who had already given his life
for her sake, Tollemache was on deck again, and lending
a hand to the first sailor to cross by the ropes. The
survivors followed rapidly, and the last to leave the
Stella was her captain.

Ten men were rescued,--five sailors, including the
master, two stokers, an engineer, a steward, and a passenger.
The two last were in the saloon when the vessel
struck, and had crawled on deck as best they could, the
passenger having sustained a broken arm, and the
steward a sprained ankle.

It was obvious, from the measures taken to safeguard
the injured pair, that they were in urgent need
of attention; but Peridot knew that the lives of all still
trembled in the balance. So he bawled to Tollemache:

"Get the lady below, and as many of the others as
you can pack in. During the next few minutes I want
none but sailors on deck. <i>Gars!</i> Be quick about it
too! No, don't trouble about that poor fellow. He's
gone!"

.tb

Already he had cast off the ropes that formed the
precarious bridge. Tollemache told the shipwrecked
crew what the Breton had said, and they obeyed with
// 065.png
the readiness of men who were aware of the paramount
necessity of prompt action.

The Stella's captain had already summed up the new
problem facing the Hirondelle, and issued his orders
with decision. He and a sturdy deckhand helped Tollemache
and Ingersoll with the sweeps, which were now
to be used as oars, while the others carried the woman
to the cabin, and helped their disabled shipmates to
make the descent.

Yvonne, though unwilling to leave the deck until the
next ordeal was ended, felt that she ought to sacrifice
her own wishes to the need of a sister in distress; but
Peridot settled the matter by bidding her take the
tiller.

"We can't get back to the inside passage on this
wind. If we tried it, Les Verrés would catch us," he
said. "We'll forge out a bit with the sweeps. When
clear of the yacht we'll be just clear of the reef too.
When you see me begin to haul at the sail put the helm
hard over for the seaward tack. We're going outside.
You understand?"

"Perfectly," she said.

.tb

She ran between the four men laboring at the oars,
well pleased to have a task that would absorb her mind
to the exclusion of all else, and profoundly relieved because
it took her away from the vicinity of the dead
body. Even as the Stella's company were climbing on
board she could not avoid an occasional glance at the
huge and inert form at her feet. It was a dreadful
// 066.png
thing to see the soul battered out of such a magnificent
frame in such a way. Never before had she set eyes
on a man of similar proportions. He was inches over
six feet in height, and stout withal, so that he completely
dwarfed the tall and sinewy frame of Laurence
Tollemache, who hitherto had loomed as a giant among
undersized Frenchmen. Oilskins and heavy sea boots
added to the dead man's apparent bulk. His face,
which wore a singularly placid expression, was well
modeled. In youth he must have been extremely good
looking; in middle age--apparently he was over fifty--he
still retained clear-cut features, and strands of a
plentiful crop of iron-gray hair dropped over a broad
and high forehead.

The woman whom he had declined to intrust to the
care of any but himself was probably his wife. Was
she dead too? Yvonne wondered. It was almost
equally certain that the yacht was theirs; though perhaps
they might have hired it for a winter cruise in the
Mediterranean by way of the Spanish coast.

These thoughts flitted through the girl's brain as
she followed the last phases of the rescue. Now that
her hand was on the tiller, and the open sea began to
show beyond the yacht's bowsprit, her mind was occupied
by the one remaining hazard to the exclusion
of all else. She had every confidence in Peridot's
seamanship, having been out with him many a time in
weather that, if not quite so threatening as this, offered
sufficient test of skill and nerve. But she knew well that
once the full force of the tide was felt the oars would
// 067.png
be useless, chiefly owing to their unwieldy length, and
the doubt remained whether the Hirondelle would gain
enough way to win out close hauled into deep water.

Still her heart leaped with high courage as her eyes
took in the bold and striking picture presented by the
deck of the fishing boat during that brief transit
through broken seas. In the immediate foreground a
small hatchway framed the weather-tanned faces of
two men lodged in the companionway so as to avoid
overcrowding the cabin. Behind were her father and
the yacht's Captain at one oar, and Tollemache and a
sailor at the other, pulling with the short, jerky, but
powerful stroke alone possible in the conditions. Ingersoll's
sallow, well marked, intellectual features were
in sharp contrast with the fiery red skin, heavy cheeks
and chin, bullet head, and short neck of the man by his
side. For an instant the eyes of father and daughter
met. He smiled encouragement, and the odd notion
occurred to Yvonne that strangest of all the occurrences
in an hour packed with incident was the fact that
the thin hands that could achieve such marvels by the
delicate manipulation of a camel's hair brush should be
able to toil manfully at a cumbrous oar.

Then she looked at Lorry, and he grinned most
cheerfully.

Skipper and sailor wore the stolid expression of men
who didn't know, and didn't particularly care, what
happened next. If anything, their watchful glances
betrayed a total lack of belief in the wisdom of intrusting
the helm to this slip of a girl.
// 068.png

Amidships, and slightly forward, Peridot was standing,
both hands laced in the rope that should hoist the
sail. The small jib had not been lowered. It was now
flapping in the wind with reports like irregular pistol
shots; but Yvonne knew it would fill and draw instantly
when the tiller brought the boat's head around.

And beyond Peridot was the body of the man who
had been snatched from life with such awful suddenness.
The broad back and slightly outstretched legs
kept it motionless no matter how the deck tilted; but
the front skirts of the oilskin coat crackled noisily in
the gale, and a lock of hair, though soaked and thick
with salt, freed itself from the clammy forehead, and
moved fitfully in every gust.

The artist instinct in the girl's heart dominated every
other emotion at that moment. She felt that she could
transfer this somber scene to canvas if she was spared.
And what a study of action it would make! What staring
lights and shadows! What types of character!
The four men in strenuous effort, the anxious faces
peering from the semiobscurity of the hatch, Peridot's
sturdy figure braced for prompt and fierce endeavor,
the still form with sightless eyes peering up at the sky,
and all contained within the narrow compass of the
deck, with the boat's prow now cutting the horizon, now
threatening to take one last horrific dive into a wave
overhanging it like a moving hillock! Beyond were a
slate-blue sea flecked with white and scurrying clouds
tipped with russet and gold by the last beams of a
wintry sun.
// 069.png

All this, and more, Yvonne caught in one wide-eyed
glance. She saw every touch of color, every changeful
flicker of light on the wet deck and glistening oilskins.
Tollemache alone supplied a different note. The light
brown squares of the cork jacket, and the dust-colored
canvas straps that clasped it to his body, stood out in
marked relief. He, who had been overboard and submerged
for a few seconds, looked bone dry. The others,
wet as he no doubt, Ingersoll alone excepted, seemed to
have come straight from the depths.

.tb

But Peridot, watching the sea with sidelong glance,
suddenly bent in a very frenzy of exertion, and Yvonne,
thrusting her right foot against the low gunwale, put
the tiller to port and leaned against it until her left knee
touched the deck. The men at the oars imitated her as
best they might, while striving to keep the boat moving.

At the first mighty pull of the partly raised sail the
Hirondelle flinched and fell back a little. Then she
took hold, as sailors put it, and careened under the
strain until the iron socket on the starboard sweep was
wrenched off its pin, and Tollemache and the sailor were
hard pressed to keep it from swinging inboard and dealing
Yvonne a blow. Something black and sinister
showed for a second in the yeasting froth beneath the
boat's quarter; whether rock or patch of seaweed none
could tell, though five pairs of eyes saw it.

Peridot's call came shrilly, "Keep her there,
Ma'mselle!"
// 070.png
Back swung the tiller, and Yvonne "kept her there,"
though during a long minute the Hirondelle tore at the
rudder as a startled horse snatches at the bit, and it
seemed as if she must capsize without fail.

Again the Breton's cry rang out, "Ease her now,
Ma'mselle!"

The boat fell away before the wind. Soon she was
on an even keel, save for the unavoidable rolling and
pitching that resulted from the furious seas. But, if
stout canvas and trustworthy cordage held, they were
safe as though tied to the quay in the land-locked harbor
at Pont Aven. Already Les Verrés were a furlong
or more in the rear. It was impossible to see what had
become of the Stella, because the spray was leaping
high over the reef, until its irregular crests were bitten
off by the gale. But a fishing smack which had gallantly
put out from Brigneau was signaled back before
it crossed the bar, and the signal station was hoisting a
fresh set of flags which spelled in the <i>lingua franca</i> of
the ocean, "Well done, Concarneau 415!" which was
as near the Hirondelle's name as the watchers on shore
could get on the spur of the moment.

.tb

Peridot paid Yvonne the greatest of all compliments
by not coming aft to relieve her. But her father, who
had betrayed no flurry even when death seemed unavoidable,
drew near, and placed a hand on her
shoulder.

"You're another Grace Darling, my dear!" was all
he said.
// 071.png

But the look accompanying the words was enough,
and the girl's eyes began to smart painfully, because
the sudden moisture in them revealed how they had suffered
from the spindrift.

And again, by sending her below on an errand of
mercy, he only added subtly to Peridot's tribute.

"We can spare you now, Yvonne," he said. "Tell
those men to come on deck, and you give an eye to the
lady. You have some dry clothes down there. If she
has no bones broken, she will recover more quickly in a
warm bunk than under any other conditions. Get her
undressed, and give her a little cognac. Take some
yourself,--don't spare it,--and pass the bottle up
here."

He took her place at the tiller, and she made off at
once, only pausing to pat Lorry's wet and shaggy head.

Six men came up the companion stairway; but two
returned at her call to lift the injured men into a lower
and an upper bunk on the same side. They had contrived
already to bandage the broken arm with handkerchiefs.
The sprained ankle they could not deal with.
The man with a broken arm was making some outcry;
but the other sufferer was patient and even smiling.

"Gawd bless yer, Miss!" he said to Yvonne when he
discerned her identity in the dim light of the cabin.
"If it 'adn't a been fer you an' yer shipmites, we on the
Stella 'ad as much chawnce as a lump o' ice in hell's
flimes!"

The Cockney accent was new in Yvonne's ear, and its
quaintness helped to soften the speaker's forcible simile.
// 072.png

"You'll soon be all right," she assured him. "We'll
reach Pont Aven within the hour, and the good folk
there will look after you splendidly. Please lie still
now, as I must pin a blanket across these two bunks."

Then she was left alone with the insensible woman,
who was alive, the sailors said, but completely unconscious.
She had fainted, they believed, when the shaft
snapped and the yacht was like to be lost forthwith.
The immersion in the sea seemed to have revived her for
a few seconds; but she swooned off again in the cabin,
and, while the boat was lurching so heavily, they
thought it wiser to pillow her head on a coat and not
attempt to restore her senses.

.tb

On deck the captain of the Stella had picked out Ingersoll
as the probable owner of the Hirondelle. He
came and stood by the artist's side.

"Is this craft yours, Sir?" he inquired.

"Yes."

"And is that young lady your daughter, Sir?"

"Yes."

"Well, I need hardly say that we owe our lives to
her, and you, and your two friends. I've seen some
rum things durin' thirty years at sea; but I've never
seen anything to ekal your pluck in runnin' into that
death trap. And that girl of yours--the way she behaved!
Well, there! I never could talk much. This
time I'm clean stumped!"

"We did what we could. The real credit for your
rescue lies with that cool-headed Breton fisherman
// 073.png
yonder. Is the poor fellow who was killed the owner
of the Stella?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And the lady is his wife?"

"Yes, Sir. Mr. and Mrs. Walter H. Carmac. Look
out, Sir! You must ha forgotten you were leaning
against the tiller."

The sailor acted promptly in bringing the Hirondelle
back on her course; but, owing to her quickness in
answering the helm, she had swung round a couple of
points when an involuntary movement, a sort of flinching
on Ingersoll's part, caused her to change direction.

Peridot came aft, smiling and debonair. "We're all
a bit shaken, Monsieur," he said, noting the increased
pallor of Ingersoll's ordinarily rather delicate-looking
face. "A tot of cognac, eh? That's what we want.
What do you say, Monsieur?"

The bluff English skipper had caught the key word
of the sentence, and the Breton's merry eye supplied a
full translation.

"Good for you, my hearty!" said he. "Gimme one
fair pull at a bottle of decent stuff now, an' I'll load
you to the bung with the same once we're ashore."
// 074.png

.sp 4
.h2 id=chIV
CHAPTER IV||THE HOME-COMING
.sp 2

Peridot had stipulated that the Hirondelle should
start on her homeward run "not a minute later than
three o'clock." He had cast off from the wharf at Le
Pouldu slightly before that hour; but the wreck of the
Stella and its attendant circumstances--not least being
the necessity enforced by the change of wind to
take the deep-sea course after leaving the reef--cost a
good deal of time. As a consequence daylight had almost
failed before the bar of the Aven was crossed.

On Pointe d'ar Vechen, within thirty feet of the Port
Manech Hotel, stands a tiny lighthouse which sheds a
mild beam over the entrance to the estuary. It is essentially
a harbor light. A broad white band covers the
safe channel extending from Les Verrés to l'Isle Verte,
a red sector forbids the former, and a green one indicates
the narrow inside passage between reef and mainland.

In crossing the bar, of course, each color became
visible in turn. Ingersoll had seen the light scores of
times. Never a week passed in summer that he did not
spend a day, or even three days, at sea with the fishermen.
His studies of the sardine fleet, in particular,
were greatly in request.
// 075.png

Yet on this night of nights, when the return to his
beloved Pont Aven might well be reckoned the close of
the most notable achievement of his whole life, he seemed
to have collapsed physically and mentally. His eyes
had a vacant look. Their wonted expression of a somewhat
sarcastic yet not intolerant outlook on life had fled
for the hour, and he peered at the Breton and the sailor
as though he had never before seen either. His slight
but usually alert and wiry frame appeared to have
shrunk. He remained deaf to Peridot's suggestion as
to the brandy, and became curiously interested in the
red gleam of the lighthouse which came in sight just
before the bar was reached.

The Breton imagined that his employer's bodily resources
had been unduly taxed. Catching the eye of
the yacht's skipper (whose name, by the way, was William
Popple), he nodded toward the tiller, pointed
straight ahead, and held up a finger. "Wan mineet,"
he said.

Captain Popple was not to be outdone in linguistic
amenities. "<i>Comprenny</i>," he grinned, and took control.

Peridot thrust his head into the hatch. "Ma'mselle,"
he said, "these poor devils' teeth are chattering with
the cold. Will you pass the cognac?"

Yvonne felt the urgency of the request. Nearly
every man was wet to the skin, and the wind bit keenly.
She abandoned her nurse's work for the moment, opened
a locker, and produced a bottle of generous size.

"Here you are," she said. "See that a little
// 076.png
is left. I have given some to the men, and I hope
my other invalid will soon be able to take a small
quantity."

.tb

The fisherman removed a plug which had replaced
the ordinary cork, and handed the bottle to Captain
Popple. The brandy was a fine old liquor, brown, and
mellow, and smooth to the palate, and Popple took a
draft worthy of a Russian grand duke.

"Gosh!" he said, passing the bottle to Ingersoll,
"that's the stuff! It warms the cockles of yer heart."

Ingersoll swallowed a mouthful. It seemed to restore
his wits. The eye of the lighthouse had changed
from red to green. "It is singular," he said, "how a
quality of evil can be associated with certain colors.
Red means danger and possible death, while green implies
a jealous love perilously akin to hate."

He had not the least notion of the incongruity of
such a remark just then. He might have been making
conversation for some boarding-school miss whom
Yvonne had brought on a summer cruise.

The other man, puzzled, stared stolidly into the gathering
gloom.

"When you're plashin' at sea on a dark night you
find them colored sectors mighty useful, Sir," was all
he could find to say.

Ingersoll roused himself, as though from sleep, and
indeed he had been wholly unconscious of his surroundings
during the last few minutes. "Oh, doubtless," he
said apologetically, "I was thinking aloud, a foolish
// 077.png
habit. You were telling me about the owner of the
Stella. Carmac is the name, I think? I knew a Walter
H. Carmac many years ago. He was very tall, but
slightly built. Surely a man cannot change his
physique so markedly in the course of, say, twenty
years!"

"Well, as to that, Sir, on'y the other day I was
talkin' of Mr. Carmac's size to Mr. Raymond, the gentleman
with the broken arm (Mr. Carmac's secretary,
he is), an' he said the guv'nor used to be thin as a lath
once. P'raps it was a case of laugh and grow fat.
Very pleasant gentleman, Mr. Carmac was; an' his
lady too--one of the best. Excuse me, Sir, but I
couldn't help starin' at your girl. She's that like Mrs.
Carmac it's surprising. If anyone said they was
mother an' daughter, I'd agree at once--if I didn't
know different."

There was a pause. Peridot had intrusted the supply
of brandy to Tollemache for further distribution.
He came aft now, as careful piloting would soon be
needed.

"Once we're inside, Monsieur," he said, "we'll set
the men at work by turns with the sweeps. That will
drive the chill away."

Ingersoll explained the scheme to the skipper, who
gave it his hearty approval.

"Did the yacht belong to Mr. Carmac?" went on
the artist.

"Yes, Sir. He bought her a fortnight ago. She
used to be Lord Aveling's Nigger; but Mr. Carmac
// 078.png
didn't like that name, and changed it to the Stella, after
his wife's Christian name."

"He didn't care to sail in a yacht called the Nigger,
eh?"

A bitterness of aloes was in the words. Apparently
they suggested some unpleasing notion to Popple, who
branched off to another topic.

"I've a sort of idea his heart was affected," he said.
"I know that some bigwig of a London doctor recommended
a long voyage, and Mr. Carmac bein' several
times a millionaire he just up and grabbed the first
suitable craft that offered. Wouldn't wait for a survey.
Took everything for granted; though I warned
him that white paint may cover a lot of black sins. He
an' the missis had planned a regular tour in the Mediterranean,
goin' from Gib to the Balearics, and dodgin'
in and out of ports all along the north coast until we
brought up at Constantinople sometime in April. I
advised him to let me meet him at Gib or Marseilles;
but he was one of the men who will have their own way,
and nothin' would suit but that he should come straight
aboard. We left Southampton Tuesday evenin', and
made Brest yesterday afternoon. Today we were for
callin' at Belle Isle and berthin' at Lorient; but the foul
weather met us, an' he was half inclined to put in at
this very place we're headin' for,--Pont Aven is the
name, isn't it?--on'y poor Mrs. Carmac wouldn't hear
of it. She said Belle Isle was no distance, an' made out
she was a good sailor--which was hardly correct, because
she was ill as could be for the last two hours."
// 079.png

"Why didn't you turn back?"

"There was no turnin' back about Mr. Carmac, Sir.
He wasn't built that way, bein' a sure enough American.
Though I've never known anybody more devoted
to his wife than he was, he ought to have let a younger
man take her across to your boat. Not as I mean to
argy that anyone could have held up against that sea.
Lord love a duck! it was a oner an' no mistake! But
there, what has to be will be. Poor Mr. Carmac was
fated to hand in his checks on the coast of Finistère,
an' we others weren't, and that's all there is to it;
though I'd be flyin' in the face of Providence if I
didn't say in the same breath that if four of the pluckiest
and best hadn't been aboard this 'ere craft, none
of our little lot would ever have seen daylight
again."

.tb

Tollemache joined them. He had just exchanged a
word with Yvonne, who had evidently placed her guest
in a bunk, because the gleam of an oil lantern came
through the open hatch, and, like the good yachtswoman
she was, she had passed out the side lights
trimmed and ready for use.

"Well, Ingersoll," he said cheerily, "how are you
feeling now?"

"Rather tired," was the unexpected answer.

"I'm not surprised at that. You've had a pretty
strenuous time."

"Of course you, Lorry, have had the day of your
life!"
// 080.png

"Y-yes. I wouldn't go through it again, though,
for a small fortune; that is, with Yvonne on board. It
was nip and tuck when we were jammed up against the
reef."

"It didn't take you long, Sir, for all that, to jump in
after Mrs. Carmac," said Popple.

"Oh, is that the lady's name? What a weird specimen
one of your sailormen must be! I asked him the
name of the yacht's owner, and he didn't know it."

"If it's the beauty I saw you talkin' to, the swine
didn't know his own name when he kem aboard at Southampton,"
snorted Popple indignantly. "Sink me!
I've never seen a man so loaded. Took me for his long-lost
uncle. Me, mind you! If I hadn't been rather
short-handed, I'd have run him ashore to find an uncle
in a policeman."

"He is sober enough now," laughed Tollemache. "I
had some difficulty in persuading him to take a sip of
brandy. He said he was a teetotaler."

"He what? Which one?"

"That fellow there, leaning against the mast."

"Of all the swabs! Look here, Sir, you come with
me an' listen!"

"But I don't want to get the poor chap into a row."

"There'll be no row. Just language! It'll be a
treat."

Tollemache, an overgrown schoolboy in some respects,
accompanied Popple gleefully. Broken scraps
of the skipper's comments boomed back to Ingersoll's
unheeding ears.
// 081.png

"Guess you signed the pledge when the shaft
snapped.... Coughin' up stale beer all Tuesday
night, an' all nex' day made you feel you weren't fit to
die on a Thursday.... You can't run a bluff of
that sort on Saint Peter. He'd smell your breath a
mile off, an' say, 'To the devil with any Jack who can't
take his liquor decent-like when he's paid off without
fillin' up when he's signed on!'...You struck a
wrong job in goin' to sea. You ought to be a brewer's
drayman."

.tb

"Peridot," said Ingersoll suddenly, "you saw something
of the lady's state of collapse when you pulled
her on board. She is not likely to recover her senses
before we reach Pont Aven?"

"No, Monsieur, I think not. Women are marvels at
times; but this one may not even live. Mademoiselle
Yvonne is doing what she can----"

"I know, I know! Now do me a great favor. When
we berth at the quay Mademoiselle and I will slip away
quietly in the confusion and darkness. See to it that
none of the strangers learns our name. I'll warn Monsieur
Tollemache myself. Get all these people to
Julia's. Tell her that the lady, Madame Carmac, is
very wealthy, and that the man with the broken arm is
Mr. Carmac's secretary; so every sort of expenditure
will be met, though Julia's kind heart would leave nothing
undone for a shipwrecked crew if they were
paupers. There may be some inquiry about
// 082.png
Mademoiselle Yvonne; but refer to her only by her
Christian name, and say she lives at Madame Pitou's."

"<i>Oui, M'sieu'.</i>" Peridot promised willingly enough.
Nevertheless he was obviously bewildered.

"I ask this," explained Ingersoll, "because my
daughter and I will depart for Paris by the first train
tomorrow. You see, by extraordinary mischance,
this Mr. and Mrs. Carmac and I were not on good
terms years ago, and I don't wish old scores to be
reopened."

"<i>Gars!</i>" spat Peridot. "You're not leaving Pont
Aven because we pulled these fools off Les Verrés?"

"No, no. I need a little holiday, and I'm taking it
now. That is all. We shall come back to the old life--never
fear."

"You mean that, M'sieu'?"

"I swear it."

"Of course, M'sieu', you understand that I cannot
silence the tongues of the whole town?"

"I don't care what anybody hears tomorrow. Remember,
if poor Madame Carmac dies, no other person
will have the slightest interest in my whereabouts. If
she lives, and is able to travel, she will certainly endeavor
to get away from Pont Aven as speedily as possible.
Peridot, it is Yvonne I am thinking of, not of
myself."

"Monsieur, you can count on me absolutely."

"And not a word of this to a soul?"

"<i>Cré nom!</i> I'll lie like a gendarme, even to Madeleine."
// 083.png

"But you need not lie at all. Simply forget what I
have told you--as to my reason for tomorrow's journey,
I mean."

"Monsieur, it is forgotten already."

.tb

Tollemache came, chuckling. "Sorry you missed the
skipper's homily, Ingersoll," he said. "I laughed like
a hyena. I hope the people in the cabin couldn't overhear
me. By Jove! to tell you the truth, I didn't even
remember that there was a dead man aboard."

"The best tragedies indulge in a what is called
'comic relief'," said Ingersoll dryly. "Give Yvonne
a hail, will you? I want a word with her."

Tollemache stooped to the hatch. "Yvonne!" he
said.

"Yes," came the girl's voice.

Her father, intent on its slightest cadence, deemed it
placid and self-possessed.

"Socrates wants you."

Socrates was a title conferred on Ingersoll by his
artist friends owing to his philosophic habit of mind.
Nothing disturbed him, they vowed. Once, when the
queer little steam tram that jingles into and out of
Pont Aven four times daily was derailed, some alarm
was created by the fact that Ingersoll, though known
to be a passenger, was missing. When found he was
perched on the side of the overturned carriage in which
he had been seated. On climbing out through a window
he discovered that from this precise locality and elevation
he obtained a capital view of a wayside chapel;
// 084.png
so he sketched it without delay. The chance, no less
than the point of view, might not offer again!

Yvonne appeared, her head and shoulders dimly
visible in the frame of the hatch. "What is it, Dad?"
she inquired.

"We're in the river now, Dearest, and I thought you
might join us on deck. You have done all that is possible,
I'm sure."

"I simply cannot desert that poor woman until she
shows some signs of returning consciousness."

"Oh, is she still insensible?"

"Yes. If only I could get her to swallow a little
brandy."

"Well, she will be in the doctor's hands soon. Better
leave matters to him."

"But one must try."

"Of course. If you prefer remaining below----"

"Father dear, what else can I do?" She vanished
again.

.tb

Ingersoll, having ascertained exactly what he wished
to know, sighed in sheer relief, and turned to Tollemache.
"Lorry," he said, "have you a dry cigar in
your pocket? How stupid of me! You're soaked
through and through. I hope none of us picks up a
stiff dose of pneumonia as the sequel to today's excitement.
Now a quiet word in your ear. Yvonne and I
are going away tomorrow for a week or so."

"Going away--from Pont Aven?"

Tollemache's voice executed a crescendo of dismay;
// 085.png
but Ingersoll only laughed, and, for the first time since
that disastrous reef was left behind, his manner
reverted to its normal air of good-humored cynicism.

"Why select two words from a sentence and invest
them with a significance they don't possess? I put in a
saving clause. A week, or even two, can hardly be
twisted into a lifetime."

"Does Yvonne know?"

"No. I have decided on the journey only within
the last ten minutes. We're taking a little trip to Paris
solely to avoid the gush and sentiment that will flow
in Pont Aven during the next few days like a river in
flood. Moreover, Lorry, if you're wise, you'll come
with us."

Tollemache little realized how truly spontaneous was
his friend's invitation. "D'ye mean that, Ingersoll?"
he said elatedly.

"Why not? Don't let any question of expense stop
you. This outing will be my Christmas treat."

"Expense! Dash it all! I've money to burn. Er--that
is--enough, at any rate, to afford a jaunt to Paris.
When do we start?"

"Soon after seven o'clock."

"By jing! Sharp work."

"If we really intend to escape, why stand on the
order of our going?"

"I'm not saying a word. You rather took my breath
away at first, you know."

"You should allow for the kinks in the artistic
// 086.png
temperament, Lorry. Enthusiasm is too often the herald
of despair."

"What sort of job do you really recommend me to
take up, Socrates?"

Ingersoll smiled. "I am not in the habit of dealing
my friends such shrewd blows," he said. "I was talking
of myself--and Yvonne. Make no mistake about
her. She has a sane mind in a sound body; but the
artist's nature will triumph some day, and she will
surprise all of us. By the way--nothing of this project
to her till I have explained it. We shall see you at
Mère Pitou's, of course?"

"I've promised to shake a leg with Madame herself
in a gavotte. You don't suppose that Carmac's death
will interfere with the feast?"

"Why should it?" said Ingersoll coldly. "The
man is an utter stranger."

Tollemache did not strive to interpret his friend's
mood. In so far as it mystified him, and he gave it any
thought, he assumed that the tremendous physical
exertion and nervous strain of those few minutes
when life or death was uncertain as the spin of
a coin had affected an ordinarily even-minded disposition.

.tb

Peridot interrupted their talk by asking Tollemache
to lower the sail. Coming in with wind and tide, the
Hirondelle had scudded across the bar without effort.
Hardly a whiff of spray had touched her deck, and pursuing
waves lagged defeated in her wake.
// 087.png

The sweeps were manned by willing volunteers, and
the wet and shivering sailors soon restored vitality by
tackling the work in relays. Usually sardine boats are
content to drift up the estuary on a remarkably rapid
tidal stream; so the Hirondelle made a fast trip that
evening. The change in the wind had blown away the
clouds brought inland by the first phase of the gale.
The sky was clear, and stars were twinkling through
the violet haze that followed the sun's disappearance.
Pinpoints of light from the shores of the narrowing
inlet scintillated from Port Manech, the Château of
Poulguin, and the few tiny hamlets that border the Aven.
Ever the opposing cliffs grew loftier, more abrupt, more
wooded, until a cluster of lighted windows and street
lamps on the water's edge at the end of one of the interminable
bends showed that Pont Aven was drawing
near. Thereabouts the valley opened out again; though
the little town itself has been compelled to lodge its
"Place" and half its houses on the first easy slopes of
the steepest hill in the district.

Ingersoll, who had taken his turn at the oars with
the others, contrived to choke his impatience until the
pollard oaks on the Chemin du Hallage silhouetted their
gnarled branches against the sky. That night the
weird arms, swaying and creaking in a wind that was,
if anything, increasing in force, had a sinister aspect
in his troubled eyes. Each oak looked like some dreadful
octopus, whose innumerable suckers were searching
vindictively for an unwary victim. With an effort he
brushed aside the evil fantasy, and was about to
// 088.png
summon Yvonne when a weird, uncanny, elfin shriek came
from the shadow of the largest and blackest tree.

"<i>O, ma Doue!</i>" [Breton for "<i>O, mon Dieu!</i>"] was
the cry. "There he is! See him, then, my brave
Jean!" Peridot's mother was greeting her son in a
voice rendered eldritch by hysteria.

"<i>Eh, b'en Maman!</i>" the Breton shouted back.
"What are thou doing there at this time of night?"

A number of running black figures appeared on the
quay, an unprecedented thing, except in the conditions
that actually obtained.

"<i>Que diable!</i>" growled Peridot, who had not bargained
for a popular ovation. "They know all about
us. Someone must have telephoned from the signal station
at Brigneau."

He had summed up the position of affairs to a nicety.
Brigneau had told the whole story to Pont Aven, and
assuredly it had lost nothing in the telling. The signalers
had seen every detail of the rescue through their
telescopes, and were of course keenly alive to the peril
into which the Hirondelle had plunged so gallantly and
effectively.

The news had not long arrived; but sufficient time
had elapsed that Pont Aven was stirred to its depths.
Even old Madame Larraidou, crippled with rheumatism
and sixty years of unremitting toil, had hobbled down
to the quay to welcome her own special hero.

A dense crowd of Bretons, with a sprinkling of the
Anglo-American community that remains faithful to
Pont Aven in all seasons, had gathered on the broad,
// 089.png
low, stone wharf, and surged down to the river itself
on the sloping causeway provided for boats carrying
passengers. Nevertheless, if the signalmen had brought
about this gathering, they had also reported the presence
on board the Hirondelle of three men and a woman
who were badly injured; so the local gendarmes had
procured stretchers, and three automobiles were in
waiting.

.tb

Ingersoll, whose nerves were already on a raw edge,
nearly abandoned the struggle against Fate when he
saw the dense concourse of people. "Lorry," he said
in an agonized tone that the younger man had never
before heard on his lips, "Lorry, help me now, or I'll
crack up! Jump ashore and ask those good folk to
clear a path. You know what it means if we get among
them. I can't stand it. I can't! Bid them let us pass,
for the love of Heaven. Tell them we have to deal with
death and broken limbs. You go first. They'll listen
to you."

Tollemache obeyed without demur. He was completely
at a loss to understand his friend's collapse;
but its undoubted seriousness called for decisive action.
His vibrant, ringing tones dominated the cheers that
burst forth when the Hirondelle bumped into the quay.

"<i>Mes amis</i>," he cried, "hear me one moment, I pray
you. The people we have rescued are suffering. One
is dead--others are in great danger. Unless you make
way, and permit us to bring the injured ones quietly
and speedily to the hotel, some may die on the road."
// 090.png

It sufficed. The cheers were hushed. The throng
yielded place without demur. A low susurrus of talk
and the sobbing of women were the only sounds that
mingled now with the unceasing chant of the gale.

Ingersoll had literally forced himself to stoop into
the companion hatch. "Yvonne," he said in a curiously
muffled voice.

"Yes, Dad," came the girl's answer.

He could not be sure, owing to his extremely agitated
state, but fancied that another voice gasped a word
faintly.

"Come now, Dear! Come at once!" he appealed.

Again Yvonne's head and shoulders emerged. "Oh,
Dad," she almost sobbed, "Mrs.--Mrs. Carmac is conscious
now. She beseeches me to remain with her until--until----."

Ingersoll literally pulled his daughter up the few remaining
steps. "We are going straight home!" he
cried, savagely impatient of the resistance his plans
were encountering at every turn. "I am ill--nearly
demented! You must come now!"

Still clasping her arm in a grip that left marks on
her white skin for days thereafter, he forced her to the
side of the boat.

"Father dear, of course I'll come; but you are hurting
me," she said quietly. "Please don't hold me so
tight."

He was deaf to her pleading. They raced together
up the causeway. To avoid attracting attention,
Yvonne did not endeavor to hold back, and bystanders
// 091.png
wondered why the two made off at such a furious pace.
Madame Pitou, Madeleine, and Barbe, drawn to the
quay like the rest of the inhabitants, were divided between
concern for father and daughter and desire to
witness the landing of the shipwrecked crew.

But Mère Pitou could not contain her anxiety.
"<i>Tcha!</i>" she cried, bustling through the crowd.
"What's gone wrong with Monsieur Ingersoll and
Yvonne? They might have seen the devil out yonder.
I must hurry after them. I'll hear all the news later
when Peridot comes."

The two girls went with her. For once feminine
curiosity was less potent than sympathy. Moreover,
Tollemache's announcement of a death among the rescued
people had terrified them. They shuddered at the
notion of the solemn procession of men carrying a limp
and heavy body. The mere sight of such a thing would
take the heart out of them for the evening's merrymaking.

.tb

Ingersoll had passed the first mill--or the last--that
bridles the river, and was striding through the narrow
street leading to the bridge, when he became conscious
of the force he was exerting on his uncomplaining companion.

"I'm sorry, Yvonne," he said, freeing her arm immediately.
"I forgot myself. Really I hardly know
what I am doing. Am I hurting you? Why didn't you
tell me?"

He spoke in a queer, choking voice which at any other
// 092.png
time would have aroused his daughter's affectionate
solicitude. That night, however, probably because she
too was in an overwrought condition, she contented herself
by a seemingly nonchalant reply.

"It doesn't matter, Dad. A bruise more or less,
after all that we have gone through, is not of much
account."

"I hurried you away----" he began; but, greatly
to his surprise, Yvonne interrupted the labored explanation
he had in mind.

"I think I understand, Dad," she said. "Wouldn't
it be better for both of us if you left unsaid what you
were going to say--at any rate, till the morning? We
are--how shall I put it?--somewhat unhinged by today's
events. You are weary and heartsick. I know I
am. Let me go and see that Mrs. Carmac is being
cared for. I'll not remain long, and we can retire soon
after supper. Then, when we have slept perhaps, we
shall wake into a new world with nerves not so exhausted,
or strained, as at this moment."

Ingersoll, brooding on his own troubles, and feverishly
eager to snatch his daughter from a soul-racking
ordeal, was wholly unaware of the passionate tumult
vibrating in every syllable of that appeal. He caught
the sound, not the significance, of the words that irritated
him.

"Now you are talking nonsense!" he cried. "You
cannot possibly know what course I have decided on.
It is this: I loathe the sensational element attached to
such an event as the rescue we have taken part in. You
// 093.png
hardly realize what it implies to you and me personally.
Not only the French but the English and American
newspapers will send here a horde of special correspondents
and photographers. If we remain in Pont
Aven, we cannot escape them. They will take the cottage
by storm, or, if we bolt our door against intruders,
we shall have to withstand a siege. To avoid this, you
and I are going to Paris by the early train tomorrow.
Lorry is coming too. He agrees with me--or, if I
shouldn't say that--he is delighted at the prospect of
the outing."

"Poor Lorry!" said Yvonne.

"Why 'poor Lorry'? He is only too pleased at being
invited."

"But, Dad, he doesn't know what you and I know."

A sudden terror fell on Ingersoll. "What do you
mean?" he murmured hoarsely, stopping short as
though he had been struck by an invisible hand.

During a few fateful seconds father and daughter
stood in the center of the four ways that meet as soon
as the road from Paris crosses the Aven. No one was
near. The eternal plaint of the river was drowned by
the fierce wind whistling under the eaves of the old
houses with high-pitched roofs, and singing an anthem
of its own around the pierced spire of the neighboring
church. Yvonne placed her hands on her father's shoulders,
and her sweet lips quivered in an irresistible rush
of agonized emotion.

"Dad," she said, striving vainly to keep her utterance
under control, "if you--wish--to go to Paris
// 094.png
tomorrow--I--shall not try--to dissuade you. But
I--cannot come with you. I dare not! You see--I
have just found my mother--and--she may be dead
tomorrow. Oh, Dad, Dad! No matter how my mother
may have erred--or what wrong she may have done you
in the past--I cannot abandon her now!"
// 095.png

.sp 4
.h2 id=chV
CHAPTER V||THE LIFTING OF THE VEIL
.sp 2

It was well that Mère Pitou came upon them before
another syllable was uttered, since not all Ingersoll's
philosophy could have withstood the earthquake that
had destroyed in an instant the carefully constructed
edifice of many years. His very soul was in revolt.
Heart suggested and brain lent bitter and cruel form
to rebellious words; but, such is the power of convention,
the unexpected arrival of the sharp-tongued
Breton woman silenced him.

"<i>O, là là!</i>" she cried breathlessly. "If I had known
you two were making off in such a jiffy merely to stand
in the Place au Beurre and look at the stars, I wouldn't
have waddled after you like the fat goose that I am.
What, then, is the matter? I thought you were hurrying
home because you were perished with cold, and I
find the pair of you stuck in the middle of the road.
Monsieur Ingersoll, you at least are old enough to have
more sense. Both must be soaked to the skin; yet you
keep Yvonne out in this biting wind, to say nothing of
a thin scarecrow like yourself!"

Yvonne had dropped her hands when she heard the
approaching footsteps. Unconsciously she had raised
her eyes to Heaven in agonized suppliance, and her attitude
was naturally inexplicable to her Breton friends.
// 096.png
She recovered some semblance of self control more
quickly than her father.

"Madame," she said, "we were, in a sense, debating
whether or not we could spare the time to change our
clothes before attending to the wants of the poor people
saved from Les Verrés. I think you are right. It
would be foolish to take any additional risk. Come,
Father dear, let me help you now."

She took her father's arm, and drew him on. He
walked unsteadily, and might have fallen if it had not
been for Yvonne's support. The first mad impulse that
bade him pour forth a vehement protest against the injustice
of Fate had died down. He was as a man
stricken dumb, and even physically maimed, by some
serious accident.

Mère Pitou, imagining that he was benumbed as the
outcome of prolonged exposure to the elements, was
minded to rate him soundly; but happily elected instead
to pour the torrent of her wrath on things in general.
"A nice fête we'll have, to be sure!" she began.
"There was I, boiling beautiful white meat and roasting
fat pullets when the news came that the Hirondelle
was acting the lifeboat off Les Verrés! I thought you'd
all be drowned, at the very least, and I wouldn't have
been a bit surprised, because anything might happen to
that light-headed Monsieur Tollemache and that grinning,
good-for-nothing Peridot. <i>Cré nom!</i> I wouldn't
have crossed the street if you two weren't aboard! And
now the bottom will be burnt out of the pan, and my
four lovely fowls frizzled to a cinder! Barbe, you little
// 097.png
minx, run ahead and see that the big kettle is put on to
boil! Monsieur Ingersoll and Yvonne must have hot
baths, with mustard, and I'll stand over them till they
swallow a good tumblerful each of scalding wine. I'll
give them Les Verrés--see if I don't!"

Whereat Madame gurgled in momentary appreciation
of her own wit, because <i>verrée</i> means "a tumblerful,"
and she had blundered on a first-rate pun.

"<i>Chère maman</i>, we are not ill, nor likely to feel any
bad effects from a wetting," said Yvonne. "My father
is shaken because, although successful, we have brought
one dead man to Pont Aven, and perhaps a dead woman
too."

"Ah, that's sad--that's dreadful!" wheezed Mère
Pitou. "Poor things! Who are they?"

"An Englishman gentleman--and his wife."

"They may be Americans. We hardly know yet."
Ingersoll was striving bravely to recover his poise.
Those few words told Yvonne that he wished their secret
to remain hidden from all others--for the present, at
any rate.

"<i>Dieu merci!</i> You can talk, then?" said Mère
Pitou tartly. "Were they coming to Pont Aven? Are
they known here?"

"No. Their name is Carmac. They have never
been here, I believe. They were making for Lorient;
but their yacht broke down and drove on the reef. Had
it not been for Peridot we could not have saved a soul
on board."

"Oh, he's a good sailor--I'll say that for him. His
// 098.png
poor old mother was there on the quay, screeching like
an owl. She lost her man at sea, you know. I hate the
sea. I'll skin Barbe if she ever so much as looks at a
fisherman. Do you hear that, Madeleine?"

"Yes, Madame. But you can't skin every fisherman
who looks at Barbe."

"Wait till I catch one at it! He'll find a shark in
his nets that day. Hurry now, you, and help Barbe to
get those baths ready! I filled the kettle before I came
out, and lifted the wheat off, and as I shoved in the
damper of the oven the fowls shouldn't have taken much
harm."

"Peridot will surely come soon," Madeleine ventured
to say.

Mère Pitou, having made sufficient concession to her
guests' feelings by that revised estimate of the condition
of the eatables, was moved to withering sarcasm.

"Why do you think that matters to me?" she cried.

Madeleine was silenced; so Madame answered her own
question.

"No man with eyes like a tomcat could ever turn my
head!" she snorted.

For once her gift of biting repartee served a good
purpose. It effectually distracted attention from Ingersoll's
half-demented state, while father and daughter
were given a breathing space before plunging into an
explanation that might affect the future in such wise
that the stream of life would never again flow on the
placid course it had followed during many happy and
uneventful years.
// 099.png

Within the cottage, too, Mère Pitou's bustling ways
interposed a further barrier. She drove the artist to
his room, set Madeleine to help Yvonne undress, "and
rub her till she's as red as a boiled lobster," prepared
two steaming glasses of mulled wine, scolded each unwilling
patient until the decoction was taken, and
wanted to massage Ingersoll; an attention that he
avoided only by declaring positively that he would not
indulge in a hot bath at all unless she cleared out.

Luckily a wetting from salt water is seldom harmful
if accompanied by exercise, and Ingersoll had never
been really chilled; while Yvonne had not only kept
comparatively dry, but had been shielded from the wind
during the homeward voyage. When the two met in the
studio, a large room that Ingersoll had built on the
north side of the house, the frenzy and tumult of a
tremendous discovery had died down, and each was
ready to make due allowance for the other's suffering.

Yvonne wore her Breton dress, and her father had
discarded his artist's clothes for a suit of blue serge.
Seldom, perhaps not twice in a year, did he appear in
evening dress. He shunned society, and disliked its
livery. For that reason he had removed from the Hotel
Julia soon after arriving at Pont Aven with Yvonne,
then an engaging mite hardly a year old. Ostensibly
he wanted a spacious studio; in reality he sought seclusion.

As for Yvonne, she did not even possess a dinner
gown; though she and her father were often welcome
guests at the houses of the small artistic coterie that
// 100.png
makes the village its abiding place. But pictures, not
fashion plates, ruled the roost therein, and no <i>grande
dame</i> whom chance brought to these friendly gatherings
could plume herself that her "Paris model" frock
eclipsed the quaint charm of Yvonne's peasant costume.

The girl had grown quite accustomed to the demand
invariably put forward by Ingersoll before accepting
an invitation that he should be told the names of any
strangers who would be present. If she gave a passing
thought to the matter, she fancied that her father had
early in life quarreled with his relatives, and wished to
avoid a haphazard meeting with certain members of his
family. Singularly enough, Tollemache, her greatest
friend among the men of Pont Aven, did not conceal
the fact that he too was at loggerheads with his own
people. Only that day had he been on the verge of
some explanation of this unfortunate state of affairs.
How little did she dream then that the carefully hidden
secret which led her own father to bury his talents in a
Brittany fishing village soon after she was born would
be dragged into light before the sun went down!

.tb

When she entered the studio she found her father
seated in a roomy wickerwork chair, and gazing disconsolately
into the flames of a roaring log fire. He had
aged within the hour; his already slight figure seemed
to have shrunk; he did not even turn his head when the
door opened.

Her heart went out to him in a wave of tenderness.
// 101.png
She dropped on her knees by his side and put her arms
round his neck.

"Dad dear," she murmured, "don't dwell on our
troubles tonight, great as they are. Let us rather be
thankful that we were able to render some service to
our fellow creatures, and that our own lives were preserved
in a time of real danger. God works in His own
wonderful way, doesn't He, Dear? It was His will that
we should have gone to Le Pouldu today. It was
surely by providential contriving that we should happen
to be near the reef when the Stella struck. Something
more than idle chance brought us there."

"Yes," he said, gazing into her eyes with the sorrow-laden
expression of a man who sees naught but
misery before him, "it was not chance, Yvonne, but
the operation of a law as certain as death. The sins of
the fathers shall be visited upon the children unto the
third and fourth generations. I had almost forgotten
that your mother lived. After eighteen years she was
dead to me. So far as you are concerned she might as
well have died in giving you birth. Then her memory
would have been a blessing rather than a curse."

"Hush, Dear! She may be dying even now. No, no,
Darling, you shall not say it!" and her soft lips stifled
the terrible wish that his anguish might have voiced.

For a little while neither could speak. Yvonne's
head bent over her father's knees, and he knew that she
was crying. With a supreme effort he strove to lessen
the tension.

"Come, come, Sweetheart!" he said, stroking the
// 102.png
mass of brown hair beneath the lace coif. "You and I
must face this difficulty together, or goodness only
knows what may be the outcome! Tell me now, if you
are able, how you learned that Mrs. Carmac was your
mother."

"Oh, Dad, she recognized me at once!" sobbed the
girl. "Poor thing, the warmth of the blankets and a
teaspoonful of brandy I forced between her lips
brought her round slowly."

"When?"

"After we crossed the bar."

"I feared as much," groaned Ingersoll.

Even in her distress Yvonne had the tact to avoid
the thorny bypath opened up by her father's involuntary
cry. "She sighed deeply a few times," she went
on hurriedly, "and I could tell by her color that she
was about to revive. At last she opened her eyes, and
looked at me in a dazed way.

"'Yvonne!' she whispered.

"I was so overjoyed to find that she was not actually
at the point of death that I felt no surprise. 'Yes,
Dear,' I said, 'you are with friends, and that horrid
wreck is a thing of the past.'

"But she continued to gaze at me as if I were a
ghost. 'Yvonne Ingersoll!' she said again.

"Then it struck me as really remarkable that she
should know my name. But I only asked her to drink
a little more of the brandy, and rest until we reached
Pont Aven.

"'Rest!' she said in quite a clear voice. 'Why
// 103.png
should I rest when Heaven snatches me from a dreadful
death and permits me to see my own daughter after
eighteen years? Or is this some other world? Why am
I here? Where have you come from?'

"For the moment I was sure her mind was unbalanced,
and thought it best to calm her by answering
truthfully. 'My mother is dead, Dear,' I said; 'but
you and I are living. You hardly realize now that
your yacht was wrecked on a reef near the mainland.
By the mercy of Providence my father's boat was close
at hand, and we rescued you.'

"'Me only?' she cried, trying to rise in the bunk,
and giving me such a piercing look.

"'No,' I said, 'we took off all hands.'

"Dad dear, I simply didn't dare say that her husband
alone had been killed in trying to save her; so I put it
that way, hoping she would not ask me any more. But
she did then succeed in lifting herself on an elbow.

"'Child,' she said, 'they must not meet! God!
They must not meet!'

"'Who must not meet?' said I, feeling rather
frightened, as of something unseen that threatened me
in the dark.

"'Your father and Walter Carmac,' she replied.

"'If Mr. Carmac is your husband, he is still unconscious,'
I assured her, catching at the first straw that
offered in the whirl of things.

"'Is your father on board?' she demanded, grasping
my wrist.

"'Yes,' I said.
// 104.png

"Then she sank back into the bunk again, as though
I had struck her, and began to sob. 'Oh, it is cruel,
cruel!' she wept. 'After all these years my folly has
found me out! Yvonne, Yvonne, don't you understand?
I am your mother! I left your father eighteen years
ago. I left you, my darling little baby! I sought freedom
because your father was poor, and I longed to be
rich. Look at me! Look at me, I tell you! Can you
deny that I am your mother?'

"Oh, Dad, I knew in my heart that she was speaking
truly; but even in that moment of torture I tried to be
loyal to you, and begged her to close her eyes and let
me cover her with the blankets. But she only laughed,
in a ghastly way that was worse than tears. Then she
heard one of the men in the other bunks groaning, and
started up again, asking wildly who was there. I told
her that two men were badly injured, and had been
brought below. Unfortunately, I added that her husband
was on deck.

"'Husband!' she cried. 'I am not worthy of such a
husband! I bartered my very soul for luxury, and now
I am being punished as I deserve. Yvonne, one night
in Paris your mother kissed you when you were lying
asleep in your cot, and hurried away to what I deemed
liberty. I have lulled my conscience for eighteen years
into the belief that I was justified, that I had acted for
the best, since my extravagant tastes were even then
embittering your father's life. Yet the husband and
child I abandoned have saved my miserable life, saved
the man too who came into my life when I was free to
// 105.png
marry again. Oh, why didn't you let me die? Perhaps
I am dying now. Yvonne, you have my face; but a
kindly Heaven must have spared you from having my
nature. You, at least, will forgive. Kiss me once before
the end comes. If you are merciful, an Eternal
Judge may not condemn me utterly; for I have striven
to atone by doing some good in the world. Unhappy
myself, I have tried to make others happy.'

"Father dear, I could not refuse. I took her in my
arms. I suppose she nearly fainted again, because she
only spoke incoherently until she heard your voice in
the hatch, when she whispered your name and buried
her face in the clothes."

.tb

The girl's tremulous voice ceased, and there was no
sound in the room save the crackling of elm logs and
the pleasant babble of flames in the big open fireplace.
At last, fearing lest he should break down completely,
Ingersoll gently untwined his daughter's clasp, rose,
and fumbled with a pipe,--man's sole harbor of refuge
in emotional storms.

"Don't cry, Yvonne," he said brokenly. "It--it
hurts. From what you tell me I gather that your--mother--is
in a more critical condition than I imagined.
Do you want to go to her--now?"

Yvonne too stood up. She brushed away the mist of
tears, and looked at him with shining eyes. "Dad,"
she said, and a vibration rang in her voice that carried
her father's memory back half a lifetime, back to the
days when youth was golden and love was deemed
// 106.png
everlasting, "when my mother was muttering in delirium,
my own poor wits wandered. I asked myself what it
all meant, and I could not escape the bitter understanding
that came to me. Then I remembered
what you said one day when a wretched girl had been
hounded out of the village because of her transgression."

"What I said?" repeated Ingersoll, baffled in the effort
to follow her train of thought.

"Yes. You were speaking to some man who was
angered by the merciless attitude of the peasant women
to one of their own sex. You blamed the misleading
teachings of narrow-minded theologians, and reminded
him of Christ's words to the Pharisees who brought
before Him some poor creature who had fallen. They
taunted Him with the Mosaic law, which ordered that
she and her like should be pelted with stones; but He
only said that the man who was without sin among them
should cast the first stone. And the crowd melted, and
Christ was left alone with the sinner, whom He forgave.
I did not know then just what you meant. I did not
know until I heard my mother confessing her fault, and
asking me, her daughter, for forgiveness."

"Unhappily our everyday world is not ruled by the
maxims of Christ. The girl you speak of went to
Brest, and her body was found in the harbor a fortnight
later."

"I remembered that too."

"If you go to your mother now, you may set in
motion influences that may darken your whole life."
// 107.png

"If I did not go, I would never forgive myself--never!"

"Prudence, the merest sort of commonsense, warns
me that we ought to get away from Pont Aven by the
first possible train."

"Father dear, what did Peridot say to you before
he brought the Hirondelle round into the wind off Les
Verrés? I couldn't hear, of course. But do you think
I could not read your face? Had you not to decide
whether or not you would risk my life as well as your
own? You were sure of Lorry--who wouldn't be? But
it came hard to sacrifice me as well. Did you obey
commonsense then? Did you even hesitate?"

Ingersoll threw up a hand in a gesture of sheer hopelessness,
and pretended to search for a box of matches
on the mantelpiece. "So be it!" he said wearily.
"Don't think I am afraid of any rival in your affection,
Yvonne. Perhaps your woman's heart is wiser
than my gray head. But, mark you, I make two stipulations!
No matter what transpires, you must come
home before eleven o'clock; and it is impossible, absolutely
impossible, that your mother and I should ever
meet!"

He was choosing his words carelessly that night.
How "impossible" it would have seemed that morning
had some wizard foretold the events of the succeeding
hours! But Yvonne also was deaf to all but his yielding.
She ran to him, and drew his face close to hers.

"Dad," she said, kissing him, "you are the best and
dearest man in the world. How could your wife ever
// 108.png
have left you? If I live a hundred years, I shall never
understand that."

She was going; but he stayed her.

"Yvonne, be governed by one vital consideration.
Those two men in the cabin must have caught some
glimmer of the truth from your mother's ravings. But
they are strangers, and their own troubles may have
preoccupied their minds to the exclusion of the affairs
of others. The only person in Pont Aven who knows
something of my sad history is Madame Pitou. She
has been aware all these years that my wife was alive,
or at any rate that she was living after I came here.
She is certainly to be trusted. Take care that none
other learns your mother's identity. I ask this for her
own sake."

The girl smiled wistfully. "Yet you would have me
believe you an ogre!" she said.

.tb

A few minutes later Tollemache arrived. He found
his friend sitting by the fire, with a pipe that had gone
out between his lips.

"Hello, Socrates!" he cried. "You're togged for
the party, I see. Where's Yvonne?"

"She was unhappy because of that poor woman who
lost her husband; so I let her hurry off to Julia's.
They've been taken there, I suppose?"

"Yes. It was awfully distressing. Peridot carried
Mrs. Carmac off the boat, and by some mismanagement
the light from a lantern fell on her husband's face. Ill
as she was, she realized that he was dead. She screamed
// 109.png
something I couldn't attach any meaning to, and her
cries as she was being put into the hotel auto were
heartrending. By gad! a beastly experience!"

"What did she say, Lorry?"

"I hardly know. It sounded like a cry for Yvonne,
and a protest against Heaven that her husband should
be taken and she left. 'I am the real offender!' she
said. 'The punishment should be mine, not his!'
Somehow, not the sort of thing you'd expect from a
distracted wife. I guess she's nearly out of her mind."

"Naturally. Think what it meant to a delicate
woman to be imprisoned in that deck saloon when the
yacht keeled over. You see, Lorry, we were buoyed
up with the hope of being able to effect a rescue. She,
on the other hand, must have gazed into the opening
doors of eternity. Pull up a chair. There's time for
a cigarette. Seven o'clock is the supper hour."

Tollemache obeyed. Ingersoll relighted his pipe,
and the two smoked in silence for a while. Then the
younger man glanced at his companion with a quizzical
scrutiny that was altogether approving.

"Glad to see you've bucked up, old sport," he said.
"You were thoroughly knocked out by the time we
reached the quay. I know why, of course."

Ingersoll stooped to throw back into the fire a half-burnt
log that had fallen out on to the hearth. "Do
you?" he said calmly.

"Great Scott! I should think so, indeed! It was
one thing that we three men should go into that death
trap, but quite another that you should bring Yvonne
// 110.png
into it. Bless your heart, Yvonne was watching Peridot
and you, and told me what you were saying. 'Dear old
Dad,' she said, 'he feels like Jephthah when he had to
sacrifice his daughter.' Made me go cold all over. Gee
whizz! I was pleased it wasn't I who had to make the
choice between turning back and running into safety--where
my sister--or my wife--was concerned."

Tollemache stammered and reddened as his tongue
tripped on the concluding words; but the older man
paid no heed. He was too profoundly relieved by an
explanation that differed so materially from the avowal
he dreaded.

"By the way, Lorry, that journey to Paris is postponed,"
he said after a pause.

"Good! It was hardly like you to bolt out of the
place when you were most needed. Those sailormen
would be at sixes and sevens tomorrow if we didn't
show up."

"I must leave that part of the business to you,"
said Ingersoll slowly. "I mean to efface myself entirely.
Indeed, I'm thinking of paying a long-deferred
visit to Forbes, at Concarneau. Yvonne and you can
manage splendidly in my absence. Now, don't argue,
there's a good chap. I rather lost my head on being
brought into contact with two people with whom I
quarreled years ago; or, to be precise, my animus was
not against the poor fellow who is dead. Of course his
wife is bound to recall the facts, and it would place
her in a difficult position when she discovered that I was
one of her rescuers. Women are apt to form curious
// 111.png
notions about such matters. It was an extraordinary
misfortune, to say the least, that her husband should
be the one man whom we failed to save. I think you
follow me?"

"Oh, yes--the irony of Fate, and that sort of thing,"
said Tollemache with an air of wisdom. He was convinced
that he understood the position exactly.

Ingersoll stood upright, drew in a deep breath that
was curiously like a sigh, and tapped his pipe against
the stone pillars of the fireplace. "I hear sounds of
revelry by night," he said. "Herri has arrived with
the bagpipes."

"Dash it all!" growled Tollemache. "I don't feel
a scrap like dancing this evening. That unhappy
woman's shrieks are still ringing in my ears."

"We must adjust ourselves to the conditions," said
Ingersoll quietly. "Life, like art, is a matter of light
and shade. Each of us sails a tiny craft through an
unknown sea, and if we can give a brother or sister a
cheery hail--why, let us do it, though our own vessel
be sinking steadily. I'm in no mood for revel,--goodness
knows!--but, with Yvonne absent, you and I must
help Mère Pitou to entertain her guests. Some excellent
folk are coming here from Nizon and Nevez.
Her sister is driving in from Riec. You'll hear some
real old Breton ballads tonight. Pity Yvonne isn't
here to translate them. My acquaintance with the
language is limited; but Madeleine or Barbe will tell
you the drift of the words."
// 112.png

"Won't Yvonne be here later?" inquired Tollemache,
striving to cloak his disappointment.

"I'm inclined to think she will remain with Mrs.
Carmac till eleven or thereabouts."

"But the doctor is there--and a nurse."

"Unless I am greatly mistaken, Mrs. Carmac will
prefer Yvonne to any nurse. There is a cousinship of
nationality, you know. Now, Lorry, no grumbling.
Let's make the best of things."

.tb

A knock at the door heralded the entrance of a dozen
or more smiling and self-possessed Bretons. The
studio was the only room in the house large enough to
hold the company that would gather within the next
few minutes. The living room was packed with tables
and chairs; hence, on fête days, Ingersoll's quarters
were invaded.

The artist was acquainted with everyone present,
and Tollemache was no stranger to the majority.
Nearly all were of the well-to-do yeoman class; for
Mère Pitou belonged to an old family, and her husband,
a farrier, had been well thought of in Pont Aven. Men
and women wore the national costume, and appeared
that evening in grand state. The women's full-skirted
dresses were of black cashmere, trimmed and slashed
with deep bands of black velvet; but this somber setting
was merely a foil to aprons and overbodices
wrought in gold, silver, and bright-hued silk threads,
the whole blended in pretty designs with an oriental
lavishness of color and sheen.
// 113.png

The coifs, though bearing a general similarity of
design, varied for each district. The abundant and
jet-black hair of these Breton dames and demoiselles
was waved over the forehead and coiled somewhat toward
the back of the head. Round the twisted tresses
was placed, in the first instance, the <i>petite coiffe</i>, a
stiff white linen band three inches deep, which, pinned
securely, served as the basis of a dainty superstructure.
A strip of silk ribbon, cream, pink, or light blue, hid
the <i>petite coiffe</i>, and showed its tint through the meshes
of the coronet of fine lace and cambric forming the
<i>grande coiffe</i>, with its coquettish white streamers falling
below the neck.

Round the throat, and deeply cut, was the broad
linen collar, highly starched, and so wide that its wings
projected over the shoulders, leaving a space across
the top of the breast to reveal the lace edging of an
underbodice. These collars would puzzle any laundress
who was not a Bretonne if she were asked to prepare
them, because their graceful curves, molded to the slope
of the shoulders and the straight line of the back, are
obtained by a process of wrinkling, or furrowing, effected
by the use of long straws when the linen has
been lightly ironed when it is still damp and pliable.

Age does not affect the style of dress. The girl of
eight is attired exactly like her grandmother, the only
variation being seen in the shoes, the younger people
mostly donning white doeskin, and the older ones black
patent leather with silver buckles.

The men too, without exception, wore tight-fitting
// 114.png
gray trousers, short jackets of black cloth, with tabliers
of black velvet and ornamental buttons. Some
dandies affected gold, silver, and colored silk embroidery
down each side of the front of the jacket. Their
hats were low-crowned, black felt wideawakes, with
heavy bands of black velvet, carrying showy buckles of
silver on a rosette.

A more light-hearted, jovial, and picturesque company
it would be difficult to find, or, considering its nature,
one more expensively dressed. (Strangers, especially
of the fair sex, who decide to purchase "a
Brittany costume" for the next fancy dress ball, are
likely to be unpleasantly surprised when they inquire
the price. The materials are invariably the best of
their kind, and the lace and embroidery are handworked.
Naturally one such outfit lasts several years.)

.tb

Ingersoll moved among these free-mannered, laughter-loving
folk as though he had not a care in the
world. Some notion of the disaster to the Stella had
spread, and he was called on for particulars, which he
gave in sufficient detail. The men appreciated the peril
from which the Hirondelle had extricated herself, the
women were prodigal of their sympathy with the American
woman who had lost her husband. Tollemache,
listening to his friend's easy flow of talk, wondered
more than ever what sort of nervous attack it was that
induced that amazing display of terror at the moment
of landing.

Supper was ended when Peridot put in an appearance.
// 115.png
His face was flushed, and his gray-green eyes
had acquired a rather suspicious luster. In a word.
Captain Popple had discovered the excellence of liqueur
brandy, and Peridot, ordinarily an abstemious fellow,
had proved himself a less seasoned vessel than his host.

Madeleine was the first to notice his condition, and it
troubled her. She rather avoided him, and as a consequence
he affected a loud-voiced and boisterous good-humor.

"<i>Gars!</i>" he cried, seizing the opportunity when the
girl refused to dance the gavotte with him. "Where
is Yvonne? She can foot it better than any of you."

Now he had never before alluded to Yvonne by her
Christian name. While the Bretons are not toadies,
they are polite, and the artist's daughter ranked as an
aristocrat in the village. An awkward silence fell.
Even Ingersoll shot an inquiring glance at the fisherman.

"Mademoiselle Yvonne is at the Hotel Julia," said
Mère Pitou. "Pity she didn't see you as she was going."

"Why?" grinned Peridot.

"Because you might have known then how to address
her. By this time you seem to have forgotten."

"<i>Que Diable!</i> I meant no offense, Madame. I suppose
she's looking after the lady who claimed her as a
daughter."

"What sayest thou, Imbecile?"

"Fact," said Peridot, with drunken gravity. "I
asked a man who speaks English what the lady was
// 116.png
screaming as I tucked her into the auto, and he told
me----"

"Larraidou," broke in Ingersoll, pallid with sudden
anger, "you had better go home."

Then Peridot too flared into wrath. "What have I
done wrong?" he cried. "<i>Cré nom!</i> they're as like as
two peas in a pod! Come, now, Monsieur--is there any
harm in saying that?"

Ingersoll turned to Tollemache. "Lorry," he said,
"oblige me by taking our talkative friend to his house.
He will be glad of it in the morning."

So, protesting loudly that some people made a lot
of fuss about nothing, Peridot vanished with a shattered
halo. But the mischief had been done. Next day
all Pont Aven would be discussing Mrs. Carmac's
strange delusion. In the view of the one man who knew
the whole truth, it was the beginning of the end.
// 117.png

.sp 4
.h2 id=chVI
CHAPTER VI||A LULL
.sp 2

Peridot lived on the Toulifot, a steep and rocky
road that once upon a time was Pont Aven's main
avenue to the interior of France. On the way he was
consumed with maudlin sorrow that his beloved patron,
Monsieur Ingersoll, should have forbidden him to take
further part in the feast.

"Tell me, then, what was my fault," he protested to
Tollemache. "Name of a pipe! can't a fellow take a
thimbleful of cognac to keep the cold out?"

"Thimbleful!" laughed Tollemache. "The sort of
thimble you used would make a hat for any ordinary
head."

"The skipper of the Stella is a <i>bon garçon</i>, and
showed his gratitude," said Peridot. "I could have
carried the liquor like a drum major if I hadn't fasted
at Le Pouldu so as to keep a good appetite for
supper."

"Ah! That's it, is it? Well, I'll make matters
straight with Monsieur Ingersoll in the morning."

Tollemache had every reason to believe that the fisherman
was speaking the truth. He had not seen
Peridot intoxicated during five years of fairly close
acquaintance.
// 118.png

"The worst thing is that Madeleine will be holding
her nose in the air every time she meets me for a
month," came the dejected whine.

"I'll tell her too how the accident happened. You'll
be joking about it yourself tomorrow, old fellow."

"<i>Tiens!</i> I've got it," and Peridot stood stock still
in an attitude of oracular gravity. "Monsieur Ingersoll
was angry, not because I was a trifle elevated, but
on account of what I said about Ma'mselle Yvonne.
Queer thing if that lady should really be her
mother!"

"Now I know for certain that you're drunk as an
owl."

"Not me! <i>Gars!</i> Funny things occur. I could
say lots if I chose. Why does Monsieur Ingersoll encourage
Ma'mselle to dress <i>en Bretonne</i>? Why won't
he allow her to be photographed? Who has ever heard
what became of Madame Ingersoll? And aren't those
two the image of each other?"

"Peridot," said Tollemache, "it would be a sad
finish to a glorious day if I were to knock you down."

"It would, Monsieur."

"But that is just what I'll do, as sure as Fate, if
you utter another word concerning Mademoiselle
Yvonne or her father."

"Mad!" declared the other. "All you Americans
are mad! A man never knows how to take you."

"Would you stand by and hear anyone running
down Madeleine Demoret or her people?"

"Monsieur, I'd chew his ear!"
// 119.png

"Exactly. I'll spread your nose flat if you utter
any more stupidities with regard to Mademoiselle
Yvonne."

The Breton whistled softly, and staggered on up
the hill. Each few yards thereafter he halted, and
whistled, evidently expressing unbounded and inarticulate
surprise. All this was intensely annoying to the
young American; but it had to be endured. Even more
trying was the leave-taking at the door of the Larraidou
cottage. The Breton caught Tollemache's hand, and
was moved to tears.

"Monsieur," he gurgled, "you have my regrets--a
thousand regrets! I understand perfectly. A
Frenchman comprehends these things quicker than any
other man in the world, even when he has filled the
lamp. <i>Gars!</i> If I chew ears and you flatten noses,
between us we'll spoil the beauty of any rascal who
dares open his mouth against either Mademoiselle
Yvonne or Madeleine."

.tb

With difficulty Tollemache got rid of him, and strode
back down the hill. He had blundered into that foolish
comparison of the two girls without giving a thought
to its possible significance. The one consolation was
that Peridot would be tongue-tied with shame next day,
and would probably remember only that he had made
a fool of himself.

Passing the Hotel Julia, he ran into Yvonne hurrying
down the steps of the annex. Then, of course, he
flung care to the winds.
// 120.png

"Well met!" he cried. "Socrates told me you were
not coming home till much later."

"But where have you been?" she asked. "I imagined
you were at Madame Pitou's ages ago."

"As though you couldn't tell by my swollen appearance
that I had supped on white wheat and fatted
fowl," he rejoined. "Of course I was there. I've been
escorting Peridot home. He took an extra appetizer on
an empty stomach, and it upset him. How are the
patients?"

"Dr. Garnier has set the broken arm and bandaged
the sprain. He gave Mrs. Carmac a stiff dose of bromide,
and she is asleep. She will recover if her nervous
system withstands the shock."

"It was an extraordinary misfortune that the owner
of the yacht should be the one to have his head battered
in. His wife realizes now that he is dead, I suppose?"

"Yes, she knows."

They crossed the square together. To reach the
Rue Mathias they had to go round by the bridge and
return by the right bank of the Aven. The hour was
not late, and many of the inhabitants were astir; but
none gave heed to the unusual spectacle of a Breton
girl and a young man walking in company, because
both were recognized instantly, and in such matters
the American and English residents were a law unto
themselves. Had they been bred and born in the place,
such a thing simply could not have happened.

Somehow Tollemache felt a restraint that night that
// 121.png
was both novel and unpleasing. A barrier of some
sort had been erected between Yvonne and himself. He
cudgeled his wits to find words that would break down
the obstacle, whatsoever it might be.

"We've had a lively evening at Madame's thus far,"
he said. "Riec and Nevez shared the honors in the
gavotte; but everybody agreed that Pont Aven would
have scored if you had been there."

"I couldn't have danced tonight, Lorry, on any
account."

"I don't see why. Your father took a very sensible
view. 'Why shouldn't twenty hop because one has
hooked it?' he said."

"Did he really say that?"

"Well, something to that effect."

"Poor old dad! He has had to sacrifice himself all
his life."

"Don't you think you're making too much of the
death of one man? Suppose we hadn't taken Peridot
with us? We couldn't possibly have approached the
reef, and twelve people would have gone under."

"Ten were strangers, and one cannot grieve for all
the people who die around us. But father knew Mr.
and Mrs. Carmac years ago. Didn't he tell you that?"

"Yes."

"Then you may be sure he is greatly upset. Now,
Lorry, if there is any talk of dancing when I appear,
help my excuses by saying that I ought to rest. In
one sense I'm not really tired; in another I could fling
myself down in a dark corner and weep my eyes out."
// 122.png

"Your eyes are too pretty to spoil in that way,"
said Tollemache. "I'll give Mère Pitou the tip, and
she'll fix things, I have no doubt."

.tb

But Yvonne was not pressed to dance. She was so
pale, the eyes that Tollemache deemed too attractive
that they should be marred by weeping were so dilated
and luminous with unshed tears, that these big-hearted
Bretons sympathized with her, and she was soon permitted
to escape to her own room.

Father and daughter exchanged few words. She
supplied a brief account of the doctor's view of the
injured, and he only said:

"Thus far things are progressing well. Tomorrow
morning I'm going to Forbes's place, at Concarneau,
for a few days. Tollemache and you can help Mr.
Raymond in his negotiations with the authorities. Mr.
Carmac was an American, by birth, if not by domicile;
so it is probable that his relatives will wish the body to
be embalmed and taken to the United States. I would
advise Mr. Raymond to consult a notary, because
French procedure differs essentially from American
methods. I've told Lorry about our altered plans.
Perhaps we three can take a combined trip to Paris
after Christmas. Goodnight, Sweetheart. Sleep well,
and don't meet tomorrow's cares halfway."

Tollemache heard all that passed. Why, he knew
not, but he found himself regretting that they were
not leaving Pont Aven by the first train in accord with
Ingersoll's original intent. He was more than ever
// 123.png
conscious of that invisible wall which was now casting
its shadow on their cheery intimacy. Yvonne
would never again be a demure Breton maid or straight-legged,
long-haired American schoolgirl. She had become
a woman in an hour. Life had flung wide its portals,
and the prospect thus unfolded had saddened her
inexpressibly.

What sinister influence had brought about this
change? Could there be any actual foundation for
Peridot's vaporings? As he walked back to the hotel
through darkened streets he recalled certain vague
rumors that had reached his ears in early days. Ingersoll
had always posed as a widower; but someone had
said that his married life was rather mysterious, since
there was no record of his wife's death or place of interment.
It would indeed be passing strange if the
wreck of the Stella had brought to Pont Aven the
woman who was at once Yvonne's mother and the wife
of a complete stranger.

Tollemache buttoned the deep collar of an overcoat
round his ears as he crossed the river, because the wind
was still bitingly cold. He caught a glimpse of Mère
Pitou's cottage on the opposite bank of the Aven.
There was a light in Yvonne's bedroom. Frankly in
love, he threw her a kiss with his fingers.

The action did him, in his own phrase, "a heap of
good." After all, such displays of emotion come
naturally in France.

"I don't give a red cent who her mother was, or is,
or what she has been, or turns out to be," he
// 124.png
communed. "It's Yvonne I want. If Yvonne marries me
some day, I'll be the happiest man who ever lived, and
the most miserable if she doesn't. So there you are,
Lorry, my boy! You must make the best of it, whichever
way the flag falls."

.tb

Memories of peaceful and contented years flitted
through Ingersoll's mind while the steam tram lumbered
next morning through tiny fields and across rambling
lanes to the quay of Concarneau. Other memories,
vivid and piercing, came of the period of love and
dreams in Paris. Lithe and graceful and divinely beautiful
as her daughter was now, Stella Fordyce had been
then. An artist to her fingertips, she came to the
studio where Ingersoll was working, turning readily
to the palette after some slight defect in the vocal
cords had put difficulties in the way of an operatic
career.

It seemed to be a genuine instance of love at first
sight, and they were married within three months of
what was practically their first meeting; though Ingersoll
had seen her as a girl of fourteen several years earlier.
This step was not so foolish as it might have been
in the case of two young people without means. Ingersoll
had an income of three thousand dollars a year, and
complete devotion to art in his student days had enabled
him to save a small capital, which he spent on an
establishment, and particularly on adorning an exceptionally
handsome and attractive wife.

It had been far better were they poverty-stricken.
// 125.png
Mutual privations and combined effort to improve their
lot would have bound them by insoluble ties. As it
was the taste for pleasure and excitement crept into
Stella Ingersoll's blood. The first tiff between the two
was the outcome of some mild protest on Ingersoll's
part when his wife wished to increase rather than
diminish her personal expenditure after Yvonne's birth.
There were tears, and of course the man yielded: only
to raise the point again more determinedly when an
absurdly expensive dress was ordered for a ball at the
opera.

Thenceforth the road to the precipice became ever
smoother and steeper; though Ingersoll did not begin
to suspect the crash that lay ahead until his wife left
him and fled to her relatives in America. Her callous
abandonment of the baby girl not yet a year old
crushed to the dust the man who loved her. She told
him plainly why she had gone. She was "sick to
death" of petty economies. Indeed, her letter of farewell
was brutally frank.

"I think I have qualities that equip me for a society
that you and I together could never enter," she wrote.
"Why, then, should I deny myself while I am young,
so that I may console vain regrets with copybook
maxims when I am old? I see clearly that I would only
embitter your life and spoil your career. Be wise, and
take time to reflect, and you will come to believe that I
am really serving you well by seeking my own liberty.
Meanwhile I shall do nothing to bring discredit on
your name. I promise that, on my honor!"
// 126.png

Her honor! All his life John Ingersoll had hated
cant, either in dogma or phrase, and this ill-judged
appeal stung him to the quick. He threw the letter
into the fire, left Paris next day, and his wife's strenuous
efforts to discover his whereabouts during the subsequent
year failed completely.

Then he heard by chance that she had divorced him,
and married Walter H. Carmac in her maiden name,
and the tragic romance of his life closed with a sigh
of relief, because, as he fancied, the curtain had fallen
on its last act. He little dreamed that an epilogue
would be staged nearly nineteen years later.

He was in such a state of mental distress that at
Concarneau he sat a whole hour in a café opposite
the station, meaning to return to Pont Aven by the
next train. But the man's natural clarity of reasoning
came to his aid. He forced himself to think dispassionately.
Two vital principles served as rallying
points in that time of silent battle,--Yvonne must not
be reft with crude violence from the grief-stricken and
physically broken woman who claimed a daughter's
sympathy, and he himself must avoid meeting this wife
risen from the tomb. He had acted right, after all, in
seeking refuge with his friend.

.tb

Yvonne that same morning found her mother sitting
up in bed, sipping a cup of chocolate. The nurse, a
woman from the village, hailed the girl's presence gleefully.

"Will you be remaining a few minutes, Mademoiselle
// 127.png
she inquired, seeing that invalid and visitor were
on terms of intimacy.

"Yes, as long as you like, or will permit, Madame
Bertrand," said Yvonne.

"That is well, then. I can go to my house for a
little half-hour. There only two instructions. Madame
must remain quiet. If she shows any signs of faintness,
send at once for Dr. Garnier."

"I shall be strict and watchful," smiled the girl, and
the two were left alone.

Her mother's first question threatened to disobey at
least one of the doctor's instructions. "Does your
father know you have come here?" she asked, and her
voice trembled with foreboding.

"Yes, Dear. Now if you excite yourself in that
way, I shall be expelled by the doctor," for the graceful
head collapsed to the pillow in sheer gratitude, and
the chocolate was nearly spilled.

"But you must tell me, Yvonne! Will he permit
us to meet?"

"Do you think my father would forbid it? How
you must have misunderstood his real nature! He has
even gone away from Pont Aven for a few days, so
that his presence in the village may not be irksome to
you. Shall we try and pretend to forget what has
passed, Dear? It is useless to grieve now over the
mistakes of other years. And you will see, I am sure,
that no one in Pont Aven should be able even to guess
at our true relationship. I ask that for my father's sake.
I love him dearly, and would not have him suffer."
// 128.png

With a splendid effort the older woman raised herself
in the bed and summoned a wan smile. "Indeed,
indeed," she cried, "I will do nothing more to injure
him! Is that a hand mirror on the dressing table?
Please give it me."

Yvonne hesitated, and her mother smiled again.

"I shall not grieve because of white and drawn
cheeks," she said.

When she held, the mirror in a thin hand, and compared
its reflection with Yvonne herself with critical
eyes, the girl grasped her true intent. Her abundant
hair, only a shade darker than Yvonne's own brown
tresses, framed the well poised head and slender neck.
Distress and lack of solid food had lent a pallor to
cheeks and forehead which had the curious effect of
rendering the clear-cut features strikingly youthful.
Mouth and chin had a certain quality of hardness and
obstinacy not discernible in the girl's face. Otherwise
they resembled sisters rather than mother and
daughter.

"Yvonne," she said wistfully, "if we say we are
strangers, no one will believe. I shall invent a twin
sister. You are my niece. I quarreled with my sister
because she married an impoverished painter. Thin
ice; but it must carry us. Your father has done the
wisest possible thing in leaving Pont Aven today. He
refuses to forgive my shabby treatment of a sister;
but Christian charity impels him not to forbid you
from visiting me. Don't volunteer this information.
Let it be dragged from you unwillingly. It is a cruel
// 129.png
thing that my first advice to you should be a lesson in
duplicity; but I have earned that sort of scourge, and
must endure. Now you understand. We are aunt and
niece. Don't be surprised if I act a little when the
nurse returns. By the way, write to your father and
tell him what I have said. I'm sure he will approve,
and the fact that I am eager to make this small atonement
for the wrong I did him will show that I still
retain some sense of fair dealing."

"Yes, Dear, I'll write today. I don't think it is
very wicked to adopt a pretense that enables me to
visit you without--without setting idle tongues
wagging."

"Without causing a village scandal, you might well
have said," came the bitter retort. "Very well,
Yvonne, I will not say such things," for the girl
winced at the unerring judgment that supplied the
words that had nearly escaped her. "Now let us talk
of other matters. Tell me something of yourself.
Where and how do you live? Why are you wearing
that costume? Do you dress like that habitually?
And how wonderfully it becomes you! Talk, Dear, and
I'll listen, and if I fall asleep when you are talking
don't imagine that I am heedless and inattentive; for I
have been brought nearer happiness in this hour than I
would have believed possible yesterday. Do you realize
that the wreck was directly due to my folly? The
captain wished to put into the Aven estuary when the
storm became very bad; but I refused to permit it.
Wallie--that is Mr. Carmac--always yielded to my
// 130.png
whims, and he imagined I preferred Lorient to Pont
Aven. I didn't. I knew that your father lived here.
His art proved more enduring than a woman's faith. It
has made him famous; though I had the cruelty, the
impertinence, to tell him once that he would never
emerge from the ruck. I never heard of you. For
some reason I thought you had died in infancy.
Yvonne, Heaven forgive me, I may even have wished
it! But you see now why I wanted to avoid Pont
Aven. As though any of God's creatures can resist
when He points the way!"

So it was the mother who did most of the talking,
and the daughter who listened, with never a word of
reproach, and not even a hint that had a wilful and
conscience-tortured woman not imposed her imperious
will on the Stella's course the yacht would have ridden
the gale in safety in a roadstead five miles removed
from the village of Pont Aven itself!

When Madame Bertrand bustled in her patient was
asleep, and Yvonne's cheeks were tear-stained.

"Poor lady!" murmured the Breton woman. "She's
nothing but a bundle of nerves. All night long, after
the effect of the bromide had passed, she kept crying
out for her daughter--meaning you, Mademoiselle.
What a notion! Yet you are so alike!"

"With good reason, Madame," said the girl. "She
is my mother's sister. There was a family quarrel
years ago. Please keep this to yourself; though
Madame Carmac will probably tell you of it later."

Yvonne was glad, when her father's letter arrived, to
// 131.png
find that he agreed with the little deception, which hurt
none, and explained away the seemingly inexplicable.

.tb

On the second day after the wreck Mrs. Carmac,
outwardly at least, was restored to good health, and
assumed direction of her husband's affairs.

Sending for Captain Popple, she asked if any effort
had been made to salve the large sum of money
and store of jewelry on board the yacht. The red-faced
mariner had evidently been giving thought to
the same problem.

"No, Ma'am," he said. "When the vessel struck
those on deck had no mind to go below, and those below
were hard put to it to get on deck. We all lost
everything except what we stood up in. It has been
blowin' great guns ever since, and a French gentleman
who knows every inch of the coast tells me that the
reef may be ungetatable for a fortnight, or even a
month, unless there's a change in the weather."

"When you say you lost everything do you mean
that you and some members of the crew lost money as
well as clothing?"

"No, Ma'am. If any swab has the howdacity to pretend
that a sovereign or two has slipped out of his
pockets, I won't believe 'im; but it'll be hard to prove
the contrary."

"Are you in any special hurry to return home?
Have you another yacht in view?"

Some men might have hesitated, but Popple was
bluntly honest, both in nature and speech. "Bless
// 132.png
your heart, Ma'am!" he said huskily, "I'll get no more
yachts unless I'm a luckier man after turnin' fifty than
ever I was afore. The Stella was my last seagoin' job,
an' no mistake."

"Then you will not suffer professionally by remaining
here?"

"I'll stop as long as you like, Ma'am."

"Very well. I have telegraphed to my London
bankers for a supply of money, which should reach me
tomorrow. I want you to arrange for salvage operations.
Employ a diver, and hire such other assistance
as may be necessary. It is important that a jewelcase
in one of my trunks should be recovered, if possible,
also five thousand pounds in French and English bank-notes
which is in a leather wallet locked in a steamer
trunk beneath my husband's bed. That trunk also
contains a number of important papers. I shall be
glad if it is brought to me unopened, no matter what
the expense. Meanwhile make out a list of all that is
reasonably owing to the men, and tell them I shall
arrange at once for their return to Southampton."

"I've done that already, Ma'am. Mr. Raymond tole
me to get busy."

"Ah! That was thoughtful of him. In future,
however, take orders from no one but me."

Captain Popple was evidently about to offer a comment,
but checked himself in time. "Right you are,
Ma'am," he said.

Mrs. Carmac smiled quietly. This outspoken sailor's
// 133.png
face was easy to read. Yvonne was present, and he
hardly knew what to say.

"You had something else on the tip of your tongue,
Captain," she prompted. "Out with it! I have no
secrets from this young lady."

"I don't like contradict'ry sailin' orders, Ma'am, an'
that's a fact," admitted the skipper. "Mr. Raymond
axed me not to do a thing, no matter who gev the word,
without consultin' him."

"His arm is broken, I believe?"

"Yes, Ma'am; but he's able to get about today."

"That simplifies matters. Kindly send him here."

The sailor raised his hand in a clumsy salute, and
went out.

.tb

"I am not an admirer of Mr. Raymond," said Mrs.
Carmac to Yvonne. "He was a useful sort of person
to my husband; but he has a Uriah Heep manner
which I dislike intensely. Now I shall get rid of him."

For an instant the Breton shrewdness of judgment
came uppermost in the girl. "Don't make an unnecessary
enemy," she ventured to suggest.

"I simply purpose dismissing him on very generous
terms."

"But--have you--forgotten--perhaps you never
knew--how wildly you spoke that night in the cabin
of the Hirondelle? Mr. Raymond was there too. He
may have overheard a good deal."

Mrs. Carmac was momentarily staggered. "Do you
think so?" she cried rather breathlessly.
// 134.png

"There was every opportunity. I saw the man, and
he retained his senses, though in great pain."

"Thanks for the warning, Dear. I'll handle him
gently."

"Shall I go?"

"I prefer that you should remain."

"But it might be better if you were to see him
alone. He has not met me since we came ashore."

"Well--you may be right. I'll take your advice.
Don't leave me too long alone. I mope when you are
away."

Yvonne slipped out. She passed Raymond on the
stairs; but he gave her no heed, regarding her as belonging
to the establishment.

.tb

The secretary was a small, slightly built man, and,
contrary to the rule that renders undersized mortals
rather aggressive in manner, carried himself with a
shrinking air, as though he wished to avoid observation.
He had an intelligent face; though its general
expression was somewhat marred by a heavy chin and
eyes set too closely together. He looked pale and ill;
which was only natural, because his broken arm, the
right one, had not been attended to by a doctor until
nearly three hours after the accident. He was about
thirty-five, but looked much older that morning, and
Yvonne wondered if he had any forewarning of trouble,
so compressed were his thin lips and so frowning
his brows.

He found his late employer's wife standing at the
// 135.png
window, gazing down into the little triangular Place,
as Pont Aven calls its public square. Yvonne was passing
in front of the four sycamores. She had, in fact,
secured a mourning order for her friend, Le Sellin the
tailor, and was going to his shop on some errand connected
therewith. Her mother noted the girl's free
and graceful walk, and approved the proud carriage
of her head, on which the white coif sat like a coronet.
She sighed, and did not turn until Yvonne had vanished.
Then she faced the waiting secretary.

"Ah, that you?" she said carelessly. "Pardon me
if I seemed rude, Mr. Raymond. My thoughts were
wandering. My niece has just left me, and, as I have
not seen her for many years until she and her father
saved our lives the other evening, I was minded to
watch her crossing the square."

"Your niece, did you say, Mrs. Carmac?"

Raymond's voice was pitched in the right key of
hesitancy and interested surprise; but this worldly
wise woman was far too skilled a student of human
nature to miss the underlying note of skepticism.

"Usually I speak clearly," she said, with a touch of
hauteur.

"Yes, of course. I caught the word quite accurately.
But may I remind you that you addressed her
as your daughter in the cabin of the Hirondelle?"

"Does it matter to you, Mr. Raymond, how I addressed
her?"

"No, no. I was only anxious to correct my own
false impression."
// 136.png

Mrs. Carmac suddenly bethought herself. "My
wits are still wool gathering," she cried. "Won't you
sit down? I have a good many things to discuss with
you. Is your arm very painful? Happily I have
never suffered from a broken limb; but it sounds quite
dreadful."

Raymond sank into a comfortable chair, steadying
himself with his left hand. "It's not so bad now," he
said. "By comparison with the torture of Thursday
afternoon it is more than bearable. The chief misfortune
lies in the fact that my right arm is out of action.
I had no idea how little use I made of my left hand
until I tried to write with it."

"The doctor seems to be a very clever man; but if
you think it advisable to have your injury seen to by
an expert----"

"Oh, it's only a simple fracture. I have every reason
to believe that it is properly set. Indeed, all it
needs now is efficient dressing--and time."

"How did you come to break it?"

"I was flung down the companionway when the yacht
turned on her beam ends."

"But the last thing I remember, and very vividly
too, is that you and I were holding to a rail and looking
out through the forward window of the deck saloon.
We felt a curious trembling of the hull, and the vessel
swung round from the wind. There was a strange lull,
and Captain Popple shouted something. I asked you
what it was, and you said that the shaft had broken,
// 137.png
and we should be dashed against the rocks in ten minutes
or less. Then, I suppose, I fainted."

"I had not seen the reef. Even Captain Popple
thought we should clear it. As a matter of fact, we
struck within a minute."

"And you were thrown over then? I must have
fallen earlier."

"Yes. My recollection is hazy as to what actually
occurred."

"The marvel is that either of us is living," she said
lightly. "I gather from Captain Popple that you have
taken charge of affairs since we were brought ashore.
Will you kindly tell me what you have done?"

"In the first instance I telegraphed to Mr. Carmac's
nephew Mr. Rupert Fosdyke, his lawyer Mr. Bennett,
his office, and his bankers. The text of each message
was practically identical. It ran, 'Yacht wrecked and
total loss off Finistère. Mr. Carmac unfortunately
killed, but all others rescued. Mrs. Carmac seriously
ill, but may recover.' I'm sorry I took an exaggerated
view of your state; but the circumstances seemed to
warrant it. Then I sent to Paris for an embalmer.
Did I do right?"

At that instant her daughter's parting words rang
in her ears. "Don't make an unnecessary enemy."
Good advice! She must tread warily, or her sky might
fall and crush her.

"Yes. As I shall receive Mr. Fosdyke and Mr.
Bennett when they arrive, I think I shall rest now,"
she said faintly. "I am greatly beholden to you, Mr.
// 138.png
Raymond. You are so intimately acquainted with my
husband's affairs that I should be lost without your
help."

She had meant to dismiss him forthwith, with a
year's salary, and Raymond himself was prepared for
some such action on her part; otherwise he would never
have hinted at his possession of a secret so fraught
with possibilities as the existence of a grown-up daughter,
a daughter too whose father was living, and
actually resident in Pont Aven. He was taken aback
now, and bowed as courteously as his bandaged arm
would permit.

"I shall be only too happy and proud to give you
my best services, Mrs. Carmac," he said.
// 139.png

.sp 4
.h2 id=chVII
CHAPTER VII||MISCHIEF
.sp 2

Raymond felt that he had taken the step that counts,
and resolved to make certain inquiries without delay.
Already a cautious experiment with Tollemache had
failed. Lorry had said that he knew nothing of Ingersoll's
history before the last five years, and had shown
some surprise at the question.

Captain Popple, however, had mentioned Peridot;
so Raymond climbed the steep Toulifot, and within five
minutes of his departure from Mrs. Carmac's quarters
was at the Breton's house.

As it happened, Peridot was at home, it being the
hour of <i>déjeuner</i>, and a grateful incense of grilled
haddock and fried potatoes greeted the visitor. He
was recognized instantly of course, and invited to enter,
and Peridot broke into a voluble expression of his
pleasure at finding Monsieur so far recovered that he
was able to take a little promenade. Raymond gathered
the drift of this speech, as he understood French
better than he spoke it.

"I have taken the liberty to call and thank you
personally for the aid you rendered on Thursday
evening," he said laboriously. "You and the
others did a wonderful thing. The captain of the
// 140.png
yacht has explained it to me. I was injured when
the vessel struck, and knew little of what took place
afterward."

"It was lucky for you, Monsieur, that we happened
to be out that day. If we hadn't been passing at that
very moment, nothing could have saved you. The
people at Brigneau tell me that the yacht broke in two
and fell into deep water before we were well clear of
the reef."

Neither Peridot nor Raymond had any inkling of
Mrs. Carmac's projected salvage work by a diver, or
the Breton would have added his conviction that the
fierce tides racing along the Finistère coast would render
the success of any such undertaking doubtful in
the extreme.

"The gentleman who owns the Hirondelle is an artist,
I believe?" went on Raymond.

"One of the most renowned," said Peridot.

"His daughter was with him?"

"The prettiest girl in Pont Aven, Monsieur."

"Is there a Madame Ingersoll?"

Now, Peridot was sober as a judge that day, and
his Breton wits worked quickly. He did not fail to
recall his friend's distress on hearing the name of the
Stella's owner, nor his avowed desire to escape recognition.
True, Monsieur Ingersoll had not gone to
Paris; but Barbe had told him of the journey to Concarneau,
and everyone in Pont Aven knew of Yvonne's
close attendance on Madame Carmac. Moreover, did
not Monsieur Ingersoll show terrible anger because of
// 141.png
an unhappy reference to the likeness between his daughter
and the American lady, and had not Peridot himself
promised to lie like a gendarme if any questions
were asked? Now was his chance to serve a generous
patron. This little fox of a man, with beady eyes and
cruel mouth, had come there to pry! Very well--he
should go away stuffed with information!

All this required but a fraction of a second to flash
across a lively French brain.

"Monsieur Ingersoll is a widower, Monsieur."
Peridot was merely stepping back in order to jump
farther.

"Ah, yes. I have heard that. His wife died before
he came to Pont Aven, I suppose?"

"Oh, no, Monsieur. Poor lady! I knew her well!
Her last words to me were, 'Peridot, you were born
with a caul, and will never be drowned; so promise me
that when my husband and little Yvonne go to sea you
will always be with them.' You see, she went off in a
consumption, and----"

"Pardon!" interrupted Raymond, sorely chagrined
by the immense significance of the fisherman's words,
supposing he had followed their meaning correctly.
"Will you be good enough to speak more slowly?
What were you born with?"

"<i>Une coiffe d'enfant, Monsieur.</i>"

Raymond knew neither the word nor the curious
superstition attached to it; but he caught the one
thing of vital interest. "So Madame Ingersoll lived
// 142.png
in Pont Aven?" he went on, and his rancorous tone betrayed
venom and disappointment.

Peridot, convinced now that he was doing the artist
a good turn, gave full play to his imagination.

"Certainly, Monsieur," he said. "Never was there
a more devoted couple. Quite a romance, their courting!
She was a fine lady, as anyone can see with half
an eye by squinting at her daughter, and he a poor
artist. Her people used to come in the summer to a
château nearby, and one day when they met he gave
her a beautiful pink rose. Her mother was angry, and
made her throw the flower away; but an artist was not
to be bested by any nose-tilted mama. He knew that
they went to the church at Nizon; so he made a paper
rose, and borrowed a ladder, and stuck the token between
the topmost stones of an arch in the church right
above their heads, so that pretty Mademoiselle Adrienne
must see it when she lifted her eyes to Heaven.
There was a lot of talk about that rose, and no one
except the girl guessed who put it there. If you care
to walk out to Nizon, Monsieur, you'll see the faded
leaves stuck in the arch to this day. Of course I can't
vouch for the tale; but the fact that it is told of those
two shows what devoted lovers they were."

"Is Madame Ingersoll buried at Nizon?"

That was Raymond's last despairing effort. The
fisherman's story tallied accurately with Mrs. Carmac's
version of a sister's marriage and a family
quarrel.

Peridot thought he had gone far enough: his next
// 143.png
effort showed less exuberance. "No, Monsieur," he
said, with a solemn wagging of his head, "when she
died she was taken back to her own people, somewhere
near Paris."

"Was she a Frenchwoman, then?"

"French and American, I believe, Monsieur. Spoke
both languages like a native."

Utterly disheartened, Raymond made off. The fortune
he had seen within his grasp had melted into thin
air.

.tb

Peridot gazed after him, and pursed his lips.
"Now I wonder what mischief that fellow is up to?"
he mused.

"Jean," said his mother, "come and eat; but first
ask the good Lord to save you from choking."

"Why, Mother?"

"Because of the lies you told that gentleman. And
that yarn about the rose at Nizon!"

"What business is it of his who Mademoiselle
Yvonne's mother was, or where she lived, or when she
died?"

"But everyone in Pont Aven knows that Monsieur
Ingersoll came here from Paris with the little one. And
we women have often said to one another it was strange
that never a word was uttered about his wife, whether
she was alive or dead."

"Then it is high time someone spoke of the lady,
and I gave her an excellent character today. All I
hope is that it suffices."
// 144.png

It did nearly suffice. But for the tongue of a garrulous
woman, Harvey Raymond would have given his
close attention to matters that he might rightly deem
of more pressing and immediate interest; the salving
of the Stella's belongings, for instance, which came
to his knowledge almost accidentally.

The more he reflected on Peridot's scraps of history
the more he was convinced that he had found a mare's
nest, despite Mrs. Carmac's extraordinary outburst in
the Hirondelle's cabin. Exhausted and pain-tortured
though he had been, he could still distinguish between
the raving of dementia and the ungoverned cry of a
soul just snatched from death and startled beyond
measure by the apparition of a long-forgotten
daughter.

Nevertheless he must have been mistaken. Mrs. Carmac
had given way to a delusion. He knew that the
absence of children had provided the only sorrow in
the lives of a most devoted couple, and the thought had
evidently taken a subconscious form in the mind of a
woman whose faculties were bemused by cold and fear.
Reviewing matters in the new light vouchsafed by the
garrulous Breton, he saw that nearly every circumstance
bore out the theory that Mrs. Carmac and the
late Mrs. Ingersoll were sisters. Ingersoll's thoughtfulness
in sending Tollemache with a message concerning
the peculiarities of French law (the legal procedure
with regard to the dead man had been intrusted to a
local notary), the fact that the niece visited her aunt,
and now the crushing discovery that the girl's mother
// 145.png
was actually remembered in the village, seemed to put
completely out of court any wild theory of an invalid
marriage following an American divorce.

Of course if such a thing could be proved, if Carmac's
English will could be upset in favor of Rupert
Fosdyke, above all if Harvey Raymond alone knew
the whole truth, and could wring stiff terms from Fosdyke
before the latter so much as guessed at the
grounds for a successful claim, then indeed a new era
would open up before the eyes of one who hungered
for wealth without having a spark of the genius that
might create it honestly.

He was of that large and increasing class which is in
many respects the worst product of modern social conditions.
He had little to do, was well paid, and traveled
far and wide, because Mr. and Mrs. Carmac were restless
beings, and seldom lived more than three months
of each year on the delightful estate they owned in
Surrey. Nevertheless a canker of discontent had eaten
into his moral fiber. He was a disappointed man, unscrupulous,
greedy, a potential blackmailer.

Mrs. Carmac disliked him, he knew; yet she was
retaining his services. That was a puzzle. He must
be wary and alert. If not a prior marriage, there was
<i>something</i>. He must probe and delve into the past.
Somehow, somewhere, he would unearth a guarded
secret.

.tb

Luck would have it that he met Captain Popple,
standing on the "terrace," with his hands in his
// 146.png
pockets and a pipe clenched between his teeth, gazing
up at the sky.

"Good day, Sir," said the sailor. "Glad to see
yer movin' around. Now if I could on'y figure out
the lingo they talk in Pont Aven, I'd swap idees
on the weather with any old charac-ter I saw at
anchor."

"What is it you want to know, Captain?" said
Raymond, hailing the other's presence as a relief from
somber thoughts.

"Well, to my thinkin', the weather's goin' to clear.
The wind's a trifle steadier, and gone round a point to
east'ard. At this time o' year that means a risin' glass
an' frost."

"A frost would be more cheerful, certainly, than a
gale howling about the chimneys."

"The sea will fall too. A couple of tides should
iron it out, an' I'll have a peep at that reef."

"But why?"

"Mrs. Carmac's orders, Sir. I'm to spare no expense
in searchin' for some boxes an' other oddments."

Raymond turned abruptly, and walked to a garden
seat beneath the window of the hotel dining room. He
moved with a curious swing of the legs, as though his
knees were unequal to the task of supporting his body.

Popple followed hastily. "W'at's up?" he cried.
"Are ye feelin' bad? Been doin' too much, I s'pose."

"No. It's nothing. Could you--call a maid? If
I have a sip of brandy--and rest awhile--the weakness
will pass."
// 147.png

The skipper bustled into the hotel and found a
waitress. "Cognac--queek!" he said.

The girl smiled. She understood fully.

"<i>Oui, Monsieur</i>," she said.

But Popple deemed the matter urgent. "Gentleman
eel--vare seek," he insisted.

"Yes, Sir," said the maid, to her hearer's profound
surprise. "I've got you. I'll be along before you can
say 'knife.'"

"Sink me!" roared Popple. "Here have I been
spittin' French all this time, an' you can sling the
right stuff at me in that style!"

He received another broad smile, and the linguist
vanished. Thenceforth the two held long conversations
when they met; but some days elapsed before
Popple realized that the chat was rather one-sided.
The girl had been taught a few slang
phrases by an American artist, which, together
with a fairly comprehensive knowledge of the average
tourist's requirements, completed her vocabulary.

.tb

"Lord love a duck, but it's a treat to hear honest
English once more!" he said, returning to Raymond,
whose pinched face was a ghastly yellow. "How are
ye now, Sir? Gettin' over it?"

"Yes. I'm not what you would regard as robust,
Captain, and Thursday afternoon's experiences placed
a severe strain on my powers of resistance. Did you
say you expected a frost? The weather is quite mild
// 148.png
today, don't you think? Sit down, and join me in a
drink when the brandy comes."

"Don't mind if I do, Sir. But are you sure you
oughtn't to be in bed?"

"Quite sure. I walked a little too far, and I find
these hills trying--that is all. Ah, here comes Marie
with the medicine."

"Is that your name--Marie?" inquired Popple,
eying the girl admiringly.

"Yes, Sir," and a pair of fine Breton brown eyes
sparkled.

"An' very nice too!" said he. "Mighty fetchin'
rig the gals have in this part," he went on, pouring
out some brandy for Raymond, which the latter drank
neat. "They look like so many dandy housemaids got
up for a fancy ball. Now, if my old woman could see
me makin' googoo eyes at a tasty bit like Marie--well,
there'd be a double entry in the family log."

"What's this nonsense that Mrs. Carmac has got
into her head about salving certain articles from the
Stella?" said Raymond, whose voice had regained its
normal harshness of tone. Small men usually have
strong voices. Your giant of a fellow will pipe in a
childish treble.

"Why do you say it's nonsense, Sir?" demanded
Popple sharply.

"What else can it be? Salvage, in relation to a
yacht pounded to pieces on an exposed reef two days
ago! I don't think 'nonsense' too strong a term."

"It wouldn't be if every mortal thing had been
// 149.png
bangin' on those rocks ever since. But the Stella was
partin' amidships afore we were clear of her. She'd
slip over into deep water within a few minutes, an' lie
there quiet enough. Anyhow, them's my orders."

Raymond might be cantankerous because of his disablement;
but Popple had suddenly remembered that
Mrs. Carmac had resented the secretary's earlier interference.
Raymond, however, helped to smooth over
the difficulty.

"Of course I am only expressing an opinion," he
said. "I admit it is not worth much. A little while
ago I was speaking to Larraidou, the fisherman whom
people here call Peridot, you know, and had I known
then of your project I should have asked him what he
thought of it."

"The sea is one big mystery, an' that's a fact," said
Popple, refilling his pipe, and nodding his head to emphasize
a bit of sententious philosophy born of experience.
"It'll gobble up a ship, an' you'll never
find a scrap of timber or a life belt to tell you what's
become of her, an' in the next breath it'll show a thing
as plain as though it was writ in a book. A friend of
mine, skipper of a Hull trawler, missed a deckhand one
day, and no one knew what had become of him. That
night they shot the trawl in sixty fathom o' water,
an' brought up the man's body. That's w'at the
sea can do, Sir. Talk of women bein' fickle--they
ain't in it with the most changeable thing on this
earth."

Raymond poured out a second glass of brandy. "At
// 150.png
any rate, you'll not recover a dead body from the
Stella's wreckage," he said, with a ghastly grin.

"You never can tell," said Popple.

"But surely, Captain, you don't pretend that the
finding of a drowned sailor in a trawl net was other
than an accident?"

"That's as may be. S'pose some poor wastrel had
been charged with knockin' a matey on the head an'
chuckin' him overboard. The doctor's evidence would
clear him. Then it 'ud ha been providential."

"I shall refuse to believe that you will retrieve any
of the Stella's contents until I see them. Of course I
know why Mrs. Carmac is so anxious that the effort
should be made. There were thousands of pounds'
worth of pearls and diamonds in her jewelcase. One
pearl necklace alone cost ten thousand pounds many
years ago, and would fetch far more today."

"Queer you should mention that, Sir," commented
Popple.

"Why?" The question came with strange eagerness.
The prospect of salvage was either fascinating
or highly distasteful to Raymond.

"Because that's the one thing I shouldn't expect to
come across."

"You are speaking in riddles, Man. What have
you in your mind?"

Popple turned a mildly inquiring eye on this testy
companion. He thought, "That drop o' spirit has
gone the wrong way, my friend." But what he said
was, "I was thinkin' of the sea's whims. It'll hide a
// 151.png
six-decked liner an' give up a corpse. If Mrs. Carmac
was keen set on pickin' up a pair o' scissors, I'd back
them to turn up as ag'in' your ten-thousand-pound
necklace. Mebbe that's a silly thing to say in this
case. Her jew'ls are in a locked box, an' a strong one
at that, because I twigged her baggage when it kem
aboard, an' the lot was built for hard wear. But there
you are! I'll take care she has a look at the stuff we
find, an' that ends my job."

"You can count on me, Captain, for all the assistance
I can render," said Raymond, and the subject
dropped.

.tb

"By the way," he went on, adopting the most nonchalant
tone he could command, "have you met Mrs.
Carmac's niece since we came ashore?"

"Me, Sir? No. Didn't know there was any such
young woman."

"You have not been told, then, that Mrs. Carmac
found a long-lost niece in Miss Yvonne Ingersoll?"

Popple slapped a stout thigh, and his eyes rounded
in surprise. "Sink me! but that explains it!" he
cried.

"Explains what?"

"I wondered where I had seen the girl in bib an'
tucker afore."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, these here caps an' streamers an' tickle-me
aprons do make a heap of difference! Now what in
the world will she think of me? I've passed her a
// 152.png
dozen times without ever a 'Thank you, Miss,' or a
touch of me hat. Dash my buttons! I thought my
eyes were sharper'n that! Of course she was wrapped
in a sou'wester an' oilskin the other day, an' so was
Mrs. Carmac; so I piped the likeness then, an' even
spoke of it to Mr. Ingersoll. But I must ha been
rattled when I was in Mrs. Carmac's room a bit since.
Of course I remember now. That was her, right
enough."

"Would you mind telling me what you are rambling
about, Captain Popple?"

Popple grinned. "There's a pair of us, Mr. Raymond,"
he cried. "You don't seem to know much
about the lady, either. You met her on the stairs
when you went to see Mrs. Carmac, because I happened
to notice that she kem down as you went up."

"A girl in Breton costume?"

"That's it. She's lived here since she was a baby, an'
I s'pose she took to the village ways."

Raymond was so astounded by a fact that, after
all, was not of vital importance, that he put the next
question literally to gain time for the readjustment
of his ideas. "You have heard something of her history,
then?"

"Oh, ay. She an' her father are well thought of in
Pont Aven. A lady who's stayin' in there," and he
jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the hotel,
"tole me all about the pair of 'em. Mr. Ingersoll is
by way of bein' a great hand at paintin'; but he settled
down in this little spot nearly nineteen years ago,
// 153.png
and has never left it. Miss Yvonne would be a baby
then; but she's grown into a damn fine young woman
since--an' she ain't the on'y one in the parish, if I'm
any judge."

"Mr. Ingersoll lost his wife here. That probably
accounts for his wish to remain."

Popple's face creased in a frown of perplexity.
"That isn't w'at the lady said," he explained. "Her
story was that Mrs. Ingersoll died in Paris, probably
when the baby was born. Anyhow, no one in Pont
Aven had ever seen her, as she axed particular. Not
that it could ha been any business of hers, but a woman
likes to ferret out every atom of gossip, an' there's
bound to be a lot of talk about any girl as good lookin'
as Miss Ingersoll."

Popple little guessed--he never knew--what a tornado
he let loose by those words. "Dear me! Dear
me! How very curious!" gasped Raymond.

.tb

And at that moment Yvonne herself came across the
Place from Le Sellin's, having undergone a process of
"fitting" to which her mother was unequal. The two
were alike even in height and figure. If anything, Mrs.
Carmac was rather more slender than her daughter,
because the girl's muscles were well developed by long
walks and plenty of exercise in an outrigger, whereas
the older woman had been self-indulgent and frail all
her life.

Both men stood up. She noticed their action, and
protested smilingly.
// 154.png

"Please don't rise, Mr. Raymond," she said. "I
hope you don't think I have neglected you, but I have
inquired from Dr. Garnier several times as to your
well-being, and I knew you were in good hands here,
while my own time has been occupied in looking after
Mrs. Carmac, who was really very ill until this morning.
As for you, Captain Popple, I didn't need to glance
twice at you to see that a small thing like a shipwreck
hadn't disturbed you in the least."

"Miss," said Popple, "you'll believe me, I know,
when I say I didn't reckernize you upstairs. Sink me!
I couldn't imagine that any young lady could look so
pretty in two different ways."

She laughed delightedly, for the first time since the
doleful twin sisters, Sorrow and Suffering, had discovered
her. "Now I understand why a sailor has a lass
in every port," she said. "You cannot fail to be a
success with the girls if you talk to them in that
fashion."

Popple had never before been accused of being a
ladykiller. He grinned, and his red face grew purple.
"Me, Miss?" he cried. "Bless your little heart! I
was on'y tellin' the solemn truth. You looked like a
seafarin' angel when I saw you through the scud an'
spray dashin' over that reef. An' now--well, if the
folk hereabout want to advertise Pont Aven, they ought
to put you on a poster."

"Captain, I must not have my head turned by such
compliments. Wait till Tuesday, our market day,
and you will meet dozens of girls who put me in
// 155.png
the shade. Is your arm fairly comfortable, Mr.
Raymond?"

The secretary, whose eyes had glowered on every unstudied
poise and trick of expression that stamped
Yvonne as Mrs. Carmac's daughter, even to a markedly
clear enunciation, and an almost coquettish sidelong
glance when specially amused, had been given time to
collect his faculties by Popple's tribute of admiration.

"Yes, thank you, Miss Ingersoll," he said, striving
to tune his harsh voice to a note of reverential courtesy.
"If I possessed Captain Popple's gift of speech, I
should try to vie with him in imagery. May I say that
I have always considered Mrs. Carmac as one of the
most strikingly handsome women I have ever seen, so
I can well appreciate the fact that you are her niece?"

"Lorry," cried the smiling girl, "come out here and
tell these flatterers how horrid I can be at times!"

Raymond turned so quickly that he wrenched his
arm slightly, and was hard put to it to suppress a
groan. Tollemache was standing at the open window
directly behind the seat that Popple and himself had
occupied. How long had he been there? What had he
heard? Certainly the path of the evildoer was not being
made smooth, and the scheming secretary had experienced
various thrills in the course of one short hour.

"Mr. Raymond is a shrewd judge of womankind, I
am sure," said Tollemache quietly, "and he would
never accept my estimate of you, Yvonne. Will you
be home for tea? And may I come? I have some news
for you."
// 156.png

Yvonne simply announced that he would find her at
the cottage about four o'clock. Then, with a hand-wave
to her friend and a graceful bow to the others,
she hurried to the annex, running into Peridot as she
went.

.tb

"<i>Ah, bon jour, Ma'mselle!</i>" he cried, smiling broadly
and flourishing his cap. "Did Monsieur Tollemache
tell you what a fool I made of myself the other night?"

"No," she said. "Nothing Monsieur Tollemache
could say would shake my high opinion of you. How
is Madeleine? I haven't seen her since the supper
party."

"Neither have I, Ma'mselle," and the merry Breton
face suddenly became woebegone.

"What, then? Have you quarreled?"

"She too was vexed with me."

"I'll put that right, Peridot. <i>Kenavo.</i>" [Breton
for "Au revoir."]

"<i>Kenavo, Ma'mselle</i>," and Peridot strolled toward
the quay, but not without a sharp glance at the man
whom he had gulled so thoroughly.

"Lord love a duck!" sighed Popple. "I wish my
eddication hadn't been neglected when I was a nipper.
I wasn't brought up. I was fetched up. Just listen
to them two! Well, I'll bear in the direction of the
telegraph office. I'm expectin' a wire from Brest about
a diver. So long, Mr. Raymond!"

"Goodby, Captain. If you want me during the
next two hours, I shall be in my room."
// 157.png

Popple lumbered away, and Raymond would have
gone to the annex had he not been stayed by Tollemache.

"A word with you, Mr. Raymond. I want to explain
that Mr. Ingersoll and his daughter are my closest
friends."

The secretary wheeled round slowly. He had no fear
of this stalwart young American, whom he classed
with the well dressed, athletic, feather-brained "nuts"
of British society.

"I think you are to be envied," he said smilingly.

Tollemache did not smile. His frank features were
thought-laden and stern. Yvonne would have read his
expression unerringly. Lorry was troubled but determined.

"I am not parading the friendship for any other
reason than as a warning that I shall not tolerate any
prying into their affairs," he said, evidently choosing
the words with care.

Raymond affected vast astonishment. "If you overheard
the conversation between Captain Popple and
me, you must be aware that I knew little or nothing
about Mr. Ingersoll and Mademoiselle Yvonne," he
retorted.

"That wasn't your fault, I imagine."

"I don't understand what you are driving at. Suppose
I have shown some interest in them, isn't it reasonable--people
to whom I owe my life?"

"A most excellent sentiment, Mr. Raymond. Don't
forget it, and wander into bypaths, where you will
// 158.png
most certainly meet me. And I'm a big, hulking fellow,
you know, who is likely to block the way."

"Again I say that I have done nothing to deserve
the implied threat."

"And again I say that I'll lick the stuffing out of
anyone who so much as tries to annoy my friends."

"I have no wish to feel otherwise than exceedingly
grateful to them, and I cannot allow you or any other
person to dictate to me in the matter. Your remarks
are--incomprehensible."

Tollemache gave him no further reply than a steady
stare, which discomfited Raymond far more than any
words. With an angry sniff he abandoned the contest,
and walked unsteadily across the irregular cobble-stones
that paved the roadway.
// 159.png

.sp 4
.h2 id=chVIII
CHAPTER VIII||THE TIGHTENING OF THE NET
.sp 2

In the ordinary course of events the mortal remains
of Walter Carmac would have been inclosed in a leaden
shell and transhipped to the United States for burial.
But a woman's whim intervened. Mrs. Carmac suddenly
decreed that the interment should take place at Nizon.
Pont Aven possesses no cemetery of its own. Nizon,
perched on the plateau of a neighboring hill, provides
a final resting place for dwellers in the valley. Thither
was borne in state a huge casket containing the body
of the dead millionaire.

Such a funeral had not been seen at Pont Aven in
many a year. The village turned out en masse. By
that time everyone knew of the extraordinary coincidence
that brought Yvonne to the rescue of a wrecked
vessel that had her aunt on board. When the news
spread that the woman was immensely rich local interest
rose to boiling point.

Many and various, therefore, were the conjectures
of the crowd as soon as it was seen that the widow, who
insisted on attending the ceremony, was not accompanied
by her niece. She was escorted to a carriage
by her husband's nephew, a tall, slim, dark-featured
young man of aristocratic appearance. In a second
// 160.png
carriage were seated Bennett, the lawyer, head of the
firm of Bennett, Son & Hoyle, an elderly man who had
conveyancing and mortgage stamped on his shrewd yet
kindly face; Captain Popple, hectic in a suit of black;
and Raymond, looking smaller and more dejected than
ever in his mourning attire. That was all, in so far
as relatives and friends were concerned.

The third and last carriage contained a local notary,
the mayor of Pont Aven, and Dr. Garnier.

Mrs. Carmac's unexpected decision that her husband
should be buried in Brittany was made known only
when it was impossible for others to come from a distance.
With one exception, the steward whose ankle
was sprained, the crew of the Stella had been sent to
England; so the millionaire was followed to the grave
by few who were acquainted with him in life. But the
village saw to it that the cortège lost nothing in dignity
or size. Gendarmes, custom house officials, and
various town functionaries marched behind the carriages.
Half a dozen sailors of the French marine
yielded to the national love of a spectacle, and fell into
line. Then came the townsfolk in serried ranks, the
Breton garb of men and women adding a semibarbaric
touch of color.

A Paris correspondent of a New York daily expressed
the opinion to a colleague that the bereaved
wife had acted right in burying her husband within
sight of the sea that had claimed him as a victim.

"At first," he said, "I thought it a somewhat peculiar
proceeding. Now I begin to understand. If I
// 161.png
had any choice in the matter, I should certainly
prefer to find my last home in this peaceful little spot
rather than fill lot number so-and-so in a crowded
cemetery."

"Tastes differ," said the other. "Personally I'd
like to have my ashes bottled and put in a window overlooking
Broadway. Who comes in for all the money?"

"The widow, I'm told."

"Doesn't young Fosdyke get a slice?"

"Don't know. No good trying to worm anything
out of Bennett."

"Fosdyke looks like a southern Frenchman. He's
English, I suppose?"

"Yes, by birth and residence. But his father was
an American,--came over with a racing crowd in the
'80's,--and married a pretty Creole."

"Oh, is that it?"

"Well, there's a drop of negro blood in the family;
away back, perhaps, but unmistakable. Did you ever
meet Carmac?"

"No."

"A tremendous fellow; but years ago he was as
thin as Fosdyke."

"How did they make their money?"

"Cotton, and backing the North during the Civil
War. That's why they left the States. The pure-blooded
Southerners didn't like 'em, anyway, and the
men who fought under Lee and Stonewall Jackson
would have tarred and feathered the whole tribe afterward."
// 162.png

"What's this I hear about a niece discovered in Pont
Aven by the lady?"

"Haven't you seen her?"

"No."

"Then take my advice, and quit by the next train.
You're too impressionable. One glimpse of her, and
your life's a wreck. She's the prettiest ever."

"Why isn't she here today?"

"Ask me another. But if I were Fosdyke, I'd be
in no hurry to rush back to smoky London. By hook
or by crook I'd keep Uncle's money in the family."

.tb

This well informed cynic had not gone an inch beyond
the known facts concerning the Carmacs. At
twenty-five the man now dead was endowed with that
peculiar quality of looks which is often the heritage
of men and women of mixed descent, when all other
traces of a negroid strain are eliminated save the black
and plentiful hair, the brilliant eyes, the strong white
teeth, a supple frame, and a definite thickness of
skin which makes for perfect complexion and coloring.

As Walter Carmac had been in youth so was his
nephew now. Rupert Fosdyke had often been described
as "the best-looking man in London society." The
tribute came from the opposite sex. Men, for the most
part, disliked him because of his egregious vanity.
But he was no carpet knight. He played polo regularly
at Ranelagh, was a keen fox hunter, and had
ridden his own horses in steeplechases at Warwick,
// 163.png
Leamington, and other county fixtures. He was a
prominent "first nighter" in theatrical circles, and
knew a great many musical comedy celebrities by abbreviated
versions of their assumed Christian names.
This latter weakness had brought him into court as a
principal in a somewhat notorious breach of promise
case, and his uncle and he had quarreled irrevocably
on that occasion.

Rupert regarded the older man as a philanthropic
"muff," and dared to tell him so, though such candor
was likely to prove expensive. His own income was
ten thousand dollars a year, provided by trustees of his
mother's estate. He contrived only to exist on this
sum, and would not have been guilty of the folly of
alienating a millionaire uncle, who had no heir, but for
the onerous conditions laid down for his future career.
He was to abandon the "fast set," take Raymond's
place as Carmac's secretary, and marry.

Rupert laughed derisively. "Goodby!" he said.
"Try again when I'm forty."

After that the two remained at arm's length. And
now the nephew was following his uncle's body to the
grave, and gazing with curiously introspective eyes at
the tiny panorama unfolded by the quaint old village
as the leading carriage moved slowly onward.

Singularly enough, he was a prominent figure in
Pont Aven that day. Not only was he discussed by the
multitude, but he was not wholly ignored by a gray-haired
man and a girl dressed in quiet tweed, who had
walked to the summit of the lofty spur that separates
// 164.png
Nizon from the Bois d'Amour, and were watching the
long procession climbing the Concarneau road.

.tb

Ingersoll had returned from Concarneau early that
morning. Yvonne, troubled in spirit because of certain
hints dropped by Mrs. Carmac, had written to her
father an urgent request to come home.

"Yvonne," said Ingersoll, breaking a long silence,
"why is Mrs. Carmac burying her husband here?"

"She has not told me, Dad, but I am beginning to
fear that she means to remain in Pont Aven."

The girl's voice was low and unemotional; but her
father was not deceived by its studious monotone. He
looked down at the village in which they had passed
so many peaceful years, at the cluster of sardine boats,--among
them the Hirondelle, laid up near the quay,--at
the tortuous river, thrusting its silvery bends ever
toward the open sea, at the favorite paths over the
gorse-clad shores, leading on the one hand to the
Château du Hénan and on the other to the Menhirs
and the hamlet of Rosbras. Those riverside walks
abounded in beauty spots. He had painted them all,
in many lights and in most seasons. They held a
perennial charm. He could have sketched each secluded
dell from memory with almost photographic accuracy,
and hardly made an error in the type of the
surrounding foliage, whether of lordly and treacherous
elms, or close-knit firs, or blossom-covered apple
trees.

"It is hard!" he said at last, almost unconsciously.
// 165.png

Yvonne heard, and her eyes grew dim. "It is more
than hard," she murmured. "It is thoughtless."

A fierce joy surged into her father's heart, yet he
only said softly, "We must find another hermitage, my
dear one."

"Why should we be driven out of the place we have
made our home?" she cried, yielding suddenly to the
overwhelming demand for a confidant. "My mother
has the wide world to choose from. Why should she
settle in Pont Aven? I am sorry for her, and she is
very lovable and gracious; but no power on earth can
part you and me, Dad. Oh, I have been so miserable
during these wretched days! I have had the wildest,
maddest thoughts. If only she had not made a new
life so impossible! She, my mother, another man's
wife!"

The sheer necessity of calming the girl's hysterical
outburst imposed a restraint on Ingersoll he was far
from feeling. "We need not contemplate heroic measures
today, at any rate," he soothed her. "Mrs. Carmac's
present mood supplies no warranty of her actions
next week or next month. Though she may seem
to have recovered from the strain of the wreck, probably
she is still very shaken and low-spirited. That
phase will pass. She has many interests elsewhere--and
few here. Moreover, you know me too well to
believe that I would forbid you ever to hear from or
see her again. That would be foolish, criminal. You
are a grown woman now, Yvonne. Life has revealed
some of its riddles, bared some of its brutal crudities.
// 166.png
I can never forget, strive as I might, that you have
met your mother. Let us bide a wee, Sweetheart. Let
us wait till you and your mother have discussed an
awkward situation openly. I gathered from your letters
that she is saddened and disillusioned, and I shall
be slow to believe that she really contemplates a permanent
residence in Pont Aven. She and I cannot dwell
in the same small village. If she stays, I go. Why,
then, should she wish to bury herself alive here?"

Yvonne dried her eyes. "I'm so glad I brought you
back, Dad," she said more cheerfully. "It is such a
relief to hear you tackling a problem that has nearly
driven me crazy. You see, I had no one to talk to. I
couldn't confide in Lorry; though I imagine he guesses
the truth----"

"Why do you think that?" broke in Ingersoll
quickly.

"It seems that some days ago he overheard a conversation
between Captain Popple and Mr. Raymond,
Mr. Carmac's secretary, the man whose arm was injured.
He was writing in the old dining room at
Julia's, and heard voices outside. At first he paid no
heed; but some reference to an attempt at salvage on
the wreck appeared to upset Mr. Raymond very considerably.
Then, when Mr. Raymond became calmer,
he led the talk round to us--to our history, I mean.
Some lady had given Captain Popple certain details
picked up from village gossips. The captain--quite
innocently, Lorry thought--corrected a silly story
which Mr. Raymond had got from Peridot, and Mr.
// 167.png
Raymond grew quite excited. Lorry has seen Peridot,
and finds that Mr. Raymond actually went to his cottage
and questioned him--about us. Peridot told him
some outrageous fibs----"

"He would," said Ingersoll, with a grim smile.

"Well, Lorry is such a loyal soul that he didn't hesitate
to warn Mr. Raymond very plainly that he must
mind his own business."

"Exactly what one might expect from Lorry
too."

"I don't attach much weight to Mr. Raymond's
prying, nor does Mrs. Carmac. I told her. Was that
right?"

"Quite right."

"But I couldn't help seeing that Lorry must have
formed some theory of his own, or he would never have
interfered."

"If Lorry were our only bugbear, our troubles would
be light. Have you met this Raymond?"

"Oh, yes. Often. He comes to Mrs. Carmac daily
for orders; though she or I have to write letters and
telegrams, as he can only print laboriously with his
left hand."

"Have you seen a good deal of Rupert Fosdyke?"

.tb

Now Yvonne had not mentioned Fosdyke's name in
her letters. She did not like him. Indeed, she mistrusted
him from the moment of their first meeting,
when the gallant Rupert favored her with a glance of
surprised admiration; which, however, faded into a
// 168.png
covert scrutiny on hearing that she was Mrs. Carmac's
niece.

Her sentiments toward this new-found "cousin" had
developed speedily from passive indifference into active
resentment of his ways. Of course there was nothing
in Pont Aven to interest an ultra "man about town";
so Fosdyke took to escorting Yvonne from the hotel
to Mère Pitou's cottage. At first she yielded out of
politeness. When the short promenade became an established
custom, and Fosdyke even called for her at
the hours she might be expected to visit her mother,
she was at a loss to know how to get rid of him. She
thought first of Tollemache; but instinct told her that
he and Fosdyke would mingle as amicably as fire and
oil, and with similar results. Then she sought the assistance
of Madeleine Demoret, and thereby added a
new burden to an already heavy load; for the village
girl became straightway infatuated about the handsome
stranger, and Fosdyke, who spoke French fluently,
took malicious pleasure in annoying the pretty prude,
as he classed Yvonne, by flirting with Madeleine.

No wonder, therefore, that the girl should have
longed for her father's company and protection;
though she looked at him now with an air of bewilderment.

"You know something of him, then?" she said,
searching the worn face with anxious eyes.

"I know his name. I attended his mother's wedding.
Indeed, why trouble to conceal the fact that it
was then I first saw your mother? She was a
// 169.png
brides-maid, a girl of fourteen, and already notable as a
musical prodigy. I did not meet her again for six
years, when her voice had given way, and she began to
dabble in art. Mr. and Mrs. Fosdyke brought their
little son to our wedding. He was an extraordinarily
pretty child, and almost attracted more attention than
the bride."

Ingersoll spoke in the tone of one who was recalling
the past without pain; but his glance followed the last
stragglers of the procession to Nizon,--Nizon, with
its finely carved Calvary, and its high-perched stone
cross bearing the tortured body of the Christ.

"Father dear," cried Yvonne impulsively, "I have
made up my mind. You are powerless; but I can act.
I will not have you harrowed and wounded at every
turn. You and I, together with Lorry and Peridot,
saved my mother's life. She must repay us by the only
means she possesses,--by conferring the freedom of
our own small Paradise."

"Yvonne," he sighed, "some day soon you will be
marrying."

.tb

Whereat the girl almost laughed. "No matter what
happens, that is the last thing I should dream of doing,"
she said.

"But why? It is the one thing that a girl of your
age should have mainly in mind. Even in this small
community, you might find a most excellent and
chivalric husband----"

"Meaning Lorry," said Yvonne, without hesitation.
// 170.png

"Well--yes."

"But--I don't care for Lorry--in that way."

"Has he ever asked you?"

"No. Once or twice, perhaps, he has hinted that
Barkis was willing. The last time was no later than
the day of the wreck."

"And what did you say?"

"I was nearly angry with him."

"You would prefer him, I suppose, to a man of the
Rupert Fosdyke type?"

"I loathe the sight of Rupert Fosdyke!"

"How has he offended you?"

"In no way that I can put into words. He is very
courteous, and quite a clever talker, and he tries to
make every woman he meets believe that she is the one
creature on earth he adores."

"Then poor Lorry, with his chummy slang and
abounding good conceit with himself and all the
world,--excepting this Mr. Raymond, I take it,--compares
but indifferently with the smooth-spoken
Rupert?"

"Lorry! He's a man! He's worth a million Fosdykes!"

Ingersoll, well pleased, adopted the sound policy of
leaving well enough alone. "Still, you have given me
no specific reason for your dislike of Fosdyke," he persisted.

"You read my mind too plainly, Dad," she protested,
smiling vexedly. "I didn't mean to tell you,
hoping matters would adjust themselves; as, indeed,
// 171.png
they may do now, if these invaders withdraw. But
Madeleine has quite lost her head over him."

"Madeleine Demoret!" Ingersoll was evidently
amazed, as well he might be, seeing that Breton maids
are less approachable by strangers than the girls of almost
any other nationality.

"Yes, and the worst thing is that I am to blame."

"But how can that be possible?"

"Mr. Fosdyke arrived here last Saturday, and of
course I was introduced to him as Mrs. Carmac's niece.
The necessity for any such pretense is rather hateful,
and he did not render it more acceptable by claiming
me as a cousin. Really, Dad, with the slightest encouragement
on my part, he would have kissed me!"

"Shocking!" said Ingersoll.

"Father dear, don't make fun of me. His cousinly
kiss would have burnt my cheek."

"I can't profess fierce indignation because a young
man tried to seize a good opportunity to kiss a pretty
young woman."

"Well, he didn't dare make the attempt," declared
Yvonne spiritedly. "He realized at once that I would
have slapped his face soundly for his pains."

"But are you serious about Madeleine? I mean,
rather, do you think she is really enamored of him,
or merely showing off for Peridot's benefit?"

"So serious that I am profoundly thankful the settled
weather has kept Peridot at sea."

"Do they meet frequently?"

"I hate suspecting people, Dad; so I can only say
// 172.png
that I don't know. Let us get away from all this
worry for a day. Send Barbe for Lorry, and ask him
to <i>déjeuner</i>. Then the three of us will walk by the
Belon road to Moëlan, and have tea at the inn. It will
do us a heap of good."

.tb

Mrs. Carmac, after a burst of hysterical sobbing
which her nephew tried to stop by a few conventional
words of sympathy, subsided into even more exasperating
silence as the carriage rolled back from Nizon.
Fosdyke, being an egotist, did not exert himself to
console her; he was, indeed, profoundly relieved when
the wretched journey came to an end. He helped his
aunt to alight, but did not attempt to escort her into
the annex. Instead he waited until the second carriage
drove up, and Bennett appeared.

"Am I wanted for any formalities?" he inquired
offhandedly.

"Not at present, Mr. Fosdyke," was the quiet answer.

"Isn't it customary that the will should be read
after the funeral?"

"Yes, if it is available."

"Surely my uncle did not die intestate?" The question
was shot out with a fiery eagerness that showed
how joyfully any indication of the absence of a will
would have been received.

"No," said Bennett, after a pause. "Mr. Carmac's
will, in duplicate, is lodged in my office and at his bank.
I did not bring my copy, as I had no reason to believe
// 173.png
that events would shape themselves as they have done.
But a confidential clerk is on the way with the document.
He telegraphed from St. Malo this morning
that he had caught a train that should reach Pont
Aven about half past four this afternoon. At five
o'clock, if convenient to you, I suggest that we meet
in Mrs. Carmac's rooms."

Then Fosdyke knew that the gray-haired lawyer had
been playing with him; but he only said airily, "Such
distractions as seem to flourish in Pont Aven will probably
leave me at liberty about the time you name, Mr.
Bennett."

The lawyer nodded, kept a stiff upper lip, and followed
Mrs. Carmac.

"The old fox!" growled Fosdyke savagely, careless
who heard him. "I'll bet good money he has feathered
his own nest all right!"

The mayor, the doctor, and the notary, who had
descended close at hand, wondered what had put this
elegant young gentleman into a temper. Raymond
and Popple understood well enough, but said nothing.

"I suppose you ought to invite these local gentlemen
to take a glass of wine?" suggested the secretary.

"I'll see them boiled first!" was the amiable answer.

Then Raymond, in his slow French, gave the invitation
on his own behalf; but the Pont Aven men were
not slow-witted, and courteously excused their further
attendance.

"I've a notion that a gargle of some sort wouldn't
come amiss," observed Popple thoughtfully.
// 174.png

"I can't drink now," fumed Fosdyke. "Raymond,
a word with you!"

Raymond, however, had been furtively engaged in
taking stock of Rupert Fosdyke during the last few
days.

"Sorry," he said, "but our chat must be postponed.
Mrs. Carmac would be exceedingly annoyed if she
heard that we were inhospitable. You ought not to
have spoken the way you did before those French gentlemen.
It was distinctly bad form."

If a timid hare coursed by a greyhound were suddenly
to turn and admonish its pursuer, the dog would
hardly be more surprised than Fosdyke when this queer-looking
little secretary dared to chide him. He was
so completely taken aback that he laughed.

"I guess you're right," he said. "Order a bottle
of champagne. I'll ask those fellows to dinner,
and do them well. Then they'll forgive me. Lead on,
Macduff! And cursed be he who first cries 'Hold!
Enough!'"

Fosdyke's changed mood was distinctly more agreeable.
Popple, for one, deemed him a rather peppery
young gentleman, but none the worse because he spoke
out freely.

.tb

"Life's a rum thing, anyhow," said the skipper,
when the three were seated in the dining room of the
hotel, which was otherwise empty. "About this very
hour this day week the Stella was makin' bad weather
of it off some little islands north of the Aven. I wanted
// 175.png
to put in here; but Mrs. Carmac wouldn't hear of it.
I must push on for Lorient, she said--an' the pore
gentleman we've just planted on top of the hill there
was chaffin' her about bein' afraid o' spooks. Sink
me! Who's the spook now?"

"I don't see what ghosts had to do with Pont Aven,"
said Fosdyke sharply.

"Neither do I, Sir," said Popple. "It was a funny
remark, look at it any way you like."

"Both of you seem to forget Mrs. Carmac's niece,"
put in Raymond suavely. The conversation had suddenly
taken a dangerous turn, and it must be headed
deftly into a safer channel.

"What of her?" demanded Fosdyke.

"Well, she represents the family disagreement which
estranged Mrs. Carmac and the late Mrs. Ingersoll.
You see, Mr. Fosdyke, your aunt was aware that her
sister lived here, but evidently did not know she was
dead. That fact would account for her disinclination
to visit Pont Aven. In a word, Fate drove us on to
that wretched reef, which you, Captain, will see more
of if this fine weather lasts. How goes the salvage
scheme?"

"I've got a diver, an' the right sort of craft to stand
by. Has its own steam, an' a derrick, an' it'll be alongside
Les Verrés at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. I'm
sorry I can't find that chap Peridot. They tell me
he's away with the fishin' fleet; but some of the boats
may come in by tonight's tide."

"What is there to salve?" said Fosdyke.
// 176.png

"Banknotes, an' jew'lry, an' dockyments," said
Popple.

"Rather a wild-goose chase, isn't it?"

"That is a point on which our worthy friend and I
differ," put in the secretary. "I bow to his superior
judgment, of course; but I shall be vastly surprised if
he brings ashore anything worth having."

"It's a bit of a handicap not havin' Peridot,"
grumbled the sailor.

"Who is Peridot?" demanded Fosdyke.

"A Breton, whom Mr. Ingersoll employs occasionally
on his cutter," explained Raymond. "He, and
an American named Tollemache, together with Mr. Ingersoll
and his daughter, were concerned in the
rescue."

"Mighty lucky thing for the rest of you that they
were at sea that day," commented Fosdyke, with a
certain viciousness born of a thought that had darted
through his mind. "It was a close call, I'm told. Two
minutes after the last man was taken off the Stella
smashed up."

Raymond smiled. He knew exactly what this dutiful
nephew was thinking. Had the Stella been lost with
all on board, there would have been some chance of
the Carmac estate passing to nephew and nieces, notwithstanding
the will. Mrs. Carmac might have been
legally presumed to have died first, or, failing that,
her relatives might have remained unknown.

"Mrs. Carmac means to present Peridot with a sardine
boat of his own," he said, waiting until Fosdyke
// 177.png
was surfeited with the gall of his own evil notion.
"Then," he went on, gazing contemplatively at a cart
laden with casks of cider lumbering across the square,
"then, I am given to understand, Peridot will marry a
girl named Madeleine Demoret, and settle down in prosperity
and content."

There was a pause. Captain Popple, who really had
no reason to complain of any deficiency of vision, either
literal or figurative, poured out another glass of champagne,
and watched the wine creaming.

"This fortunate person, Peridot, owns a queer
name," said Fosdyke, surveying the secretary with a
steady scrutiny. "Isn't a <i>peridot</i> a precious stone of
sorts?"

"Yes; but his real name is Larraidou. The other
is only a nickname, arising from the curious color of
his eyes. He's by way of being a humorist too; though
I fancy he could reveal a very ugly disposition if
roused."

"Humor of any variety is surely out of place in
Pont Aven," said Fosdyke. "Here's to Peridot remaining
several more days with the fishing fleet--and
damn his eyes!" He rose and went out.

"Affable kind o' young gent, that," commented
Popple. "A trifle quick on the trigger, though. I
was glad to hear you touchin' him up a bit, Sir. You
did it neatly--twice, an' all."

"Twice?" Raymond affected astonishment.

But Popple was a wary bird too. "No business of
mine, anyhow," he said shortly, and, finishing his wine
// 178.png
with a gulp, betook himself upstairs, where the injured
steward was still confined to his bedroom.

.tb

The sprained ankle had proved awkward; practically
it amounted to a dislocation, and Dr. Garnier would not
yet allow the patient to put the injured foot on the
ground. A cheerful little Cockney, the steward had
interested Yvonne at once by his happy-go-lucky demeanor
when brought on board the Hirondelle. Each
day she had visited him for a few minutes. Tollemache
seldom passed without exchanging a few lively words
with him, and he was a positive godsend to Popple.

"Well, Harry my boy, how goes it?" was the
skipper's greeting.

The invalid was sitting up in an easy chair, placed
in front of a low window. Thus he could gaze into
the square beneath, and see its whole extent. In summer
the dense foliage of the sycamores would have
blocked the view; but in mid-December their bare
branches hid nothing.

"Fine, Cap'n," he answered. "Mr. Tollemache tole
me the doctor said I might hop downstairs tomorrow.
This d'y week I'll be leggin' it back to England, 'ome,
an' work."

"Mebbe, an' mebbe not," said Popple, settling his
bulk into another chair, and beginning to fill a pipe.

"'Strewth, Cap'n, you're the larst man I'd tike for a
Job's comforter," said the steward.

"W'at's the rush?"

"No rush; but I'm goin' along all right, an' 'er
// 179.png
Lydyship won't want to keep a chap like me 'angin'
abart."

"S'pose you get a job here?"

"Now, I arsk you, Cap'n, w'at can I do in a plice
where they tork neither French nor English? I'd be
a byby among 'em--a silly byby."

"This salvage business may last a bit. If you like,
I'll ax Mrs. Carmac to put your name on the books."

"Cap'n, d'y mean it? Well, you are a brick! It'll
help a lot if I earn a quid or two while I'm crocked.
I've been thinkin' abart this salvage idee. W'at's behind
it?"

"Just pickin' up any odds an' ends we come across.
But that's a funny question. Got something in your
noddle?"

"Nothink, Cap'n. On'y it struck me that w'at between
sea an' rock the Stella must be pretty well dished
by this time."

"Everybody says that," growled Popple. "An'
that's just why I've a fixed notion we'll find more'n
anyone bargains for."

He was busy with his pipe, which refused to draw
freely, so failed to perceive that the steward was gazing
out into the square with a curiously brooding stare.
Harry Jackson had been taught by a hard world not
to blurt out everything he knew.

"Harry," said Popple suddenly, "would ye like a
tonic?"

"Would a duck swim, Cap'n?" said Harry instantly.
// 180.png

"There was a glass or two left in a bottle of the
boy downstairs. 'Arf a mo! I'll ax Marie if it's still
on tap."

Harry stared again out of the window. This time
his glance followed Harvey Raymond, who was strolling
toward the bridge. He watched the secretary's
thin figure, its ungainliness being somewhat enhanced
by the stiffly bandaged arm, until Popple returned in
triumph with nearly a pint of champagne and a wine-glass.

"There you are, Son!" he cried joyously. "Put
that where the cat can't get it. You're drinkin' Mr.
Raymond's health."

"Am I?" said Harry. "Then, 'ere's to him, the
swab!"

"Hullo! Don't you like him?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"'E ain't my sort, Cap'n. Monkey-fice, we chaps
forrard used to call 'im."

"Sink me! You didn't see much of him."

"Didn't need to. 'E's the kind o' jumped-up snotty
who torks to men beneath 'im as if they was dawgs.
When a real toff calls me 'Jackson' I s'y 'Yes, Sir';
but when that blighter did the sime thing I wanted to
bung 'im one in the jawr."

"Well, I'm dashed!" breathed Popple, surveying his
friend with manifest approval. "Now, who'd ha
thought he'd stirred you up in that way? Between
you an' me, Harry, I'm not too fond of him meself.
// 181.png
I suspicioned that Mrs. Carmac meant to fire him last
week; but I was mistaken. Anyhow, 'Live an' let live'
is my policy. So long as he doesn't interfere with me,
I'll leave him alone."

"Sime 'ere," agreed Jackson.

.tb

Mrs. Carmac passed a restless afternoon. Twice she
summoned her maid, Celeste, who had come from Paris
on receipt of a telegram, meaning to send that discreet
tirewoman for Yvonne, yet twice changed her mind.

As the hour fixed by Bennett drew near, she felt
more reconciled to Yvonne's prolonged absence. She
was beginning to realize the perplexities and embarrassments
to which her daughter was being subjected daily.

The lawyer was first to arrive. "I am glad of the
opportunity of having a word with you in private," he
said. "Of course you are acquainted with the disposition
your husband made of his estate; but Rupert Fosdyke
may be disagreeably surprised. If he protests,
do not be drawn into argument. Please leave matters
in my hands."

"Am I to say nothing at all?" she demanded.

"Nothing controversial. If he blusters, and asks
questions, refer him to me."

"He knows already that Walter viewed his--what
shall I call them?--social entanglements with disfavor."

"Yes. For all that, he may be hoping for more
than he will get."

"Wouldn't it be wise to soften the blow by an act
of voluntary generosity?"
// 182.png

Bennett shook his head. "It would be construed
rather as weakness than as strength," he said. "Fosdyke
is not poor. On ten thousand dollars a year a
man can live very comfortably, even in society. An
extra couple of thousand will keep his hunters or run
a car. No, Mrs. Carmac. Your husband's intentions
are set forth very clearly, and I advise you not to
depart from them in the slightest particular."

Five o'clock came and passed; but Fosdyke did not
put in an appearance. They waited ten minutes, and
the lawyer was about to suggest that the will should
be read without more delay when a hasty step on the
stairs and an imperative knock on the door announced
the errant one's advent.

.tb

He apologized gracefully enough. "I went for a
stroll," he said, "and missed my way in the dark. I
hope I have not kept you waiting?"

"It did not matter, Rupert," said Mrs. Carmac.

"Well, now that we have come together, suppose
we get to business," said the lawyer, unfastening a
brief bag and extracting from its depths a bulky
parchment. He began reading at once. Mrs. Carmac
sat very still, a listener whose thoughts hardly kept
pace with the loud-sounding legal jargon. Fosdyke,
however, followed every word attentively. First in
order was a long list of bequests to various institutions,
and legacies or annuities to servants. Annuities of
five thousand dollars a year to each of Carmac's two
nieces succeeded. Then came a personal reference:
// 183.png

.in +4
.ll -4
"To my nephew, Rupert Fosdyke, I give and bequeath the sum
of two thousand five hundred dollars per annum during his life.
This sum is to be increased to ten thousand dollars per annum on his
marriage, provided that such marriage takes place within two years
after my death, unless a postponement is rendered necessary by unavoidable
circumstances which the trustees of this my will shall
deem sufficient cause for an extension of the said period of two years,
and provided also that the said trustees shall approve of the person
he marries. Such approval should not be withheld unreasonably; but
nothing in this testament shall be regarded as interfering with or
controlling the absolute discretion of the said trustees."

.in -4
.ll +4

There was no hint of tremor or emphasis in Bennett's
tone as he recited that onerous clause. He
treated Fosdyke's legacy with the same sangfroid he
had displayed in detailing a bequest of fifty-two pounds
per annum to an aged gardener attached to the Surrey
mansion.

But the despoiled heir bubbled into instant frenzy.
He could hardly believe his ears when the amount was
disclosed. The generous treatment of his sisters prepared
him for at least five times the sum they would
receive, and his sallow face grew livid when he knew
that the dead man's hand still retained its grip.

He gasped something; but the lawyer promptly
raised his voice, with the air of a man who was not to
be stayed in an important undertaking because of an
incensed legatee. Thereafter Fosdyke paid little heed.
He understood, it is true, that the whole of the residue
of the real and personal estate was left unconditionally
to "my dear wife, Stella Carmac," and that the said
Stella Carmac, John Carruthers Bennett, and the public
// 184.png
trustee were named as trustees, with the ordinary
provisions as to the appointment of successors.

But these things reached his senses through a haze
of fury and disappointed greed. He was almost beside
himself with rage. Two thousand five hundred dollars
a year! This slight woman in black, sitting there
downcast and melancholy, would have at command an
income of quarter of a million! Bitter as were his
thoughts toward his uncle's widow, he was even more
enraged with the smug lawyer. If murder would have
served his purpose, Fosdyke was in a mood to choke
the life out of the gray-haired man whose voice had
droned out that sentence of almost complete excommunication.

"Can I have a copy of that precious screed?" he
said, and if each word had been a poison-tipped arrow
Bennett would have died a sudden and painful death.

"A copy of any will of which probate is granted in
England can be obtained by application at Somerset
House," said the lawyer calmly; "but in this instance,
as you are interested, I see no reason why, with Mrs.
Carmac's consent, an uncertified copy should not be
supplied from my office."

"I am not thinking of contesting it," went on Fosdyke
bitterly. "I have no doubt that the robbery has
been carried out in accordance with the law."

"You have been aware of your uncle's views during
the last four years, Mr. Fosdyke--why do you now
resent their clear and final enunciation?" came the cold,
unemotional comment.
// 185.png

Fosdyke rose. He would have gone had not Mrs.
Carmac stayed him. She too stood up, and came
nearer. She was deathly pale, her lips trembled, and
she spoke at first with difficulty.

"Whatever the consequences, I cannot let you leave
me with anger in your heart," she said. "Still less
can I endure that your uncle's memory should be made
hateful by what you regard as unjust treatment. It
was not his intention, it can never be mine, that you
should be punished for past errors.... Mr. Bennett,
I beg you not to interfere. There are moments in life
when a higher law operates than is writ in the text-books....
If I were to let you go now, Rupert,
harboring evil thoughts against me and the man who is
dead, I should hold myself responsible in some degree
through all the future years. Your uncle only asks
that you shall marry some woman worthy in herself and
fitted to carry on the traditions of your family. Do
that, and you will never regret it, either in its influence
on your own career or in the material benefits it
will bring without stint or delay. I can say no more.
But I do ask you to believe that I am speaking from
my very heart."

She ceased. For a few seconds there was profound
silence in the plainly furnished room, which, by its
very simplicity, gave a curious indefiniteness to a conversation
in which money, money in millions, minted
wealth that would have overflowed through windows
and door if piled on the floor, figured as a vital element.
// 186.png

But Fosdyke closed his ears to the woman's plea;
though his alert wits warned him that a declaration of
war would be nothing short of rank lunacy at the moment.
So he bowed with the easy grace that was
natural to him.

"I appreciate what you have said, Aunt," he murmured,
choking back the humiliated wrath that stormed
for utterance. "I don't imagine you expect me to
discuss matters now. With your permission, I shall
leave Pont Aven as soon as possible. On your return
to London I shall ask permission to visit you."

Mrs. Carmac would have answered, but he quitted
the room abruptly.

"Rupert Fosdyke is a thorough bad lot," said Bennett,
fastening the lock of a brief bag with an angry
click. "If that young man pulls himself straight, I'll--well,
I'll grow potatoes instead of preparing deeds!"

Mrs. Carmac smiled wistfully. She knew, none better,
that the pendulum of life can swing from one extreme
to the other. Yet even she might have lost
faith had she been with Yvonne when the girl hurried
from home after supper.

.tb

At that hour, about half-past eight, though the night
was pitch dark, one so accustomed to unhindered movement
in any part of the village did not hesitate to take
the short cut that led across the Aven by a footbridge
and debouched by an alley on the main street not far
from the Place. She was on the bridge, and a faint
luminosity from the swirling waters beneath showed
// 187.png
posts and rails with sufficient clarity. At that point
she ran into two people, a man and a veiled woman,
who emerged from the black shadow of a mill. The
man was Rupert Fosdyke; but the woman was a
stranger. Who could it be?

Suddenly some trick of carriage and bearing suggested
Madeleine Demoret. Madeleine masquerading in
modern attire! Madeleine without coif or collar! And
Yvonne knew how a Breton maid shrinks from revealing
herself to masculine gaze without her coif, which is
the symbol of all that is pure.

In her dismay she nearly cried aloud to her friend.
But the two had hurried on, vanishing in the direction
of the Bois d'Amour. Sick at heart, she hastened to
Madeleine's cottage, where the girl lived with an aunt.

"<i>Tiens!</i>" cried the woman who looked up from the
hearth when Yvonne entered. "Why isn't Madeleine
with you? She went to Mère Pitou's half an hour
ago."

"We've been to Moëlan," faltered Yvonne. "I must
have missed her. <i>Au revoir</i>, Madame Brissac."

"Oh, I cannot bear it!" cried Yvonne in an agony
of shame when she was alone again in the darkness.
"My mother! And now my friend! What shall I do?
Is there none to help? How can I tell my father--or
Lorry? Dear, lion-hearted Lorry! Surely I can trust
him, and he will take that man in his strong hands and
crush him!"
// 188.png

.sp 4
.h2 id=chIX
CHAPTER IX||SHOWING HOW HARVEY RAYMOND BEGAN THE ATTACK
.sp 2

Raymond had too many irons in the fire that day to
permit of the relaxation of mental and bodily energies
that his condition demanded.

It was essential to the success of a scheme now taking
definite shape in his mind that he should seem to
avoid Rupert Fosdyke's prying while maintaining a
close surveillance on his movements. Thus, owing to
the chance that he occupied a bedroom overlooking the
Place, he knew when Fosdyke went out after changing
the garments of ceremony worn that morning, and
guessed quite accurately that an afternoon stroll would
lead the younger man past Madeleine's cottage. He
watched for the arrival of the solicitor's clerk from
London, and witnessed Fosdyke's return soon after five
o'clock. Then, realizing that the first of many formalities
with regard to Carmac's will was in progress,
he quitted his post, meaning to sit on the terrace until
Fosdyke reappeared.

The weather, however, had turned cold, and he found
an overcoat necessary. With the help of a servant he
buttoned the coat in such wise that the empty right
sleeve dangled as though he had lost a limb. As a
// 189.png
consequence he was not instantly recognizable. Harry
Jackson, seated patiently at the window behind the
sycamores, failed to make out the identity of that small,
ungainly figure until it had paced to and fro several
times across the top of the small square.

A remarkable feature of a day rich in events fated
to exercise a malefic influence on the lives of four people
was provided by the fact that two men so opposite
in characteristics as Harvey Raymond and Harry
Jackson should have spent some hours in staring out
from their respective apartments at the normal if picturesque
panorama presented by the main thoroughfare
of the village. Each was unaware of the other's
vigil, each wholly unconscious of the part he was destined
to play in a drama of love and death.

The secretary, of course, was nursing a project that
could hardly fail to raise his fortunes to a height
hitherto undreamed of; whereas the cheery-hearted
steward, though his puzzled thoughts at times would
have bothered Raymond far more than an occasional
twinge of a broken arm did he but know their nature,
was actually concerned about little else than his own
future and the welfare of a mother dependent on his
earnings. Still, it was odd that the sight of Raymond
seldom failed to bring a perplexed frown to Jackson's
face. The two had never met until the Stella sailed
from Southampton Water. They had not exchanged
a word beyond the commonplaces of existence on board
a yacht. Yet Jackson disliked Raymond, and, if minds
were mirrors, the quasi-gentleman would have seen in
// 190.png
the civil-spoken steward a mortal enemy; though none
would be more surprised by the fact than the sturdy
little Cockney himself.

Jackson felt rather lonely just then. Popple was
occupied with an English-speaking representative of
the Brest marine salvors, from whom he had hired a
diver and a tug. Tollemache had vanished, being miles
away at Moëlan with Yvonne and her father, and the
changeful show beneath had lost some of its novelty
in the eyes of the lively Londoner. He resented enforced
inactivity. He wanted to be up and doing,
bustling about like Popple; but that wretched
ankle of his anchored him securely in bed or easy
chair.

Thus there was nothing to distract his attention from
Raymond's slow promenade beneath; and he speculated
idly as to whom the secretary was awaiting--evidently
someone from the annex, judging by the frequent
glances cast that way.

.tb

At last Jackson's harmless curiosity was gratified.
Rupert Fosdyke, walking rapidly, hove in sight. The
main door of the annex was not visible from the onlooker's
window; but Raymond's unflagging patrol told
him where the expected one would come from, and a
close family likeness between uncle and nephew--notably
in the dark, lustrous eyes, raven black hair,
and pink and white skin--served as an effectual label.
No cumbrous Brittany cart happened to be creaking
noisily over the rough cobbles of the square. The gale
// 191.png
had subsided. The window was open. Jackson could
hear every word that passed. These were brief, and
much to the point.

"Ah, Mr. Fosdyke!" said Raymond, affecting a
pleased interest because of their chance meeting.
"I'm glad I've run across you. What did you wish to
say when we came back from Nizon?"

Fosdyke, staring with uncomprehending eyes at first,
seemed to awake suddenly to the fact that his late
uncle's secretary barred the way. "I've forgotten,"
he said slowly. "At present I want only to tell you
to go to the devil!"

"Indeed!" Raymond jerked his head backward, as
if he had been flicked with a whip on the cheek.

"Yes, truly."

"But what grounds for quarrel exist between us?"

"Quarrel? I'm not quarreling. I simply curse
you."

"But why?"

"I feel like that, and you are a suitable object."

"Yet no man breathing could be better disposed
toward you personally than myself."

"To blazes with you and your disposition!" was
the amiable comment, and Fosdyke strode off into the
gloom.

Raymond remained stock still until the tall, alert
figure vanished round the bend where the houses surrounding
the Place converge near the bridge. Then,
with chin sunk into the collar of his coat, he went in
the same direction.
// 192.png

Jackson was distinctly amused, even edified. "Well,
I'm jiggered!" he chuckled. "If that ain't a nice,
friendly w'y o' pawsing the time o' d'y--not 'arf!
Real pire o' blighters, both of 'em!"

.tb

It was of course much later in the evening when
Yvonne, a prey to deep tribulation of spirit, entered
her mother's suite. Mother and daughter invariably
kissed now at meeting and parting. On this occasion
each was nervous and distrait; Yvonne because of foreboding
on Madeleine's account, and Mrs. Carmac by
force of that vague and obscure subconsciousness which
lurks ever behind the operations of the everyday mind,--that
dim ghost as inseparable from the acknowledged
senses as the shadow from the material body, yet impalpable
as a shadow, and not to be defined in terms of
human speech.

All day long had this specter peered over her shoulder.
Its influence was affrighting and oppressive. The
woman who had regarded her conscience as dumb and
deaf and blind during nearly twenty years had suddenly
discovered that the gagged and bound prisoner
had become a most imperious master. Was it conscience,
she wondered, that caused this disease? But
conscience is a monitor that recalls past transgressions
and threatens punishment, while her inward vision was
aware rather of gloomy portents akin to that state of
being fay, which is the unenviable attribute of the Celt.
A Breton would understand, and dread; but, as Tollemache
put it, the fumes of petrol seem to have banished
// 193.png
such wraiths from that outer world in which Mrs. Carmac
moved and had her being.

Even Yvonne's presence did not banish the phantom.
Singularly enough, she and her mother, each weighed
down by premonition of evil, looked more alike than
ever, and each interpreted the other's distress by the
light of her own disturbed thoughts. Yvonne, accustomed
all her life to unfettered frankness, took it that
her mother was saddened by her prolonged absence.

"I'm sorry, Dear, I could not reach you earlier,"
she explained. "My father came back from Concarneau
this morning, and he looked so overtaxed and worried
that I resolved to take him for a long walk. He
and I and Lorry--Mr. Tollemache, you know--went
miles and miles. That is our cure for the blues,--an
infallible recipe. We arrived home rather late, but
feeling ever so much better."

"Your face shows it, Yvonne," was the answer;
though the quiet cynicism was softened by a wistful
smile.

"Honestly we were lively as crickets during the
second half of our tramp. But, where I am concerned,
something that occurred during the last few minutes
undid all the good. Tell me, Dear, what sort of man
is Mr. Fosdyke?"

.tb

In the conditions few questions could have been more
surprising. Her nephew's name was the last Mrs. Carmac
expected to hear on Yvonne's lips, since the girl
seldom alluded to him, and had shown by her manner
// 194.png
that the handsome Rupert made slight appeal, if any.

"Why do you ask?" she said.

"You have heard me speak of Madeleine Demoret,
a village girl, one of my greatest friends?"

"Yes."

"Well, Mr. Fosdyke has made her acquaintance,--through
me, as it happens,--and now he is meeting her
constantly. They are together at this moment."

"Isn't that what one rather expects in village
girls?" Mrs. Carmac, borne down by her own ills,
could spare scant sympathy for any flighty maiden
who had fallen victim to the fascinations of her good-looking
relative.

"It may be so elsewhere, but not in Brittany," persisted
Yvonne, who was keen-witted enough to understand
how differently she and a woman of her mother's
world might view Madeleine's folly. "Here such behavior
is unforgivable. A girl may not walk out with
the man to whom she is engaged, far less with a
stranger. I--I hardly know how to act. You cannot
imagine how completely her friends and neighbors will
condemn poor Madeleine if it is spread abroad that
she was seen in Mr. Fosdyke's company. As for
Peridot, if he knew, he would kill him!"

"Kill Rupert?"

"Yes."

"Peridot may find consolation elsewhere."

Yvonne winced; but she had a purpose in mind, and
persevered bravely. "Oh, please don't say such
things!" she said. "I want you, Dear, to try and
// 195.png
look at this affair through my eyes. I know my
Bretons, and Madeleine must be saved, in spite of herself.
Can you persuade Mr. Fosdyke to leave Pont
Aven tomorrow?"

"He is going: not tomorrow, perhaps, but soon."

"Are you sure--quite sure?"

"He told me so himself today."

"If I could be certain he would go, I shouldn't speak
to Lorry."

"How does it affect Mr. Tollemache? Is he too an
admirer of Madeleine's?"

Then, despite her perplexities, Yvonne laughed.
"No, of course not," she cried. "Didn't I imply that
Peridot means to marry her?"

"In that event why appeal to Mr. Tollemache?"

"Oh, I see your difficulty now. When aroused Lorry
is a very convincing person indeed. He would tell Mr.
Fosdyke to 'quit,'--that is exactly what he would say,--and
if Mr. Fosdyke didn't quit he'd jolly well make
him--which is also what Lorry would say."

Mrs. Carmac seemed to consider the point for a
few seconds. "My difficulties, as you put it, cover a
larger area," she said, with a bitterness that had its
pathetic side. "Don't forget, Yvonne, that I am debarred
from sharing your confidence. Dare I ask, for
instance, if at some future date you will probably become
Mrs. Laurence Tollemache?"

The girl flushed under this wholly unexpected thrust.
First her father, now her mother, had voiced such a
far-fetched notion! "I don't know," she said simply.
// 196.png

"The events of the last week have taught me the un-wisdom
of thinking that we can forecast the future;
but I can say now, with the utmost candor, that I will
never leave my father."

.tb

At the moment she had no other thought than a disavowal
of her prospective marriage with Tollemache,
or any other man; but her mother cowered as though
flinching from a blow, and Yvonne was instantly aware
that the words had conveyed a meaning far beyond
their intent.

"Oh, dear!" she sighed. "How easily one can be
misunderstood! Now it is stupid that you and I should
be at cross purposes in a matter of this sort. Will it
help if I tell you what my father said this morning?
He asked me why you had decided that Mr. Carmac
should be buried here, and I gave it as my opinion that
you meant to remain in Pont Aven a considerable time.
Was I mistaken?"

The older woman's face became a shade whiter; but
she replied steadily enough, "Something of the sort
had certainly occurred to me."

"But you must abandon it, Dear," said the girl
earnestly, dropping at her mother's feet, and taking
one thin hand in both hers. "If you do that, everything
will go wrong. Dad and you cannot possibly
live in a small place like this, where everybody knows
everybody else, where the history of each family or
individual is common property, and where gossip would
soon find flaws in the pretense that you and I are aunt
// 197.png
and niece. If you continue to reside here, it means
that Dad and I must go. No, you sha'n't weep, or be
allowed to fret yourself into some misleading notion
as to what I really mean. Once and for all, the possibility
of that kind of lamentable thing happening
must disappear.

"Dad is a fair-minded man,--I don't think his enemies,
if he had any, would deny that,--and he admits
that it would be cruel to keep you and me apart, now
that we have been brought together in such an extraordinary
way. He will let me come and visit you often,
I am sure. But, Dearest, if you drive him away from
a spot he had made his own, if he is shut out of the
one tiny bit of earth he has learned to love, I shall
go with him, and I'll feel so deeply that you have
treated him harshly that I will never see you
again.

"Now isn't it better that we should examine the
present position of affairs clearly and honestly? A
great many years ago you left my father of your own
accord. He suffered terribly,--how much I have
learned only during the last week,--but he gave himself
up to art, to a few friends, and to me. He has
taught himself to be happy in a quiet way. You, taking
part in that social whirl I have read about in books,
and dimly imagined from paragraphs in newspapers,
can have no idea of the pleasant monotony of life in
Pont Aven. Why, an excursion to Le Faouet is an
event to be talked of a whole month before and after
the great day itself, and a sold picture supplies a
// 198.png
week's excitement! Existence on those lines cannot
possibly appeal to you.

"Mother dear, you cannot undo the past; but you
can and will leave my father undisturbed in his work
and his few joys. You must go away from Pont Aven,
and never come here again. Write to me as often as
you like, and I for my part will try to recite our small
histories so as to interest and amuse you. Arrange
that I may stay with you sometimes, and I'll come. I
promise you that Dad will never prove unreasonable if
you feel lonely and want me. But it would be unjust
both to you and to him if I did not say now that I
shall always put him first. I am not reproaching you.
Why should I? You have never caused me any unhappiness,
because it would be monstrous to charge
you with responsibility for the series of misfortunes
that began with the wreck. I mean to look on you as
a mother, and indeed, indeed, my love and respect will
never waver unless they are brought into conflict with
the greater love and duty I owe my father!"

Yvonne's voice broke on those concluding words.
During the long walk by the shore of the Belon she
had planned the arguments she would use in urging
her mother to adopt the only course that would restore
serenity to her father's declining years. She had plenty
of opportunity for leisured thought. The Belon
rivulet gives its name to an estuary far wider than that
of the Aven, and the violet light of a December evening
had led Ingersoll into a discussion with Tollemache
on the nature and limits of realism in art. But
// 199.png
all her carefully conned phrases had fled when she
looked into her mother's sorrow-laden eyes, and that
pathetic appeal had welled forth tumultuously from
her heart.

.tb

Mrs. Carmac was visibly shaken. Yvonne's straightforward
plea had swept into ruin the structure built
of vain longings and fantastic dreams. Yet what else
could she expect? She had known her own mind on
that never-to-be-forgotten night in Paris when she deserted
her husband and child, and fled to secure "freedom."
Her action was deliberate; she had not felt a
tremor of remorse when she wrote that cruel letter to
her husband. What reason had she now to hope that
the closed door might reopen?

She bent her graceful head over Yvonne's, and made
the first real sacrifice that life had demanded from an
essentially strong if inordinately vain temperament.

"Dear," she murmured, "why should we torture
each other more? I agree to your terms. Tell your
father that when I go from Pont Aven it shall be forever."

For a little while neither could speak. Mrs. Carmac
was the first to recover some semblance of composure.

"Don't let us endeavor tonight to peer any more
deeply into the coming years," she said, smiling wanly.
"When I reach London my affairs will demand a great
deal of attention. I shall write to you every week, Dear.
Sometime in the spring, when England is at its best,
you shall come to me, and I'll strive to render your
// 200.png
visit enjoyable, because you have so much to see, and
there is so much worth seeing. Your presence will
make me young again.

"Now I must explain why it is absolutely necessary
that I should remain here until it is ascertained whether
or not anything can be recovered from the wreck. I
care little about the jewels and money that went down
with the yacht. Of course, if they are found, so much
the better. But the really important thing is a despatch
box full of documents that was in one of Mr.
Carmac's cabin trunks. It contains papers that I
would not wish others to see. Will you, then, tell your
father that I shall leave here the day after that case
is put into my hands, or, if the sea refuses to disgorge,
when I am assured that further effort at salvage is
useless? The local notary, as well as the people at
Brest, agrees with Captain Popple that if the remains
of the Stella are lodged on the reef a close search is
possible, and may yield results; but if the two parts
of the hull have been washed into the tideway, we may
as well abandon the project altogether. In a word, if
the weather remains fine, the matter will be settled
within a week, or even less. To show my gratitude to
your father for the concession he has made with reference
to you, I am willing that he and you should go
away tomorrow, should he think it advisable. You
can give me your address, and I shall let you know the
date of my departure. Of course I shall be sorry----"

"No, Dearest, you are not to cry any more," and
the strong young arms were flung impulsively round
// 201.png
the grieving mother's neck. "You will only make
yourself ill again. I am sure everything will work
out all right in the end. Scheme and contrive as we
will, it is God who decides. All that we can do is but
strive to act right, to atone for mistakes, to help one
another. For the rest, the future is in God's hands."

"Ah, my dear one," came the tremulous words, "a
kindly Providence has given you wisdom beyond your
years! It was well for you that you were reared by a
man like John Ingersoll. Some day, when present
bitterness is dead, and he realizes that at least I am
repentant, you must tell him that in restoring to me a
daughter such as you he has only shown me the depth
of my folly. I little dreamed that I should ever be
taught such a lesson. Yvonne, when you marry,
marry for love. May Heaven pardon me, I did not!
I married your father because I thought I should have
what we thoughtlessly call 'a good time.' I left him,
not for love of another man, but in the hope that I
might secure a wealthier husband. I have never known
what it means to love anyone but myself. Perhaps I
shall learn now--too late!"

.tb

When Yvonne went out she found Raymond awaiting
her at the doorway beneath.

"Miss Ingersoll," he said deferentially, "if you are
going home, may I walk with you as far as the bridge?
I would not inflict my company on you if I had not
something of importance to say."

"Your company will be no infliction, at any rate,
// 202.png
Mr. Raymond," she answered readily; though she
would have vastly preferred to be alone, if only during
the few minutes' interval that separated a very trying
interview with her mother from the calm and smoke-laden
atmosphere of the studio, where her father and
Tollemache would surely be expecting her appearance
at any moment.

"But it must be rather a bore that you should have
to accommodate your lively pace to my slow march,"
said Raymond. "You see, I dare not step out quickly
over these rough stones. I----"

"Please walk as slowly as you like," she cried, with
a quick sympathy which the man had counted on as
establishing a species of comradeship between them.
He too, like Yvonne herself a few hours earlier, had
rehearsed every syllable of a conversation to which he
attached the utmost importance; but, unlike her, he
was following his "lines" with the glib perfection of
a skilled actor.

"I hope you will pardon me also if I reach the heart
of my subject without preamble, as the lawyers say," he
went on. "You have met Mr. Rupert Fosdyke several
times of late, and I think I am not mistaken if I
assume that you are neither greatly impressed by him
nor inclined to view with indifference the ridiculous
flirtation he has been carrying on with Madeleine Demoret.
Am I right?"

Yvonne was momentarily tongue-tied with surprise.
The last thing she expected was any interference by
this plausible-spoken little man in the affairs of the
// 203.png
two people he had named. She knew that her mother
disliked him,--that fear was now added to her dislike,--but
she could not guess that Raymond was actually
counting on her knowledge as a successful factor in
the campaign he opened that night during the short
stroll between the Hotel Julia and the bridge.

"Pray believe that I have intervened in this matter
with the best of motives," he added hurriedly. "It
is often the fate of meddlers to be misunderstood--I
have been an innocent victim in that respect once already
in this very place. But I felt it was due to you
that I should explain the action I have taken today.
You may be angry with me. I cannot help that. My
own sense of right and wrong tells me that I am justified;
so I may only put the circumstances before you,
and leave you to decide whether you approve or condemn.
In a sentence, then, I have ventured to remonstrate
most openly and emphatically with Mr. Fosdyke.
You may not be aware of it, but he is tempting your
friend Madeleine to meet him secretly. Of course she
is your friend because of the simple conditions of life
which obtain in Pont Aven. In America or England
you and she would fall naturally into widely different
social strata. But here--in Arcady, if I may so
express myself--close intimacy between you and a
peasant girl is permissible, even advantageous. The
case of Rupert Fosdyke is wholly outside this small
local circle. His association with Madeleine must inevitably
lead to a grave scandal. I have tried to put a
stop to it: not without success. He assures me that
// 204.png
he has seen her tonight for the last time. Now, Miss
Ingersoll, I want you to tell me candidly, first if I have
done right, and in the second place if you commend
my action."

"Mr. Raymond," cried Yvonne impulsively, "I
thank you from my heart. I cannot find words to
express my relief at your news. You have accomplished
something wonderful. Really, I am more
than grateful."

"That is good to know," he said, stopping in the
roadway, and bowing as humbly as his tightly strapped
arm would permit. "You have said all I wished to
hear, and more."

"But won't you come with me to our cottage?"
she said, aware only of deep joy because of Madeleine's
salvation, since it was nothing less that this queer-mannered
stranger had brought about. "I have not
dared to speak of this matter to my father and Mr.
Tollemache. I can tell them now, and make light of
it, while giving you some of the credit that is your due.
Do come!"

"Not tonight, if you will excuse me. I am yet far
from strong, and today's experiences have been somewhat
exhausting. If you will ask me to meet Mr. Ingersoll
tomorrow, or next day, I shall feel honored."

For a rascal--which he undoubtedly was--Harvey
Raymond exhibited a restraint that marked a rare
capacity for intrigue. He had not anticipated such a
long stride in advance as an invitation by Yvonne to
make her father's acquaintance then and there. But a
// 205.png
lightning flash of clear judgment had shown that he
would gain immensely by a display of modest reticence.
The story would not suffer in its telling because he
was not present to receive congratulations from the
artist and what would be tantamount to an apology
from Tollemache.

So he bowed again, with a murmured "Goodnight!"
and, involuntarily as it were, stretched out his left
hand, which Yvonne seized and wrung warmly. Then,
apparently shocked by his own boldness, he turned
abruptly, and hurried back to the annex.

.tb

During a few seconds Yvonne stared after him.

"Well," she breathed, "I have never before been so
deceived in anyone--never!"

Which shows that even the brightest and most intelligent
girl of nineteen may have a lot to learn of
human nature before she can form reliable estimates
of its true inwardness, because the time was not far
distant when she would as soon have thought of crediting
one of the horde of vipers then hibernating among
the rocks of Brittany with any lofty conception of
duty or service to mankind as Harvey Raymond with
similarly benevolent intentions toward his fellow
creatures.
// 206.png

.sp 4
.h2 id=chX
CHAPTER X||MADELEINE'S FLIGHT
.sp 2

Rupert Fosdyke departed by the earliest train next
day. He did not see Mrs. Carmac again, and it was
assumed by those who gave any thought to the matter
that he would make for London. Bennett's clerk, however,
traveling to England by the same train, did not
set eyes on him again after the local tramway had delivered
its passengers at Quimperlé. Fosdyke might
or might not have gone home <i>via</i> Paris. What was
quite certain was that he did not cross the Channel between
St. Malo and Southampton that night, because
the clerk ascertained from the purser that no
one of the name was on board the steamer, and
telegraphed to that effect to his employer, who
wished to be kept posted as to Fosdyke's movements.

Meanwhile Raymond was so concerned about Mrs.
Carmac's health that he suggested the hiring of a hotel
automobile, and a run to Lorient for luncheon. Yvonne
and Bennett agreed readily to accompany her, and
the secretary was commissioned to order a car to be in
readiness at ten-thirty <sc>A.M.</sc> Now, there were three
automobiles in the garage,--a small runabout, a
limousine to hold three and a chauffeur, and a huge
// 207.png
touring car, which would accommodate six easily. He
chose this last.

"As the day is bright, and there is no wind, I have
selected an open car," he said on returning. "I hope
you approve. Plenty of fresh air should be the best
of tonics."

Yes, his mistress was pleased, if only because Yvonne
must be decked out in some of the magnificent furs
that the thoughtful Celeste had brought from Paris.
Very charming the girl looked in a long sealskin coat
with sable collar and cuffs, and a sable toque. Her
mother's appraising glance spoke volumes as to plans
for the future, when Yvonne came to England, and
would need dressing in accordance with the new
scheme of things. But Mrs. Carmac was genuinely
surprised when she saw the size of the car.

"Couldn't the hotel provide a smaller one?" she
asked.

"Only a closed car," explained Raymond.

"Well, since there is so much room to spare, hadn't
you better come with us--that is, if your arm permits?"

"I am more than inclined to risk it," and Raymond
smiled ruefully, as though tempted by this unexpected
invitation. "Yes, please, I'll come. I'll only delay
you a minute while I get a coat and an extra
rug."

Tollemache happened to stroll out of the hotel the
moment the secretary's back was turned. He shook
hands with Mrs. Carmac and the lawyer, and nodded
// 208.png
to Yvonne, on whom he permitted his eyes to dwell in
an admiring if somewhat critical survey.

"Where are you off to?" he inquired.

"Lorient," said Yvonne.

"Why Lorient?" and his eyebrows rounded.

"I really don't know." She turned to Mrs. Carmac.
"You tell," she said.

"Mr. Raymond has arranged everything," said Mrs.
Carmac. "But why not Lorient?"

"Because it's an uninteresting place, notable only
as containing the most inartistic statue in France."

"Very well. Come with us, and be our guide. We
don't care where we go."

"Is Mr. Raymond joining you?"

"Yes."

"Then be a good Samaritan, and take that poor
fellow, Jackson. He hasn't been out of his room since
he was brought ashore, and his game leg will keep Mr.
Raymond's crocked arm company."

"Bring him, by all means."

"'Take him,' I said, Mrs. Carmac."

"No, he must be your guest. Even then we have a
spare seat."

"Done!" cried Tollemache.

Thus, when Raymond appeared, the party was
larger than he had bargained for. He was all smiles,
however, even when he found himself placed by the side
of the lame steward, and behind the chauffeur. Tollemache
sat in front; while Mrs. Carmac, Yvonne, and
Bennett occupied the spacious back seat. Tollemache
// 209.png
promptly varied the program by striking into the
broad Route Nationale leading to Quimperlé. They
reached the quaint old town about eleven o'clock, and
luncheon was ordered at that famous posting house,
the Hôtel du Lion d'Or. While the meal was being
prepared they went on to the beautiful Chapelle Saint
Fiacre, with its remarkable rood screen of carved and
painted wood and rare sixteenth century stained glass.

Tollemache insisted, too, that they should return
before sunset, or the evening chill might prove dangerous.
The excursion was voted delightful. The
only person who felt that his projects had been completely
frustrated--for that day, at any rate--was
Harvey Raymond. He had hardly exchanged a word
with Yvonne throughout the journey, and was hard
put to it to maintain an agreeable conversation with
Jackson during a five hours' run.

.tb

The steward, however, was not neglected. His manner
of speech was an unfailing source of amusement
to Yvonne, whose acquaintance with the Cockney dialect
had hitherto been derived solely from books. He
was by way of being a humorist too. When he hobbled
into the Chapelle Saint Fiacre, and gazed at the history
of Adam and Eve as depicted on the screen, he
raised a laugh by a caustic comment.

"That ain't exactly my idee of the Gawden o' Paradise,
Miss," he said, when Yvonne told him what the
carvings symbolized. "You wouldn't expect Eve to
be chewin' a crabapple--now, would yer, Miss?"
// 210.png

"But what makes you think Eve is eating a crabapple?"
she cried.

"Why, Miss, look at 'er fice!" he said. "Tork
abart lemons! One bite has given 'er a pine!"

In the hotel at Quimperlé, too, he created a good deal
of merriment on discovering the English name of a
dish which looked and tasted like chicken but figured
in the menu as <i>grenouilles à la financière</i>.

"W'at!" he cried, some natural embarrassment because
of his surroundings yielding to horrified surprise.
"Me eat a frog? Well, live an' learn! But I tell you
strite, I'd as soon 'ave eaten a snike!"

"What is a 'snike'?" inquired Raymond.

"It's a squirmin' reptyle w'at eats frogs," said
Jackson instantly, and, as the secretary had partaken
freely of that particular course, the retort did not lack
point.

But Raymond laughed with the others. He would
have guffawed cheerfully if someone had bumped into
his injured arm by way of a joke.

Bennett, being a lawyer, was not dull of perception.
He claimed the front seat for the return journey; so
Tollemache sat between Yvonne and her mother.

.tb

In some respects, therefore, Raymond regarded the
day as spoiled. But it was far from being a failure
in a general sense. He had established a precedent.
During the remainder of her stay in Pont Aven, Mrs.
Carmac, weather permitting, would surely hire the car
every day, and, as she was hardly likely to revert to a
// 211.png
smaller and much inferior vehicle, he in all probability
would be invited to join her; while Yvonne's presence
was assured.

As for other additions to the party, he must take
such fortune as the gods gave. The chief and vital
consideration was that he would almost infallibly be
thrown into Yvonne's company during many hours
daily. If he contrived also to establish himself on a
friendly footing with her father, he had taken the first
long stride toward the goal now clearly visible to his
mind's eye.

With Rupert Fosdyke disinherited and discredited,
why should not Harvey Raymond consolidate all
warring interests by marrying Yvonne? Truly a brilliant
notion! It followed the lines of high finance.
Better than running counter to your enemy, absorb
him! Though he believed he held Mrs. Carmac's millions
in the hollow of his hand, were it not for Yvonne,
he could act only through Fosdyke, who had flouted him
openly, and would assuredly be disdainful, no matter
how greatly beholden he might be to an informant.
But the fact that Yvonne existed changed all that.
Money talks, indeed! Money would shriek in ecstasy
if the despised secretary married Mrs. Carmac's
daughter.

There were obstacles in the way, of course; first,
Tollemache? Raymond had weighed this possible
rival's claims carefully, and did not find them overwhelming.
Yvonne was the young artist's close friend
of five years; but that did not necessarily mean that
// 212.png
they were lovers. If anything, such intimacy was
favorable to the newcomer. The girl herself? Well,
Raymond knew he was no Adonis; but keen-eyed
students of human nature had established the axiom
that exceedingly pretty women often mated with the
plainest of men. Here again the difficulty was not
insuperable.

There remained Mrs. Carmac. Willy nilly, she
must range herself determinedly on his side! Very
gently, very unwillingly, letting the facts be dragged
out of him with the utmost reluctance, as it were, he
must make her understand that he held the power to
crush her financially. During the last few days he had
left no stone unturned to secure proof of an astounding
romance which depended for credence otherwise on
the unsupported testimony of a woman's raving. He
had neither blundered nor spared expense.

That very morning, and not before, he <i>knew</i>. The
knowledge had sustained him throughout a trying day.
Each time he thought of the irresistible weapon now
safe in his possession he chortled. No wonder he
laughed, even when that impudent steward likened him
to a snake! There was truth in the jibe. One person,
at least, seated at that luncheon table would feel his
fangs. Mrs. Carmac, if left in undisputed possession
of her wealth, would be <i>his</i> puppet! She must choose
between comparative pauperism and Harvey Raymond
as a son-in-law! So, where she was concerned, the
money that Fate had showered on her would prove a
most potent factor in his behalf.
// 213.png

Once again, then, would money talk. If necessary,
it might even sing the song of the sirens in Yvonne's
ears. Why, her experiences that day, the very wearing
of those costly furs, and the swift whirling over
the Breton roads in a luxurious car, were not negligible
quantities in the arithmetical calculations that bemused
the man's subtle intellect. There was no discernible
flaw in them. British law would pronounce the American
divorce invalid. It followed that an estate held
almost exclusively in Britain would go to the next of
kin. And he alone held the key that would unlock this
treasury!

.tb

Snatches of talk came to him from the three in the
back seat. He could make little of it, because all three
were speaking French; but when he listened occasionally
he gleaned that Yvonne and Tollemache were telling
Mrs. Carmac the legends of wayside chapels,--how
this saint protected the crops, and that the horses
and cattle, how Sainte Barbe arranged love affairs and
Saint Urlou cured the gout. Each ill, each blessing,
had its patron, who exorcised demons or dispensed
favors at will.

Nearing Pont Aven, Yvonne startled him by leaning
forward and touching his shoulder. "Why in such
a brown study, Mr. Raymond?" she inquired pleasantly,
thinking that perhaps the queer little man might
feel he had been somewhat ignored. In her thoughts
he figured invariably as a "queer little man." Her
woman's intuition had suspected that queerness as
// 214.png
something underhanded and evil; but his action with
reference to Madeleine Demoret had obliterated an unfavorable
first impression. Now she regarded him as 
an eccentric who did good by stealth.

The slight pressure of the girl's fingers thrilled him.
"I was hoping there might be a healer of broken limbs
in Brittany. Now I know that there <i>is</i> one," he answered
readily enough.

"Dr. Gamier is really quite skilful," she said, and
Raymond had the wit to remain silent.

.tb

It was dusk when they reached the hotel. Popple
was standing there with two strangers.

"Any news?" inquired Mrs. Carmac as she alighted.

"Yes, Ma'am, an' not the best," said Popple. "The
wreck is all broken up. The diver has been over the
south side of the reef, and saw nothin' but scrap
iron."

Neither Raymond nor Jackson had quitted his seat
as yet, and the steward heard his companion laugh
softly.

"Then we must abandon the search?" came Mrs.
Carmac's clear, well-bred accents.

"There's just one more chanst, Ma'am," said Popple.
"We can try a trawl."

"But isn't that a thing meant to catch fish?"

"It's surprisin' w'at you can ketch in a trawl sometimes,
Ma'am."

"Captain Popple was telling me the other day that
he has known it catch a man," put in Raymond, evidently
// 215.png
regarding the sailor's suggestion as an excellent
joke.

"I've seen a shawk in one meself," said the irrepressible
Jackson.

Popple waved aside these flippant interruptions.
"Mossoo Guého here, from Brest," with an indicatory
thumb toward one of his companions, "tells me there's
a big trawler in Concarneau today, an' Peridot's boat
will be there too. If you like, Ma'am, he'll go to Concarneau
this evenin', an' bring both of 'em here tomorrow."

"Peridot? Why Peridot?" inquired Mrs. Carmac.

"He knows the set o' the tides so well, Ma'am. He'd
help a lot."

"Well, I want to see him soon; so secure his services
by all means. As for the trawler, or any appliance
you think necessary, I wish Monsieur Guého to understand
that every effort should be made to recover the
boxes I spoke of."

Monsieur Guého, who spoke English, assured
Madame that his firm's resources were entirely at her
command.

Then Yvonne hurried to her mother's suite to divest
herself of furs and toque. For the time she had abandoned
the Breton dress, and wore her tweed costume.
She met Mrs. Carmac, Bennett, and Raymond on the
steps. Tollemache was assisting Jackson to his room.

"I really must run home," she explained. "Dad
will be wondering what has become of me; though I
sent a message by one of Julia's maids to tell him that
// 216.png
Lorry and I were being whisked off to Lorient in an
automobile."

"Yet you have been nowhere near Lorient," said
her mother.

"A pleasure deferred, Mrs. Carmac," said Raymond.
"You ought to take a spin in that car every day while
in Pont Aven. It will do you a world of good. Don't
you agree, Mr. Bennett?"

"Most certainly," said the lawyer; "that is, if Mrs.
Carmac doesn't return to England with me tomorrow."

Bennett spoke as though he were giving indirect
advice; but Yvonne gathered that her mother explained
her decision to remain a few days longer because of
anxiety with regard to the salvage work. Lorry reappeared
on the terrace, and the girl hailed him.

"Come to supper," she cried. "Call in at Madeleine's
on the way, and tell her to come too."

"Right-o!" he said.

.tb

But Madeleine failed to join the supper party at
Madame Pitou's that night. She excused herself to
Tollemache on account of a headache.

"She looked rather ill," said Lorry pityingly. "Her
aunt was boiling some decoction of herbs. Madeleine
is to be dosed."

"If I was her aunt, I'd set her to scrub the stairs,"
commented Mère Pitou emphatically. "Work is the
only tonic Madeleine needs. When the hands are busy
the wits don't stray."

"Is she up in the air about Peridot?" inquired
// 217.png
Tollemache. "Before he went away he told me she
wouldn't speak to him; but he shouldn't have taken it
so seriously."

Madame shook her head and kept tight lips,--an
ominous sign. Yvonne strove at once to change this
ticklish topic.

"Didn't Captain Popple say something about bringing
Peridot here tomorrow?" she said. "If he comes,
he and Madeleine will soon bury the hatchet, especially
when they know that Mrs. Carmac means to present
Peridot with a fully equipped <i>vague</i> [sardine
boat]."

"Good!" cried Tollemache. "Mère Pitou and I
will foot it together at the wedding. I'm stuck on
Breton weddings. There's no nonsense about them.
Everybody enjoys life to the limit."

He had answered in English; but Madame evidently
gathered the drift of his words, because she laughed
dryly, and herself turned the talk to the day's outing.
Yvonne, finding her father's eye on her, was just able
to repress a sigh. Mère Pitou knew of her friend's
folly, and, if she knew, there must have been gossip
in the village. There was a chance, the barest chance,
that Peridot's arrival might still scandalous tongues,
if only Madeleine could be persuaded to receive him
graciously and fix an early date for their marriage.
The girl had already ruined any prospects she might
have possessed of being elected Queen for the next
Feast of the Gorse Flowers. The Pont Aven maid who
aspires to this must display not only a pretty face but
// 218.png
a spotless escutcheon. It might be that Madeleine
would see this for herself. If not, she must be told.

.tb

Next morning, then, Yvonne called at Madeleine's
cottage in order to make a later appointment. Madame
Brissac, who admitted her, was in tears.

"Madeleine is gone!" she explained. "She went
to Quimperlé by the early train. Nothing I could say
would prevail on her. I've never seen her so determined
about anything."

Yvonne, sick with apprehension at first, found a
crumb of solace in the aunt's statement, which apparently
limited the girl's flight to a town not far removed
from Pont Aven.

"But why has she gone to Quimperlé?" she
faltered.

"That grinning fool Peridot left her too much to
herself. She has been moping about the house during
the last week, saying that her lover had deserted her.
This morning she was out of bed before dawn. Her
box was packed when I rose at six. Then she told
me she had decided to accept her cousin's offer of a
place in his shop, and meant to give it a fair trial.
As she might be of some use during the few days before
Christmas, she was going at once. I argued and
stormed; but it was useless. Off she went!"

Yvonne knew indeed that a Quimperlé draper in a
small way of business had often tried to induce Madeleine
to take charge of his retail trade so that he might
travel in the rural districts; but the girl had always
// 219.png
scoffed at the notion. Perhaps, dreading the weight of
public opinion in Pont Aven, or finding life in the village
insupportable, she had sought refuge in Quimperlé
for a while, and would return when present clouds
were blown over.

"You are sure she means to join Monsieur Bontot?"
she asked anxiously.

"Of course. There is no one else. Marie Bontot
will welcome her, because Madeleine's help will enable
Jacques to double his turnover; but I'll miss her dreadfully,
and I can't imagine why she should want to
scurry away in such a whirl. I haven't recovered from
the shock yet."

Yvonne could only endeavor to console the old woman
with a prediction of the truant's early return. She
herself was greatly distressed by Madeleine's action
in leaving the village without giving the least hint of
her intention, or uttering a word of farewell. Moreover,
it was more than unkind to put the blame on
Peridot. The fact that Madeleine should have stooped
to positive deception in that respect brought a suspicion,
an ill-defined uneasiness, which was better suppressed
at the moment.

.tb

But when she learned that Mrs. Carmac intended to
take another run in the car she asked as a favor that
they should proceed direct to Quimperlé in the first
instance, as she wished to pay a call there. Moreover,
if Mrs. Carmac didn't particularly want the big car, it
would be more convenient if they used a smaller vehicle
// 220.png
that day. Her mother was only too glad to agree;
so a servant was sent off post haste with orders to hire
the limousine.

Raymond was annoyed, but dared not show it. He
heard the girl's request, and marked her agitated air,
and searched for some explanation of an arrangement
that he interpreted as aimed against himself. Puzzled
and irritated, he seized an opportunity to put a daring
question.

"Miss Ingersoll," he said, "I hope you have not
forgotten your promise to introduce me to your
father?"

"No. How could I forget?" she cried. "Will
you come to Mère Pitou's this evening about five
o'clock? Mrs. Carmac and I will be home long before
that hour. I--I'm afraid, Mr. Raymond, I may have
cost you an agreeable outing today; but I want to find
Madeleine Demoret, and have a long talk with her. It
might be rather awkward if there were men in the
party. She would not discuss matters freely."

Raymond was so profoundly relieved that he nearly
blurted out, "Oh, is <i>that</i> it?" He contrived, however,
to murmur something about his complete agreement
with any course suggested by Miss Ingersoll,
when Mrs. Carmac intervened.

"Madeleine Demoret?" she said. "Isn't she the
girl you spoke of the other evening?"

"Yes. She is definitely engaged to Peridot, and
now, the very day he is expected back in Pont Aven,
she has flown off to Quimperlé, vowing that she means
// 221.png
to stay there with a married cousin. I want to see
her, and coax her into meeting Peridot soon, either
here or in Quimperlé."

"You seem to be very much concerned about this
young lady's love affairs," smiled the older woman.

"Madeleine has been my playmate ever since I was
able to walk," said Yvonne simply, quite unaware of
the pang that this seemingly innocuous remark caused
her mother, "and I do wish to see her happily married
to Peridot, who is an excellent fellow, and thoroughly
devoted to her. It would be too bad if they should
separate now because of some absurd tiff. In any
case," she added, "I want to know the truth."

"As to why she has gone?"

"Yes."

Mrs. Carmac was perplexed. She too, like Raymond,
felt that there was more in Yvonne's anxiety than met
the eye; but it was inadvisable to probe deeper into
the problem until she and her daughter were alone.

"Ah, well," she said lightly. "Within the hour, I
have no doubt, we shall be listening to a tearful denunciation
of Peridot. The Perfidy of Peridot--it
sounds like the alliterative title of a magazine story.
Is that our car? Tell Celeste you'll wear the furs you
had yesterday. They suit you admirably."

.tb

Monsieur and Madame Bontot were the most surprised
people in Quimperlé when two elegant ladies
alighted from an automobile outside their tiny shop,
and inquired for Madeleine Demoret. They were almost
// 222.png
astounded when they recognized Yvonne, whom
they had never before seen in such guise.

"But why do you seek Madeleine here, Mademoiselle?"
cried Madame Bontot, recovering her breath
and her wits simultaneously. "I've not even heard
from her or her aunt since Jacques was in Pont Aven
two months ago. Isn't that so, Jacques?"

"<i>Parfaitement</i>," agreed Jacques, a rotund little
man, coatless, and decorated with a tape measure slung
round his neck.

Yvonne paled, but was, in a sense, sufficiently forewarned
that she did not make matters worse for her
unhappy friend by blurting out the true cause of her
visit.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It is my fault. I have
not seen Madeleine for some days, and I had a sort of
idea that she meant coming to you about this time. It
was discussed, I believe?"

"Yes, yes!" admitted Madame Bontot instantly.
"We should be glad to have her in the shop. Then I
could look after the dressmaking, and Jacques could
run all over the country for orders. Isn't that so,
Jacques?"

"<i>Parfaitement</i>," said the stout man, breathing
heavily. In imagination he was running already.

"Well, I'll look her up when I return home, and tell
her of my mistake. Then I'll see that she writes to
you, at least," said Yvonne.

"Take us to the station," she said to the chauffeur,
controlling voice and features with difficulty until safe
// 223.png
in the seclusion of the closed car. Then she broke
down, and sobbed bitterly; for she feared the worst.

Mrs. Carmac, unable to share this distress on account
of some village girl's escapade, felt nevertheless
that some minor tragedy was about to be added to the
already heavy burden which life had imposed since the
Stella was shattered against the inhospitable rocks of
Brittany.

"Are you afraid she has run away--that she is
making for Paris, or London?" she whispered.

Yvonne nodded. She could not speak. For the first
time in her life she understood what hysteria meant.

"To join Rupert Fosdyke?" persisted her mother.

"Oh, I don't know! I am afraid--terribly afraid!"
was the broken answer.

"But--it is inconceivable. A rustic of her type
can have no attractions for a man like him. She would
weary him in a day."

Yvonne did not reply; and in her heart Mrs. Carmac
knew why. Rupert Fosdyke might share her half-veiled
contempt for one of the "lower orders"; but he
would have no scruples in using poor Madeleine's infatuation
as a whip to scourge certain folk in Pont
Aven.

.tb

Inquiry at the station was almost fruitless. Yvonne
dared not appeal to the conductor of the tramway
service, because any hue and cry raised for the missing
girl must reach Pont Aven in the course of a few hours.
She ascertained that no young woman in Breton
// 224.png
costume had bought a ticket to Paris or St. Malo that
day. This signified little. The very fact that the coif
identifies the Bretonne would induce Madeleine to travel
in an empty first-class carriage and change her outer
garments.

"Was any ticket issued for a long journey to a girl
of twenty after the arrival of the first train from Pont
Aven?" said Yvonne as a last resource.

The booking clerk was inclined to be helpful. Not
often did young American ladies speak French with
such an accent. Usually they misunderstood him, or
blandly assumed that he spoke English.

"<i>Tiens!</i>" he said, tickling his scalp with a pen-holder.
"Such a one booked to Nantes. I remember
thinking that she had a lot of money, because she
picked a hundred-franc note out of a fair-sized packet."

"Was she a Bretonne?"

"Yes, Madame. Wait one moment." He called a
porter. "Pierre," he cried, "you had charge of a
lady's baggage by the nine o'clock train to Nantes.
Did she come from Pont Aven?"

Pierre thought she did, but could not be sure. If so,
the local conductor had brought her box across to
the departure platform. At any rate, she was not a
known resident in Quimperlé. And she possessed one
trunk, a black one, iron-clamped, and studded with
brass nails. Madeleine owned a similar box: but so
did half the inhabitants of Brittany.

With that Yvonne had to be satisfied. Madeleine
might or might not have gone to Nantes; whence, if
// 225.png
so minded, she could travel on to Paris in the same
train. It was difficult to account for her possession of
the amount of money spoken of by the observer behind
the wicket; but Mrs. Carmac solved the riddle at once.

"Until I am convinced to the contrary," she declared,
"I shall believe that your friend is on her way
to meet Rupert Fosdyke somewhere. Of course he
would provide her with ample means. Gold is the most
potent of all lures."

Yvonne shuddered. Her mother was least lovable
when she became cynical. The girl felt unutterably sad
and depressed.

.tb

It was a relief, in a sense, when the car sped down
the hill into Pont Aven, and she could make some excuse
to hurry home. Her father and Lorry, thinking
she would be absent till a much later hour, had gone
out, tempted by the continued fine weather.

But she was given no respite from her misery.
Madame Brissac had posted an urchin to watch for
the return of the motorists. She came now to gather
tidings of her wayward niece, and Yvonne was obliged
to confess that Madeleine was not at her cousin's house.

Then the storm broke. Madame Brissac had probably
been made aware in the meantime that Madeleine
had outraged local conventions by "walking out" with
a stranger, and she poured her wrath on Yvonne.

"This is your doing!" she screamed, her black eyes
flashing fire, and her swarthy skin bleaching yellow
with fury. "You turned her head with your fine
// 226.png
friends and their fairy tales. What could I expect but
that my girl would be led astray? But her character
is not the only one at stake. When we know the truth
we'll hear more about that precious aunt of yours.
Aunt, indeed! Who ever heard of an aunt screaming
for her daughter and meaning her niece?"

Mère Pitou bustled out, breathing the flame of battle.
"Marie Brissac," she cried, "you ought to be
ashamed of yourself! Isn't this a case of what's bred
in the bone coming out in the flesh? Have you forgotten
why Jean Brissac married you? Because, if
your memory is failing, mine isn't. I can tell you now
that Madeleine simply flung herself at that young
Englishman's head, and, if that's news to you, it's the
talk of everybody else in Pont Aven. Don't you dare
come here insulting my friends, or you'll get more
than you bargain for!"

"Oh, please, please, don't quarrel with Madame
Brissac on my account," wailed Yvonne, daring all,
even a blow, and putting her arms round the half-demented
woman's shoulders. "You poor dear," she
went on in a voice choked with sobbing, "blame me if
you wish, but don't condemn Madeleine unheard. It
may not be true. Let us pray the good God that it is
not true! I love Madeleine as my sister, and I shall
never believe that she has fled with any man until I
hear it from her own lips."

Anger melted in tears. Madame Brissac suffered
Yvonne to lead her back to the deserted cottage.
There the two talked for a long time, and the girl got
// 227.png
the old woman to agree that, in Madeleine's interests,
the fiction of transference to the drapery establishment
in Quimperlé should be maintained until something
really definite became known. Not that any such,
pretense could avail to shield the lost one. The village
was already agog with the sensation of Madeleine's
flight, and not a soul credited Madame Brissac's story
of the Quimperlé cousins. The shy, rabbit-eyed
glances of every village girl met in the street told
Yvonne that Madeleine could never again raise her
head in her native place. The maid of honor was dishonored--the
Gorse Flower crushed into the mire!

And all this wretched hotchpotch of suffering and
contumely was directly attributable to the presence of
<i>her</i> mother in the community! Truly, Yvonne was
sorrow-laden and oppressed when she reached the cottage
again, and found Harvey Raymond awaiting her.
// 228.png

.sp 4
.h2 id=chXI
CHAPTER XI||MUTTERINGS OF STORM
.sp 2

Unfortunately neither Ingersoll nor Tollemache
had returned. Yvonne was on the point of asking Raymond
to pardon her if she deferred receiving him until
the next day, when his adroit brain anticipated some
such setback to his plans, and he strove instantly to
prevent it.

"I fear you made an unpleasant discovery at
Quimperlé today," he said, striking boldly into the
one subject that he guessed was occupying her
thoughts. "Is Mr. Ingersoll at home? If so, I ought
to tell you briefly what I purpose doing to help, as you
may not care to discuss the matter in your father's
presence."

It was cheering even to hear the man speaking of
"help," and he had already given solid proof of honest
intent in his stern rebuke of Fosdyke; though, alas!
it had come too late to be of any real service. Yvonne's
mind belonged to that somewhat rare order that magnifies
good and minimizes evil. She was grateful to
her mother's secretary for that which he had tried to
do, though failing, and abandoned her first design
forthwith.

"Come into the studio," she said, leading the way.
// 229.png
"My father and Mr. Tollemache will be here soon.
Meanwhile I'll ask Mère Pitou to bring some tea. We
won't wait. Of course I must tell Dad everything
about Madeleine now. We can depend on him for
sound advice. He doesn't lose his head in an emergency,
and I shall be guided entirely by what he says."

"Naturally," agreed Raymond, throwing the utmost
deference into voice and manner. "It is delightful to
meet a father and daughter who are on terms of genuine
confidence and comradeship. I only meant to suggest,
Miss Yvonne, that I should communicate with a friend
in Paris who is acquainted with Rupert Fosdyke, and
ascertain by that means whether or not Mademoiselle
Demoret is in his company. I have taken action already
in a small way. Thinking it advisable to keep an
eye on him, I telegraphed to my friend this morning,
asking him to let me hear if Fosdyke was in Paris, and
his address. Here is the reply."

Even in the chaos of the hour Yvonne was conscious
of a certain surprise at Raymond's singular foresight;
but she took the proffered telegram, and read:

.in +4
.ll -4
"Yes. Arrived in Paris early yesterday. Residing Hotel Chatham.

.rj
"<sc>Duquesne.</sc>"
.in -4
.ll +4

"Ah, how thoughtful and clever of you!" she cried.
"Can anything be done now? Suppose Madeleine is
in the train, would Monsieur Duquesne meet her and
urge her to return at once?"

"How would he recognize her?"

"Oh, dear! I had not thought of that. But it
// 230.png
might be possible to telegraph a general description,
and there will not be so many young women traveling
alone in a train reaching Paris in the small hours of
the morning that he should have no chance of picking
out one in particular. I know it is asking a great
favor of your friend; but he may act with decision if
you hint at a matter of life or death. And it is all
that. Poor Madame Brissac will never survive the
shame of a public scandal. If Madeleine would only
come back, I should meet her on the way, and persuade
her to go straight to her cousins in Quimperlé. Don't
you see, Mr. Raymond, she would be saved, <i>saved</i>?
You have accomplished wonders already. Please don't
hesitate, but send a telegram at once. I sha'n't know
how to thank you if you succeed in this. But I forget.
You cannot write. Let me write for you. Now what
is Monsieur Duquesne's address?"

Yvonne, flushed with new hope, was seated already at
a small writing table, pen in hand. For once Raymond
was caught off his guard. He had not expected this
development, and would vastly have preferred a
friendly and sympathetic chat; but he dared not refuse
the girl's excited demand. Moreover, he would be earning
her gratitude and repaying some of Rupert Fosdyke's
insults in the same breath. So he blurted out
the information:

"Duquesne, 410 Avenue Kleber, Paris."

Yvonne wrote rapidly. "Will this do?" she asked:

.in +4
.ll -4
"Person mentioned in earlier message is probably decoying to
Paris a Breton girl of twenty, Madeleine Demoret, from her home in
// 231.png
Pont Aven. She is believed to be in train due Saint Lazare 2 A.M.,
is good-looking, slim, of medium height, and quietly dressed. You
are besought to discover her, and use all possible means to convince
her that she ought to return. Her friend Yvonne will meet her at
Quimperlé on receipt of message, and promises that everything will
be arranged satisfactorily. Her aunt, Madame Brissac, is grief-stricken
and prostrate. Madeleine should come home if only for her
sake."
.in -4
.ll +4

"There, Mr. Raymond--can I add anything to make
it stronger, more emphatic? Should I say that all expenses
will be paid?"

"No," he said, bending over her, and resting his
left hand on her shoulder. "That is quite clear and
understandable. Any man of experience should read
between the lines that the undertaking is vital and imperative
to the last degree. If I were in trouble, Miss
Yvonne, I wish I dared think that you would display
such heartfelt interest in my affairs."

"You!" she cried, rising hurriedly. "You are one
of the best of men! You hardly realize yet what good
you are achieving. Mrs. Carmac, I am sure, will appreciate
your kind action just as greatly as I do. Shall
I take the telegram to the postoffice?"

"One moment. We have plenty of time. Should a
message of that direct nature be despatched locally?"

Some of the light died out of the girl's eyes. The
officials in the Pont Aven postoffice were discreet as
any in France, and courteous beyond the average; but
they all knew Madeleine! Still, Yvonne might be
trusted to fight to the last ditch in her friend's behalf.

"There is a train to Quimperlé within half an hour,"
// 232.png
she said. "Someone must go. If necessary, I'll go
myself. You are not fit to travel, Mr. Raymond. If
only Lorry would come----"

"You may leave the mission in my hands, Miss
Yvonne," said Raymond suavely. "Indeed, rather
than risk the journey over that bumping tramway,
I'll hire an automobile, and reach Quimperlé more
quickly."

Barbe came in with a laden tray, and Raymond
swallowed a cup of tea and ate some of Mère Pitou's
famous cakes.

.tb

He was bidding his hostess an impressive farewell
when Ingersoll and Tollemache appeared. Yvonne's
father, observing men and events with a certain detachment
in these days, was not drawn to the ungainly
secretary. He was puzzled, at finding the man there,
and even bewildered by the warmth of Yvonne's introduction.
But Raymond was master of himself now.
He withdrew promptly, trusting to Yvonne's enthusiasm
to make smooth the way for his next visit. And
indeed his back was hardly turned before she plunged
into a recital of the day's doings.

Her father listened quietly, passing no comment
other than to express a brief but complete agreement
with every step she had taken.

Then she hurried out, being restless until assured
that her messenger had really started for Quimperlé.

Ingersoll sighed deeply, rose to reach a tobacco jar
from the mantel, and threw a question sidewise, as it
// 233.png
were, at his companion, who was smoking meditatively,
and apparently in a somewhat subdued mood.

"Lorry," he said, "what do you make of this chap
Raymond?"

"I've no use for him, Socrates, and that's a fact."

"He seems to be acting in perfect good faith in this
affair."

"Yes; but why?"

"That is what is bothering me. There are two
points about his behavior that may have escaped you.
In the first place, if Madeleine has gone to Paris by
arrangement with that scamp Fosdyke, he of course
will meet her at Saint Lazare, so what chance will Raymond's
'friend' have of intercepting her? Again,
who is this Duquesne? I have a good memory, and I
happen to recollect a notorious case reported in the
newspapers about a month ago, a case in which a
private inquiry agent of the name figured, and his
address was in the Avenue Kleber. I don't profess to
recall the number; but when name and street coincide
it is safe to assume that Raymond's Duquesne and the
other Duquesne are one and the same individual. Now
the momentous question that presents itself is, Why
should Raymond be in prior communication with a
private inquiry agent in Paris?"

"I can't guess."

Ingersoll stooped, and tapped his pipe on one of the
heavy iron dogs guarding the hearth. Straightening
himself, he drew a labored breath, like one who braces
his nerves to face a dreaded but unavoidable ordeal.
// 234.png

"Then I'll tell you," he said. "Mrs. Carmac is
Yvonne's mother. She left me soon after Yvonne was
born--went off to her people in the States. There,
after some delay, she secured a divorce. Later I heard
that she had married Carmac, who was immensely rich,
while I could barely afford to maintain a small flat
in Montmartre. Carmac was not a bad sort of fellow
in his way. He was, I believe, devoted to Stella, my
wife. She too was better suited to him than to me.

"But Carmac, though of Southern birth, had become
a naturalized Englishman, having, I understand,
some ambition toward a political career on this side.
Now I doubt very much whether the divorce proceedings
were valid according to British law, and a wife
takes her husband's nationality. Had I been wise and
dispassionate, I should have given Stella her full freedom.
But I did not--may Heaven forgive me! I
was so utterly crushed after leaving Paris and seeking
sanctuary in Pont Aven that I disregarded her entirely.
None of my associates knew where I had gone.
Every sort of effort was put forth to find me, but
without success. Eighteen years ago, Lorry, Pont
Aven was a long way from Paris. There was no railway,
and communication with the outside world was
mainly by sea.

"At last, despairing of any assistance from me,
Stella and Carmac risked everything on the American
decree. They were married openly. The wedding was
announced in all the society newspapers. Even I, buried
alive here, read of it. But, if the question were raised,
// 235.png
it might be held in England that Stella is still my wife
in the eyes of British law."

Ingersoll made this astounding statement in a voice
so calm and free from emotion that Tollemache stared
at him in blank amazement. Of course events had given
the younger man some inkling of the truth; but he
had never imagined anything so disastrously far-reaching.

"Good Lord!" he gasped. "That is terrible--that
means all sorts of beastly complications!"

Ingersoll threw out a hand in a gesture of sheer hopelessness.
"It means this,--if Raymond suspects that
the marriage was invalid, and Carmac left his money
to his 'wife,' the will can be upset, Mrs. Carmac will
be stripped of every penny except her personal belongings,
and Rupert Fosdyke and his sisters will inherit
the estate. Naturally I know nothing of the exact position
of affairs beyond the hints I pick up from Yvonne.

"She, poor girl, hasn't the remotest notion of the
tragedy that I see looming darkly above the horizon--because
it is the very essence of tragedy that a woman
who sold her happiness for gold should be despoiled
in the hour when the bribe might be regarded as most
surely within her grasp. Lorry, I pity her! She is
well aware that she is clinging to the edge of a precipice.

"Raymond's inquiries concerning Yvonne and myself,
which you overheard, and which were confirmed
by Peridot, warned me of her danger. When you carried
that maimed scoundrel into the cabin of the Hirondelle
he retained his senses sufficiently to understand
// 236.png
the tremendous significance of Mrs. Carmac's ravings.
To the ordinary ear they would sound like the gabble
of dementia; to Raymond, already disliked by his mistress,
and retained only as a useful slave by his master,
they conveyed immense potentialities. But at first
he must have felt like a traveler in the desert tantalized
by a mirage. Investigation in Pont Aven might
strengthen his suspicions; but he could never obtain
proof. He dared not appeal to me. Rogues of his
class have a tolerably clear notion of the sort of man
they must not meddle with: probably he summed up the
father through the daughter. Now, perhaps, you see
where this Parisian inquiry agent comes in?"

"No, I'm dashed if I do!"

"There isn't much guile in your composition,
Lorry," and Ingersoll smiled forlornly. "I gather
from Yvonne's story that during the talk on board the
cutter her mother spoke of having deserted her in
Paris. Unhappily she thereby supplied Raymond with
the most important clue. The very next day he had
the impudence to remind Mrs. Carmac that she had
claimed her 'niece' as a daughter. He drew in his
horns when checked; but set about unveiling her early
life without delay. Paris is a city of records. It was
a simple matter for anyone to discover the date of my
marriage, which took place nearly four years before
the American ceremony between Carmac and my wife.

"Good God, Man! that poor woman is in a damnable
position. Not only can she be robbed of the wealth
given her by Carmac, but in England she is likely to
// 237.png
be prosecuted on a charge of bigamy! And I shall be
responsible! My pride and futile anger deprived her
of the only means whereby she could have married Carmac
without fear of consequences. I left her no alternative.
Oh, Lorry, Lorry, if only I could have foreseen
something, howsoever shadowy, of the evils that
were impending when we brought those people on
board! Had I even known the name of the yacht, I
might have been vouchsafed some glimpse of the peril.
One glance at Stella herself, or at Carmac, would have
revealed an abyss from which I should have recoiled
with horror. I might have contrived some subterfuge,
some wild scheme, to keep Yvonne and her mother
apart. But it is too late! The mischief is done. I
am bound hand and foot,--a man delivered over to the
torturers!"

Ingersoll's voice trailed off into silence. He sank
into a chair, threw aside the pipe which he had filled
automatically but not lighted, and buried his face in
his hands.

.tb

But Tollemache sat bolt upright, his shoulders
squared, his strong features frowning in thought.
Thus had he looked when swinging precariously above
the precipice at Le Faouet, and thus when the Hirondelle
was backing into the hell's broth of the reef.

"Tell you what, old sport, we must act, and quickly
at that," he said at last, springing to his feet as though
some valiant deed was called for straight away.

"But what can I do?" came the despairing answer,
// 238.png
and Ingersoll, the leader, the master, the kindly cynic,
lifted woebegone eyes to the lithe and stalwart figure
towering above him.

"Lots!" cried Tollemache. "First, let's get down
to bedrock--then we can talk plainly. I've never said
a word to you, Ingersoll, and mighty little to your
daughter; but I love Yvonne, and if she will marry me,
our wedding day will be the proudest day of my life.
I'm not a poor man. I've a heap more money than ever
I've owned up to, because I like the life here, and I like
you, and I worship the ground Yvonne walks on, and
I was afraid that if you knew I was fairly well fixed
in a financial sense you'd regard me as a <i>poseur</i>, and
cut me out. Why, I've saved nearly ten thousand dollars
a year since I came to Pont Aven! I can lay
my hands tomorrow on a hundred thousand, and still
have enough left to keep Yvonne in pretty good
shape.

"Now I'm not making any bargain with you. That
isn't our way. But if I am given a free hand with
Raymond, I'll settle his hash in double quick time.
Swine of his variety are always blackmailers. Very
well! I'll pay his price. He must clear out, bag and
baggage, giving me the promise of his silence, over and
above an acknowledgment that he obtained the money
by threatening to expose Mrs. Carmac. Don't imagine
he won't go! I'll make him! It's rather rotten
even to talk of using violence to a fellow with a broken
arm; but he must be got rid of, and I'll frighten him
into a deal--see if I don't!"
// 239.png

Ingersoll rose, and caught the younger man's hand
in an impulsive grip. "Lorry," he said, "if it pleases
Providence to ordain that Yvonne shall marry you, I'll
offer thanks on my knees. You are honest as the sun,
and transparent as the Aven beneath the trees of the
Bois d'Amour in summer. I have known your story
for years. I had hardly learned your name before a
man told me of the quarrel with your father because
you refused to fall in with some marriage brokerage
arranged between him and the father of a girl whose
business interests marched with his. I knew too that
you bought ten of my pictures during the first six
months of our acquaintance. I didn't interfere with
your well meaning subterfuge. You have lost nothing
on that speculation, at any rate, because you acquired
my work at its best period, and your investment would
yield two hundred per cent. if you sold now.

"But let that pass. Do you believe I would ever
have encouraged you to waste your time in pursuing
the fickle goddess of art but for the knowledge that
you were happy, and content, and far removed from
the temptations that beset youngsters of means but of
no occupation? No, you know well that I should have
driven you forth with hard words. Yet I have never
deceived you. How often have I said that Art is a
cruel mistress, a wanton who refuses her favors to
some most ardent wooers, yet flings them with prodigal
hands at others who, though worthy of her utmost
passion, despise it? But you have a quality that ranks
you far above the painter who, while fitted to see
// 240.png
divine things, wallows in the mud of mediocrity. You
are a loyal friend and good comrade, a man of clean
soul and single thought.

"Would to Heaven I might leave you now to deal
with this prying hound, Raymond! But the plan you
suggest is useless. He would laugh at you, disregard
your threats, and taunt you with personal designs on
Mrs. Carmac's millions. You have forgotten, Lorry,
that Yvonne is her daughter. I know my wife's nature
to the depths. She has drunk to nausea of the nectar
of wealth. What has it given her? Happiness? Good
health? A contented mind? No; she is scourged with
scorpions, torn by a thousand regrets. She would give
all her money now if some magician would wipe out
from her life the record of the last eighteen years.
Very gladly, very humbly, would she dwell in this cottage,
provided that no cloud existed between her and
Yvonne. But that cannot be. As offering a middle
way, I have agreed that Yvonne shall visit her at intervals,
and even that small concession has delighted
her beyond measure. And what will be the outcome?
No matter what I may say, she will try to capture my
girl's heart with a shower of gold.

"No; I don't believe for one moment that she will
ever estrange Yvonne from me. I do not even commit
the injustice of attributing any such design to her.
But that Yvonne will inherit Carmac's millions if they
are left undisturbed in her mother's possession is almost
as certain as death,--the one certainty life holds
for us poor mortals. And, above all, don't hug the
// 241.png
delusion that the man who has discovered my wife's
pitiful secret is not alive to this phase of a problem
which is in my mind night and day to the exclusion of
all else. He will exact a price which you cannot pay.
Each hour his ambitions mount higher. That unhappy
woman is as powerless as a fawn caught in the coils
of a python."

"One can free the fawn by dislocating the python's
vertebræ. Is there any harm in my trying?"

"You may not kill the man. If you tackle him
openly, you admit the very contention that he may
never be able to establish in a court of law; because,
although he may have ferreted out the prior marriage,
he cannot yet be sure that there the divorce may not
hold good. Even I myself am doubtful in that respect.
It is a difficult legal point. Obviously Stella fears
something. The fact that she has retained Raymond
when she meant to dismiss him seems to indicate a
weak spot in her armor. No, Lorry. I've looked at
this thing from every point of view, and I see no loophole
of escape. She is trapped, and Raymond alone
can set her free. We must await his pleasure, act when
he acts, and strive to assist her when the crisis arrives.
Meanwhile, for her sake, we must endeavor to tolerate
him."

Tollemache sat down again. "I feel like my namesake,
Saint Lawrence the Martyr," he said gloomily.
"You remember that when he was put on a gridiron,
and done to a crisp golden brown on one side, he suggested
that by way of a change his executioners should
// 242.png
grill him a little on the other. Gee whizz! That reminds
me, Socrates--if Sainte Barbe can't arrange
matters better for pilgrims to her shrine, she ought to
go out of the business. Here are Madeleine, Yvonne,
you, and myself mixed up in fifty-seven varieties of
trouble! And I suppose Mère Pitou and little Barbe
will receive attention in turn. If ever I meet Sainte
Barbe in Kingdom Come, I'll tell her her real name.
It strikes me that whoever invented the pin-dropping
scheme knew what he was doing."

Ingersoll needed no explanation of his friend's outburst
against the gentle lady whose love story has descended
through the centuries. It was a confession
of sheer impotence. He was forcing himself to admit
that he could no more stay the course of events
than stem the next tide rushing in from the
Atlantic.

Feeling that he wanted to bite something, Tollemache
lit his pipe and clenched the stem viciously between
his strong teeth. Aroused by the striking of the
match, Ingersoll began to smoke too. The attitude of
the two bespoke their sense of utter helplessness. Thus
might men imprisoned on some volcanic island sit and
await in dumb misery the next upheaval of the trembling
earth.

.tb

At last Tollemache, whose lively and strenuous temperament
rebelled against indecision, even in circumstances
such as these, where one false move might precipitate
the very crisis he wished to avoid, put a question
// 243.png
which Ingersoll had been expecting, and fearing,
since their talk began.

"I take it you haven't told Yvonne what you have
told me?" he said. "I can't recall your exact words,
but you implied that she is ignorant of the true nature
of the dilemma her mother is in?"

"Yes, that's the worst of it," muttered Ingersoll.
"It comes hard, Lorry, to parade the wretchedness
of forgotten years before one's own daughter,--a girl
like Yvonne, whose mind is an unblemished mirror.
Before this blight fell on our lives I don't believe she
really understood why sin and wrongdoing should exist.
We dwelt apart. We moved and breathed in a gracious
world of our own contriving. She read of evil in books
and newspapers; but it passed her by, leaving her unruffled
as our earth when astronomers report some
clash of suns in the outer universe. Now, although
her mother's callousness is patent to her, and this mad
escapade of Madeleine's has stabbed her as with a
dagger, she is wholly unaware of the chief offense, my
neglect to facilitate the divorce proceedings."

"For the first time in our acquaintance, Socrates,
I've got to say that you're talking nonsense," blurted
out Tollemache excitedly. "It's bad enough that Mrs.
Carmac--I suppose I'd better stick to that name for
her--should be in such a hole, and we be unable at
present to pull her out. But it's absolute rot that you
should blame yourself for her mismanagement of her
own affairs. Dash it all! Where is the man or woman
who can act tomorrow in face of such an experience
// 244.png
as yours as they might, twenty years hence, wish they
had acted? That's no way to look at things. Tell
Yvonne, I say. Tell her tonight. Then she can discuss
the situation fairly and squarely with her mother.
Don't you see, heaps of things may have occurred
which, if you knew of them, might modify your judgment?
This American divorce may be bad law in England,
but good law in France. That lawyer fellow, Mr.
Bennett, struck me as a wise old codger. He, or someone
like him, might put Mrs. Carmac up to all sorts
of dodges to do Raymond in the eye. And, in any event,
don't start accusing yourself to Yvonne. If you do,
d'ye know what the upshot will be? She'll take your
side against her mother, and where will Mrs. Carmac
be then?"

"Probably you are right, Lorry. I have learned to
distrust my own thoughts. Yes, I'll tell Yvonne the
whole truth."

Ingersoll spoke in the accents of stoic despair; but
Tollemache was in fighting mood, and eager to close
with the enemy.

"It's sound policy to defend by attacking," he went
on, with an air of profundity that, at any other time,
the older man would have found intensely amusing.
"That's what we were taught in college football, and
it's true of every other kind of rough and tumble.
Why shouldn't Mrs. Carmac blow Raymond and his
blackmailing schemes sky high by making a deal with
Fosdyke and the other relatives? The cake is big
enough, you say, that each should get a good slice and
// 245.png
be satisfied. As for legal proceedings in England,
who's going to prosecute? Not you. And who else
can act? The more I look at this affair the more I'm
convinced it's a bogy that will fall to bits at the first
straight punch."

Certainly the enthusiastic advocate of strong measures
seemed to have hit on a project that, though difficult,
was not wholly impracticable. If Fosdyke had
only kept clear of that stupid intrigue with Madeleine
Demoret, a settlement by consent might come well within
the bounds of reason.

For the first time in many days Ingersoll saw a gleam
of light in a choking fog. He brightened perceptibly,
and talked with some of his wonted animation.

.tb

Neither man noticed how the time was slipping by
until Mère Pitou summoned them to supper. Yvonne
had not arrived; so they assumed that she had remained
with Mrs. Carmac. About ten o'clock Ingersoll--probably
in a state of subdued nervousness as to the outcome
of the projected disclosure--asked Tollemache
to convey a message to Yvonne that she was wanted
at home.

Lorry obeyed cheerfully. He believed he had blundered
on a means of discomfiting the rascally secretary,
and, that laudable object once attained, the path
was clear for his own love making. Though his aims
and hopes differed from Harvey Raymond's as the
open sea from a slime-covered morass, he too made
the mistake of imagining that money could level
// 246.png
all obstacles; which, if regarded as an infallible
maxim, is misleading alike to the just and the
unjust.

Usually, when returning to the hotel from the cottage,
he took the short cut by the footbridge on which
Yvonne had encountered Madeleine and Fosdyke. He
was aware, however, that the girl habitually used the
slightly longer but more open highway. So he turned
into the Concarneau road, and was approaching the
main bridge (the famous old pont that gives the village
its name) when he saw two people sauntering
slowly toward the harbor, and apparently engaged in
close converse. They were some distance away, and
partly hidden in the deep shadow of a fifteenth century
mill with curious carvings beneath the roof of a lion
and a man; but he could not be mistaken as to Yvonne
and Raymond, for no other girl in Pont Aven carried
herself with Yvonne's grace, and the misshapen little
secretary was in a class apart.

Evidently Raymond had offered his escort to
Yvonne, and they were extending a somewhat late
promenade to enable the former to convey such news
as he had to give of the journey to Quimperlé. Possibly
he had received an answer from that mysterious
"friend" Duquesne. Nevertheless Tollemache was
aware of a sudden lessening of his exaltation. It was
as though when overheated by exertion he had entered
a cold and clammy vault. He could give no valid reason
why he should not quicken his pace and overtake
Yvonne with her father's message. Yet he hung back,
// 247.png
conscious of a sense of intrusion, yet furious with himself
on account of this inexplicable hesitancy.

Finally he compromised. Yvonne would surely not
take a prolonged stroll after ten o'clock at night. He
would walk a little way up the old Concarneau road
(so called because, after the fashion of ancient tracks,
it climbs a steep hill boldly, while its modern supplanter
follows a longer and easier sweep) and keep in
the gloom of the ancient houses clustered there until
he saw her making for the cottage. With growing impatience,
and a prey to not a little misgiving, he waited
fully half an hour.

.tb

At last she appeared, walking swiftly and alone.
And now his anxiety yielded to astonishment. Coming
quietly down the hill, and crossing the Place au Beurre,
he was just in time to see her vanish into the obscurity
of the Rue Mathias. At any rate, then, she was heading
for Mère Pitou's. Glancing toward the harbor, he
fancied he could make out Raymond at the end of the
short, narrow street.

He did not think it necessary to lurk in the background
until Raymond passed, but went to the hotel
and stood on the terrace under the sycamores, but well
in view of anyone approaching the annex.

Soon Raymond came, picking his steps with careful
slowness, and keeping to the well lighted center of the
square. His chin was sunk in the upturned collar of
an overcoat, and he had the aspect of one lost in
thought. Yet he seemed to know of Tollemache's presence,
// 248.png
and raised his eyes in a steady stare when the
two were within a few yards of each other.

He did not speak, but his pallid face creased into a
malevolent grin. Whether or not this was intended as
a polite recognition, Tollemache neither knew nor
cared. He returned Raymond's stare with the impassivity
of a Red Indian, and, though puzzled and distressed,
resolved to look in on Harry Jackson before
retiring for the night.

In after life Tollemache never forgot that moment.
It was big with fate. Perhaps, if left to their own
course, events might have followed the same channel
next day or some succeeding day. But there could be
no questioning the tremendous significance of that particular
hour when its outcome was recalled in the after
light of accomplished facts.

Thenceforth there was no damming the torrent that
swept away men and women in its fury. Some were
lost for evermore, some were thrown, bruised and
maimed, on far distant strands; but all were caught
in an irresistible flood, and, if Tollemache were a
visionary, he might have heard the rush of mighty
waters as he turned to enter the hotel.
// 249.png

.sp 4
.h2 id=chXII
CHAPTER XII||WHEREIN BOTH THE REEF AND MR. RAYMOND
YIELD INFORMATION
.sp 2

Yvonne was looking forward to Raymond's return
from Quimperlé with an ill concealed restlessness that
drew a sympathetic inquiry from her mother.

"Are you still fretting about Madeleine?" she said.

This solicitude was not feigned; but it centered
wholly in Yvonne. The folly, or stupidity, of some pert
village maid whom she had never either seen or cared
to see did not interest Mrs. Carmac in the least. Had
she voiced her real feeling in the matter she would have
condemned her daughter's lack of proportion. During
half a lifetime she had dwelt among the elect. To her it
was quite immaterial whether or not Madeleine's career
was ruined. Nor was this a mere pose on her part. She
had trained herself to think that way. Yet, so sharply
may deeds clash with personal inclination, both she and
Walter Carmac were noted for their philanthropy.
She strove to do good, but not by stealth. She could
lecture Rupert Fosdyke with genuine zeal; but, while
seeking to reform the victimizer, she had little pity for
the victim. From her point of view, Madeleine was one
of a fixed percentage of girls who rebelled against the
social law. Of course one tried to reduce their number;
// 250.png
but it was almost bad form to wear one's heart out
because the expected had happened.

Yvonne, though she would not have cared to put her
impressions into words, was aware of this attitude on
her mother's part, and it saddened her inexpressibly.
At such moments a seemingly impassable gulf yawned
between them. Madeleine had been her trusted associate
since they were babies together, toddling up the
hill in convoy of some older girl to the kindergarten
class in the convent. She knew that her friend was pure-minded
and warm-hearted. Nothing could have shocked
her so greatly as the discovery that a man like Rupert
Fosdyke should have succeeded in so brief a time in
undermining the moral structure that Brittany builds so
solidly in its women folk.

"I shall never cease fretting about her," she answered.
"If by some cruel chance Mr. Raymond's
friend fails me, I am minded to ask my father to come
with me to Paris tomorrow. Madeleine will not resist
me if once we are brought face to face."

"Your father has far too much sense," said Mrs.
Carmac composedly.

"Oh, please don't talk in that strain. I cannot bear
it!" pleaded the girl.

"It hurts, of course; but isn't it better to look at the
facts squarely? I am surprised that Mr. Raymond,
who has more experience of life, should have flown on a
wild-goose chase to Quimperlé. It is nothing else. If
Madeleine is actually on her way to Paris, the journey
is a matter of obvious arrangement. Rupert will
// 251.png
unquestionably meet her at the Gare St. Lazare, and what
opportunity will your deputy have then of making any
appeal to the girl herself? Rupert would simply take
him by the collar and swing him aside. You see, Yvonne,
I am forty-two, and you are twenty. We survey life
from different angles."

"From different levels, at any rate," said Yvonne,
closing her ears to the cold accuracy of her mother's
reasoning. "You gaze down on us simple Pont Avenois
from the altitude of New York and London, while I
cannot peer above the eaves of our little mills. I am
looking now through the low door of a desolate cottage,
and I can discern a broken-hearted woman crooning her
sorrow by the embers of a dying fire. Oh, Mother,
Mother, if ever you would have me love you as a daughter,
you must try and realize that my very heartstrings
are twined round my Breton friends, that I rejoice with
them and grieve with them, that I love them for their
many virtues and condone their few faults! I have
never knowingly wished evil to anyone, but if God in
His mercy should preserve my dear Madeleine from that
horrid man I would not care what means His wisdom
adopted. Even though Fosdyke marries her, Madeleine
will not be happy, and I cannot think that if he meant
to behave honorably he would have tempted her to
plunge her people into such distress by leaving home
clandestinely."

Mrs. Carmac could have rocked with laughter at the
notion of Rupert Fosdyke marrying Madeleine Demoret;
but she curbed the impulse. Despite her primitive
// 252.png
simplicity, Yvonne was in an excitable mood that night, and
this affair must be allowed to settle itself without disturbing
their good relations.

"Well," she sighed, affecting an accord she did not
feel, "we can only hope now that your telegram will
prove effective. Who is the person whose aid Mr. Raymond
is securing?"

"A Monsieur Duquesne."

Mrs. Carmac wrinkled her smooth forehead. "I
have not heard the name," she said, after a pause. "But
there is nothing unusual in that. Raymond is curiously
secretive. Any other man, living in a household on the
footing he occupied in the Chase and in Charles Street,
would have spoken at times of his relatives. He, for
all I knew of his earlier history, might have been born
in--Saturn. I was going to say Mars; but Mr. Raymond
does not meet one's ideal of a Martian."

At that Yvonne was constrained to smile. Neither
she nor the woman who dismissed Raymond and Duquesne
so flippantly could guess what sinister influences
lurked behind the association of those two men. An
astrologer would have found something ominous in that
haphazard reference to the planetary harbingers of
disaster, Saturn and Mars, and, oddly enough, a half-thought
of the sort did flit through Yvonne's mind,
because she often found amusement and interest, during
the mild and clear winters of Brittany, in reading the
firmament from a stellar atlas, and there was hardly
a constellation in the northern heavens she could not
name at sight.
// 253.png

At that moment, however, relief from a rather forced
conversation came in the shape of Captain Popple's
burly form.

.tb

"Beg pardon, Ma'am, for intrudin' at this time," he
said, when admitted, "but I thought you'd like to
hear the result of today's operations on the reef.
Atween Peridot an' a trawl, we've been doin' things."

"Is Peridot here--in Pont Aven?" interrupted
Yvonne, blanching in quick alarm.

"Yes, Miss. He kem from Concarneau this mornin',
an' I've brought him up the river on tonight's tide."

"Where is he now?"

"I'm not quite sure, Miss. He left me a couple o'
minutes since. While I was havin' a word with Jackson,
Peridot went up the hill."

"Was he tired?"

Popple was undoubtedly perplexed by this sudden
concern as to Peridot's physical condition; but he answered
readily enough, "Well, Miss, if he isn't, he
ought to be. We've been hard at it, high water an' low,
for fourteen hours."

Yvonne was so visibly relieved that Popple's bewilderment
increased. Of course he had heard no word of
Madeleine's flight, and he could not understand that if
Peridot had gone home and to bed there was a chance
that the fisherman might leave the village again early
in the morning without being told the disastrous news,
since Madame Larraidou was a cautious old body, who
would not vex her son with idle gossip.
// 254.png

Popple hesitated. If further details of Peridot's
well-being were needed, he was ready to vouch for the
Breton's apparent good health and complete sobriety.

Mrs. Carmac fathomed his difficulty at once.

"Go on, Captain," she smiled. "Miss Ingersoll only
wanted to be assured that Peridot was safe in his cottage.
His mother was anxious about him--that is all."

"No need, Ma'am, I assure you," said Popple earnestly.
"He's one of the best, is Peridot. For a
Frenchman, I've never met his ekal. I had a sort of
notion he'd bring good luck, an' he did too. We've got
your boxes!"

.tb

Mrs. Carmac stood up. Her pale cheeks flushed with
gratification. "I am more than pleased," she cried.
"Where are they? Can they be brought here tonight?"

"No, Ma'am; not both, that is. Like meself, I
reckon, you're forgettin' the ways of a French custom
house. I've got yours, because it was open; but the
other one, which is locked, had to be left in a shed down
below there until the key is produced. I tried to tell
some chap in a blue coat and cheese-cutter cap that if
poor Mr. Carmac had any cigars or cigarettes in his
cabin trunk they wouldn't be of much account after soakin' 
in salt water for a matter o' ten days or there abouts;
but, bless your heart, he wouldn't listen.
Mossoo Guého, the gentleman from Brest, tole me I'd
have to bring the key in the mornin', or, more likely,
force it open; so I left it at that."
// 255.png

Mrs. Carmac was puzzled, and showed it. "You say
my box is open. Do you mean, that it has been smashed
to pieces?" she inquired.

"It's hardly been scratched, Ma'am. You see, it was
this way: When the yacht broke in two the fore part
was carried clean away by the sea. The trawl picked
up fittin's an' bits o' machinery two hundred yards from
the reef. But the after part must ha held together
longer, an' the heavy seas didn't get at it quite so fierce
like. Anyhow, Peridot sort o' nosed out where them
boxes might be lyin', an' we sent the diver down--an'
sure enough there they were."

"Could the box have been wrenched open while being
lifted to the surface?"

Popple scratched his head dubiously, not because of
any doubt suggested by Mrs. Carmac's question, but on
account of a problem that had bothered him ever since
the salvage was effected.

"No, Ma'am," he said, evidently weighing his words.
"It received no rough usage. It wasn't locked."

"But it was!" insisted the lady, rather emphatically.
"I locked it myself before coming on deck after we left
Brest. I remember doing so most distinctly."

"Then it's a myst'ry, Ma'am,--a real myst'ry, seein'
as the lock has been turned. The wards are full o' sand,
of course; but that has nothin' to do with their position."

"Where is the box now?"

"Outside on a handcart, Ma'am. Jackson's on guard.
That's been his job all day--just sittin' on that box.
// 256.png
You see, Ma'am, you tole me you was particular about
it an' the other one; so I've taken care that each of
'em reaches you just as we found it."

"Will you kindly ask the hotel porters to carry the
one box here now?"

"Cert'nly, Ma'am. There's on'y one thing. The
contents are in a sad mess. The sight of 'em may upset
you."

"No, no. The loss of the clothing is immaterial.
Please have the box brought in."

.tb

Popple lost no time. Mrs. Carmac was explaining to
Yvonne that the solitary article of jewelry she valued,
a necklace of graded pearls, had been left in a locked
case, itself inclosed in a locked box, when a porter
entered and dumped a rust-covered steel trunk on the
floor. Popple untied the knots of a rope that kept
the lid in position. Unquestionably, if Mrs. Carmac
had turned the key in the lock on leaving her cabin,
it had been opened later, either by accident or design.

The owner dropped to her knees instantly. After an
alarmed glance at an arrangement of straps beneath
the lid, she piled a number of sodden and salt-stained
articles on the floor. Soon she was gazing disconsolately
at an empty box. The jewelcase was not there. But
she was more than disturbed, she was exceedingly annoyed.

"I have been robbed!" she cried. "Someone on
board the Stella possessed a key that would open a Yale
lock, a thing that called for careful planning. I have
// 257.png
lost twenty thousand pounds' worth of pearls and diamonds!"

"Mr. Raymond tole me the necklace alone was worth
ten thousand, Ma'am," breathed Popple thickly.

"Mr. Raymond! How came you and he to be discussing
the value of my jewels?" She was on her feet
now, glowering in anger, a woman despoiled of her
prized possessions, and ready to suspect anyone.

Popple was apologetic. He felt as if he were personally
in default. "We was talkin' one day about the
salvage, Ma'am. If you remember, you mentioned a lot
o' money in notes, which ought to turn up in the trunk
at the customs shed, and it seemed sort o' nateral that
Mr. Raymond an' I should talk things over."

"Yes, yes. Of course he knew all about the notes and
the rest. Don't look at me in that stupid fashion. I am
not accusing you or Mr. Raymond of stealing my belongings.
But how can one account for this wretched
business? Who could have dared to go to my cabin,
when the robbery must be discovered before we reached
port that night? I locked both case and box. Here
are the keys. Celeste found them in a special pocket
inside the skirt I wore that day. My husband's keys
were in his pocket too. They were brought to me by
the mayor on behalf of the police."

She was talking excitedly, almost at random, and had
snatched at a porte-monnaie to display the keys, as
though the fact that they existed and were in her keeping
supplied proof positive that she could not be mistaken.
// 258.png

"It's an awkward business, an' that's the solemn
truth, Ma'am," wheezed Popple. "It 'ud please me an'
Jackson if you'd send for the police an' have 'em
search us an' our rooms. Not that we've got much beyond
a few bits o' linen----"

"You and Jackson--the steward!" repeated Mrs.
Carmac shrilly. "Did you know already that my jewels
were gone?"

"We guessed it, Ma'am. We didn't like the look o'
that there box, an' that's a fact."

She stamped a foot angrily on the floor of polished
wood. "It does not concern you or Jackson," she
cried. "I would as soon think of blaming Mr. Raymond,
who was with me in the deck saloon during all
those miserable hours----"

.tb

"Blaming me for what, Mrs. Carmac?" came in the
secretary's harsh voice. The door had been left open
when the box was brought in, and Raymond himself
was standing there now. He had just returned from
Quimperlé, and had the semblance of a man pierced
with cold, as the night had suddenly grown chilly. His
small eyes roved from Mrs. Carmac's irritated face
to Yvonne, who was still seated, and had not interfered
in the conversation. Then they dwelt on
the empty trunk and the disheveled heap of its
contents.

"You've recovered some of your baggage, I see," he
went on quietly. "Is that the box containing your
jewelcase?"
// 259.png

"It is the box that did contain it at one time," came
the vexed rejoinder.

"Do you mean that the case is not there?"

"Yes. Someone has stolen it. I care nothing about
the diamonds; but the pearls were given me by Mr.
Carmac, and cannot be replaced."

"But--forgive the question--why did you say you
do not blame me?"

"I blame no one, you least of any, as you are the one
man who was never near my cabin since I quitted it."

Raymond advanced farther into the room. After one
sharp glance at the flustered sailor, he gazed again
at the limp collection of garments on the floor, from
which a light haze of steam was curling lazily, as the
temperature of the apartment was many degrees higher
than that of the wet and closely packed lingerie and
dresses.

"This is a very serious matter," he said slowly.
"Unfortunately most of the Stella's crew have left
Pont Aven."

"My men were not thieves, Mr.----" broke in Popple
fiercely.

"I am not even hinting that they were," said Raymond.
"I only mention the chief obstacle in the way,
of a search for the missing gems--granted the almost
incredible thing that any man on board the Stella stole
them in the belief that he could win clear with his loot
before Mrs. Carmac discovered her loss. Do you mean
to send for the police?" he continued, addressing Mrs.
Carmac. "And--that reminds me--what of the money
// 260.png
Mr. Carmac carried in one of his trunks? Is that gone
also?"

Mrs. Carmac snapped that she did not mean to trouble
the police. The sooner she was out of Pont Aven
and free of its oppressive atmosphere the better she
would be pleased. Then, apparently ashamed of her
petulance, she explained the mystery of the open lock.

Raymond tried to be helpful. He frowned judicially.
"Where did you actually place the jewelcase?" he
asked.

"In those straps," she said, pointing to the slings
attached to the inside of the lid.

"Then isn't it at least possible that you did not
actually lock the box, though believing you had done
so? In this event the case, being heavy, may have fallen
out, and be now somewhere in the locality where the
box was found."

"No," said Popple. "The diver had his orders. He
searched pertic'lar." His tone was gruff, even hostile.
He would be hard to convince that the secretary's reference
to the departed members of the yacht's company
was not meant as a slur on their character.

Raymond ignored Popple's curtness. "Still, as you
yourself said, Captain, the sea acts in a curiously uncertain
way at times," he replied blandly. "There
will be no harm in making a fresh search tomorrow.
Weather permitting, I shall accompany you, if for no
other reason than a wish to see once again a place where
some of us--not all, unhappily--were so providentially
rescued."
// 261.png

Mrs. Carmac rang for Celeste. "Take these articles,
and give them to Mademoiselle Julia for distribution
among the poor women of the village," she said. Her
attitude was eloquent. The pearls were lost irretrievably.
She dismissed the subject.

"<i>Mais, Madame</i>," cried the dismayed Celeste, "much
of the linen is veritably new, and only requires washing."

"Do as I bid you. I shall never wear any of those
garments again. Captain Popple, here is the key you
want. I leave you to deal with the customs people.
Will you help Celeste to remove the box? Thank you.
Well, Mr. Raymond, you have just returned from
Quimperlé, I suppose? Did you have a cold journey?"

.tb

Raymond took the cue, and said nothing more of the
theft. When Popple and the maid had gone he explained
that during the run to Quimperlé he decided that it
would be more discreet to telephone Duquesne than send
Yvonne's telegram. He was lucky in reaching his friend
without delay, and was thus able to give him detailed
instructions, including a full description of Madeleine's
appearance. Duquesne had promised to meet the train
at the Gare St. Lazare. In fact, he was so eager to
serve that, failing Madeleine's arrival at the expected
hour, he would meet the next train, and the next.
In any case he would telegraph the result early in the
morning.

In a word, Raymond had acquitted himself admirably.
// 262.png
He had forgotten nothing, left no stone unturned.
Yvonne was more than ever grateful.

Mrs. Carmac was tired, almost peevish; so the girl
did not remain much longer.

She agreed readily when Raymond asked to be allowed
to see her home, and did not demur on reaching the
bridge at an unexpected request that she should walk
with him a little way down the road to the harbor.

"The hour is not so late," he said deferentially,
"and I wish to lay before you a very serious matter. I
may surprise you greatly. I may even distress you.
But I do want you to believe, Miss Yvonne, that in
baring my heart to you I am not swayed by unworthy
motives."

The girl was certainly astonished by this portentous
opening; but the secretary's action with regard to
Madeleine had completely dissipated a sense of restraint
and dislike that she was usually aware of when in his
company. Thinking he had some news from Paris that
he did not wish to reveal in Mrs. Carmac's presence, she
hastened to assure him that he might speak with the utmost
candor.

"That is good and kind of you," he said; "but it is
only what I expected to hear from your lips. But I am
sure you will forgive me if I tread warily. I have that
to tell which may find you unprepared, and I think you
will thank me afterward--no matter what view you take
of what I may call an astounding revelation--if I do not
blurt out what I have to say like some frightened child.
My nature is a cautious one, and I shrink from even
// 263.png
the semblance of inflicting pain. Such characteristics
may be commendable in their way; but they have their
drawbacks in a case like this, when a man who would
willingly undergo any suffering for your sake is forced,
against the grain, to utter unpleasant truths."

.tb

Yvonne was more and more bewildered. She realized
intuitively now that he meant to discuss her mother's
affairs, since Madeleine could not possibly have reached
Paris yet, and any tidings he might have obtained with
regard to Rupert Fosdyke's schemes hardly warranted
such an alarming preamble. So she strove to make him
comprehend that he was treading on dangerous ground.

"If you are referring, even indirectly, to Mrs. Carmac,"
she said frankly, "I must warn you instantly
that I cannot listen to anything concerning her. Until
she came to Pont Aven I was not even aware that such
a relative as an aunt existed. When she leaves this
place--though I shall see her often, I hope, in the future--the
relations between us will be rather those of good
friends than of aunt and niece. You ought to understand,
then, Mr. Raymond, that if your confidences deal
with her I refuse to hear them."

Raymond sighed heavily. He seemed to be at a loss
for words. In reality Yvonne had said exactly what he
anticipated, and he counted on a well judged delay as
calculated to increase her agitation and weaken her defenses.

"Please don't render an ungracious task harder," he
said, as though nerving himself to a supreme effort,
// 264.png
when Yvonne, after walking a few paces in silence, was
about to tell him that she would go no farther. "I
meant to prepare you by some vague comments that
would clear the air. But your highly strung and generous
temperament will not permit any display of what
I have described as my methods of caution. Well, then,
if it must be so, let us get to the crux of the matter at
once. Mrs. Carmac is not your aunt, Miss Yvonne.
She is your mother! She was your father's lawful wife!
She deserted him and you, got an American divorce, and
was married to Walter Carmac in England. I believe
that the second marriage was not a valid one. It is
terrible to have to say these things; but they are true,
and it rests with you to save her from exposure and
ignominy. I beseech you to credit my good faith in this
matter. To whom can I appeal if not to you, her
daughter? It is manifestly impossible that I should go
to your father. He could not help her if he would.
Her future happiness, her very means of existence, are
in your hands. Can you then reproach me if I ask you
to bear with me while I endeavor to show a way out of
a situation bristling with difficulties for all of us, alive
with real danger for your own mother?"

.tb

In the first shock of this disclosure Yvonne was
minded to rend the man with a few quiet words of scorn
and disdain, and then leave him. Twice she essayed to
break in on his measured utterances, and twice she held
back. She could not know that Raymond had forged
his thunderbolt with no slight skill. He could not hope
// 265.png
to achieve the final effect he aimed at by merely revealing
a secret that was no secret. Close observation had
shown that the girl was well aware of the relationship
she bore to Mrs. Carmac, and, although she might be a
prey to terror and dismay at finding the knowledge in
possession of a comparative stranger, she would hardly
do other than resent his interference, resent it too with
a good deal of spirit and hot indignation.

He contrived therefore to combine innuendo with fact.
He had counted the cost. He was playing a desperate
game. During the next five minutes he must have in
Yvonne either a determined opponent or a subservient
if unwilling ally. There could be no half measures. If
his suit was spurned, he must attach himself forthwith
to Rupert Fosdyke's fortunes. If Yvonne wavered, or
was cowed, he would strike a telling blow through her
mother. No matter how the issue tended, he was secure
of a thumping reward.

Once again the hazard of the hour seemed to be with
him. Yvonne, almost tongue-tied and wholly bewildered,
could only falter brokenly, "Having said so much, you
cannot stop now. What do you mean when you say
that Mrs. Carmac is in danger?"

He almost chuckled. Things were going well, exceedingly
well. She was ready to listen. But he managed to
throw an emotional vibration into his voice. For the
moment the man was a consummate actor; though indeed
he had so much at stake that no extraordinary effort
was called for.

"Thank you," he said, apparently groping in a fog
// 266.png
of doubt, and forcing an unwilling parade of unpalatable
and distressing facts. "It is something gained to
feel that you have suspended judgment. You may or
may not know already that Mrs. Carmac is your mother.
I ask you to admit nothing: only to hear and weigh my
statements dispassionately. Eighteen years ago your
mother deserted you and your father in Paris. For
some reason Mrs. Ingersoll married Carmac in her
maiden name two years later. None of her associates
ever guessed that the beautiful and distinguished Stella
Fordyce had been the wife of an unknown artist. Her
secret was safe with your father. It would have gone
to the grave with her but for the wreck of the yacht on
a Breton reef, and the really phenomenal chance that
brought her first husband and her child to her rescue.
Even then nothing might have been revealed had not
Carmac lost his life. Really, if one were superstitious,
one would see the action of Providence in----"

"Please spare me any references of that sort," broke
in Yvonne. She could endure much; but she was not
compelled to suffer this hypocritical scoundrel's blasphemy.

Raymond started. There was a new quality in her
voice. She was regaining her self control, and at all
costs he must prevent that. If he would win, he must
adopt tactics of the whirlwind order.

"Forgive me," he said. "The thought has been
so constantly in my mind of late that it came unbidden.
But you leave me no choice. I must speak plainly,
almost brutally. Let Rupert Fosdyke obtain the faintest
// 267.png
shadow of the unquestionable facts, and he will not
only drive your mother forth a pauper, but put such a
complexion on the facts that she will be disgraced forever
among her equals."

"Disgraced! Why? People are not disgraced because
they obtain a divorce according to the laws of
their own country."

"No; but they are punished severely if they offend
against the social code. Mrs. Carmac's offense is
against British law. She cannot deny it. The first
person who lodges an information can upset her husband's
will. Deprived of his money and its influence,
what becomes of her?"

.tb

Yvonne stood in the road as though she had been
turned to stone, and perforce Raymond halted and
faced her. There was not a strong light in that place.
Some fifty yards away shone a lamp that marked a
footbridge across the top of the harbor. Just beneath
the Aven took its last plunge as a mountain stream and
mingled its sweet waters with the tides. On the rocks,
high above the river, a Calvary was silhouetted against
the cold, clear blue of a starlit sky, and it needed no
highly imaginative mind to picture the stark figure
of the Christ gazing down compassionately on one of
His creatures who was disobeying His ordinances.

Not far distant was the cheerful café frequented by
artists and writers on summer evenings, where Madame
Maréchale, Julia Guillou's sister, dispensed cups of
black coffee, and tiny glasses of liqueur cider, and
// 268.png
epigrams--each excellent in their way. In a flash the
notion presented itself to Yvonne's overburdened mind
that the pleasant intimacy of those mild revels was being
banned by some malign influence which had its living
agent in the diminutive creature now confronting her.
The empty right sleeve of Raymond's overcoat added
to his lop-sided appearance. The black figure, sharply
outlined against the white road and the luminous mist
rising from the river, was almost ghoul-like in its
ungainliness. She could see the Calvary. Raymond had
turned his back on it. Instantly she found in him the
personification of the impenitent thief.

But she had her wits about her now. Life was becoming
too complex in its issues that a girl should handle
them alone. No matter what the outcome, her father
must take control; but before going to him she must
probe this miscreant's full intent.

"Do you imply that you are the person who may
lodge an information?" she said, with a calmness of
tone that sounded bizarre in her own ears.

"No, no. That is the last thing I would think of,"
protested Raymond heatedly.

"Or that you feel compelled to acquaint Rupert Fosdyke
with his rights as his uncle's heir?"

"He has no rights. His uncle has cast him off
deliberately. He is an unscrupulous roué--witness
his heartless philandering with your friend Madeleine!"

"In that event, why have you made revelations to
me, which, if true, cannot fail to be hurtful?"
// 269.png

"I want to become your loyal ally in shielding your
mother from the consequences of her past mistakes."

"I am almost powerless, Mr. Raymond. Mrs. Carmac
will go from Pont Aven soon. I remain with my
father. What sort of alliance can you and I form that
will protect or benefit her?"

Raymond's small eyes blazed with sudden fire. She
had actually helped him to surmount the stiffest barrier.
"The best and most enduring of all," he said
thickly. "Marry me! Why not? You are free. I
shall be a devoted husband. Your slightest wish will be
my law. You will not be separated from your parents,
with either of whom you can dwell for such periods as
you think fit. Marry me, and every ill now threatening
your mother will dissolve into thin air!"

At that crisis the image of Laurence Tollemache obliterated
that of the little man with the grating voice,
and Yvonne could have laughed aloud. But she kept
her head. The naïve habit of thought induced by close
communion with her Breton friends stood her in good
stead then, when a false move might precipitate she
knew not what ills.

"Is that the price of your silence?" she said, and the
clear, precise enunciation recalled her mother in every
syllable.

"That is not a fair way to put it," was the hoarse
answer; for the strain was beginning to tell, even on
Raymond's nerves of steel.

"Let me hear how you put it," she went on mercilessly.
// 270.png

"We would be making a compact to our mutual advantage,"
he said. "I would gain a beautiful and accomplished
wife; you would inherit your mother's millions.
We would unite in protecting her and punishing
Rupert Fosdyke."

"I see," she said, with an air of careful consideration.
"You do not want an answer tonight, I suppose?"

"Time is pressing--horribly pressing."

"In that respect time must stand still until tomorrow.
We shall meet then."

She went off without any attempt at bidding him
farewell. Raymond glared after her fixedly. He was
annoyed, almost discomfited, but not disheartened. He
had taken the step that counts. She knew now what lay
at the back of his projects, and that was a long stride
toward the goal. He was so deeply absorbed in reckoning
the pros and cons of every word Yvonne had spoken
that he failed to see Tollemache standing outside Julia's
until close on him. Even then he could not find his
tongue; so he merely grinned. Thus might a fiend gloat
over a soul in peril. Was there none to help? Raymond,
at any rate, saw a clear road. He was most
affable to the porter who was waiting to assist him in
undressing. For a man with a broken arm he had
struck a shrewd blow in Pont Aven that night.
// 271.png

.sp 4
.h2 id=chXIII
CHAPTER XIII||SHOWING HOW TOLLEMACHE TOOK CHARGE
.sp 2

Yvonne found her father hunched up in his accustomed
chair. He was smoking, and brooding, his gaze
centered in the pine logs crackling on the hearth.
Thus had she found him each night since his return
from Concarneau. He, seldom without a book after
daylight failed unless some crony called in for a chat,
had not opened a book during many days. He had the
aspect of a man crushed by misery. It was borne in on
his daughter that he was slowly yielding under an intolerable
strain; yet it had become her bitter portion
to add materially to a load carried so uncomplainingly.

He looked up as she entered, and essayed a welcoming
smile which conveyed a ghostly reminiscence of a
joyous past now utterly remote. It cut her to the quick;
but she strove to emulate his seeming nonchalance.

"I thought my message would have brought you
sooner," he said. "But perhaps you were helping your
mother to overhaul her boxes. Mère Pitou gave me the
news of the salvage, which has surprised our local experts.
This is the first time in the memory of man that
Les Verrés have disgorged their prey."

"What message, Dad?"
// 272.png

Yvonne removed her hat and coat, and seated herself
on a sheepskin rug by her father's side. She had that
to say which would be hard for both, and she did not
wish to see the agony in his face.

"Haven't you seen Lorry, then?" he inquired.

"No, Dear."

"But that is strange. Lorry left here quite half an
hour ago, meaning to ask you to come home. I didn't
think Pont Aven could hide you from Lorry if he was
bent on the chase."

"Sorry, Dad. Nothing--no one--would have kept
me had I known. But I understand what happened. I
quitted Julia's about half an hour since. Mr. Raymond
was anxious for a brief talk, and we walked to the top
of the quay. Lorry would go to Julia's by the mills.
That is how he missed me."

She felt her father's body quiver, as a mettlesome
horse might flinch under the touch of a spur, and knew
that the mere mention of Raymond's name had affected
him. It was her habit, when seated at his knee, to catch
his hand and draw it over her shoulder, holding it in
both of hers, and using it as a sort of stay. She had
done this insensibly, and her downcast eyes dwelt on the
thin, nervous fingers--they seemed to have shrunk during
that time of suffering. The discovery affected her
strangely. She could not, she dared not, unburden her
soul then. No matter what the cost to herself and
others, he must be spared--at any rate till another day
of wretchedness was upon them. She realized just in
time that a hot tear stealing down her cheek would
// 273.png
drop on that dear hand, and bring about an instant demand
for an explanation.

With a jerk she averted her head, and the tear fell
scalding on her own wrist. Her father misinterpreted
the movement.

"Don't stir, Girly," he said. "I have something to
say, a confession to make. Remain where you are. I
shall cause you pain, and if I find my own anguish mirrored
in your eyes, I may falter in my duty."

.tb

So father and daughter were animated by the same
thought. Each desired only to lighten the shock for the
other. Yvonne nestled closer. More than ever was she
resolved to keep her woes to herself for the hour. With
an effort that cost a cruel biting of her under lip, she
contrived to murmur without a catch in her voice:

"You're tired, Darling. Don't tell me you're not.
You ought to be in bed and asleep. Let us wait till the
morning, and have a nice long chat after <i>petit déjeuner</i>."

"No," said Ingersoll firmly. "I promised Lorry I
would speak tonight. He--expects it of me."

"Lorry!" she gasped, in a sudden fright born of the
knowledge that had come to her in the gloom down there
by the whispering river, when a cold-blooded trafficker in
her mother's difficulties had offered to sell his secret at
the price of all she held dear. "Lorry! How is Lorry
concerned in our present troubles?"

"Your troubles are his, Sweetheart. Lorry loves
you. True knight-errant that he is, he wants to slay the
dragon that would devour you."
// 274.png

"But, father dear, how could he know? How could
anyone know?"

In her quick alarm the cry slipped out unaware.
Happily, as it transpired,--for there is no telling what
John Ingersoll might have done in his anger if Raymond's
infamous suggestion had reached him in the present
state of tension,--he misunderstood a second time.

"Lorry didn't know, he only guessed," he said gently.
"He is a good fellow, and I ached for the sympathy of
some man to whom I could talk freely. So, to remove the
cloud between us, of which each has been sensible since
we came ashore on that Thursday night, I told him the
truth, and the whole truth. He urged that you should
be told too. He is right. Oddly enough, despite my
vaunted repute for wisdom, he saw into the muddle more
clearly than I. Yvonne, I did not divorce your mother.
I--I regret my action now, when regret comes too late.
According to English law she never could have been
Walter Carmac's wedded wife while I lived. Girly, forgive
me! I have wronged both her and you grievously."

Yvonne whirled round and flung her arms about the
stricken man's neck. There was no pretense now at
hiding her tears; but her eyes shone with another light
than that of grief.

"Dad," she cried fiercely, "I sha'n't have you torn
and harried in this way! I refuse, do you hear? It is
my turn to bear some of the suffering, some of the sacrifice.
I am young and strong, and you have trained me
well for the battle. My mother's story must not become
known. We must save her, you and I. Isn't it
// 275.png
by such means that our worth is tested? Do you think
I'll shirk the ordeal? No, a thousand times no! We
can't talk reasonably tonight. We would rend each
other's hearts. But tomorrow, when we are calmer,
we must look at things fearlessly, and take the road
that leads to honor, no matter what the cost!"

Her father stroked her hair to still her frenzy, just
as he had often done in the stress of some childish tantrum;
for Yvonne had never been a demure little saint,
but owned in full measure the defects of a frank and
impulsive temperament.

"Don't let us give way to hysteria," he said, smiling
wanly. "Of course it was my fault. I cracked up first;
but I sha'n't offend again. Perhaps, as you say, we
may take a more level-headed view of our difficulties in
cold daylight. But, to prepare you, so to speak, I
must warn you that your mother's chief enemy is that
churl Raymond."

"Raymond!" Again was Yvonne almost choked with
apprehension. How could her father suspect the devilish
scheme the secretary had hatched? Had Lorry
probed the depths of the man's evil mind? Her brain
swam; but she compelled her faculties to remain alert.

"Yes--Raymond," her father was saying. "I have
no absolute proof; but I am convinced that he overheard
your mother's frantic words of self reproach when the
Hirondelle was coming up the river. The very agent
he is employing in Paris, ostensibly in aid of your quest
for poor Madeleine, is really engaged in a search into
the early records of our lives, your mother's and mine.
// 276.png
The inquiry is a simple thing. If Raymond has not
secured the necessary evidence already, it is only a matter
of hours before it is in his hands. Then, unless a
miracle happens, he can dictate his own terms. Worst
of all, your mother will be in his power as long as she
lives, and an unscrupulous scoundrel, such as I believe
Raymond to be, could cause untold mischief after her
death."

Yvonne rose to her feet, and straightened her lithe,
slim body. With a determined gesture she brushed
away a mist from before her eyes. "I want to ask a
few questions," she said. "You will be quite open and
candid with me, I know, because it is necessary that we
should meet the trials of the next few days with the
clearest knowledge of each other's aims. Do you think
it possible to make any arrangement with Raymond
that would be binding?"

"The blackmailer's appetite only grows by feeding.
Pay him a very large sum today, and he will demand
four or five times the amount within a month or a year.
There is no finality. The wolf may eat to repletion; but
it will continue to slay in mere lust of killing.

"Is there no way of defeating him?"

"Lorry, as I hinted, hit on a notion. I have no
means of knowing exactly what legal steps Carmac and
Stella took to make their marriage valid. Carmac might
have been advised to establish, or secure, American citizenship.
Moreover, French law may adapt itself readily
to American standards. Those are points for lawyers;
but I want you to go into the matter thoroughly with
// 277.png
your mother, and ascertain whether or not there exists
any sort of legal barrier that may serve to keep this
jackal from devouring her. That is one reason why I
have opened my heart to you tonight."

Yvonne had Mrs. Carmac's trick of wrinkling her
brows when in deep thought. Many a time had her
father chaffed her on the habit, and pretended to wait
in breathless suspense till the oracle announced its
weighty decision. But the creasing of the smooth forehead
passed unnoticed now. They were no longer light-hearted
playmates, but a man and a woman pondering
one of life's most harrowing problems.

"Raymond can get nothing at all unless he acts
through Rupert Fosdyke," she said collectedly. "Why
shouldn't an arrangement be made with him--Fosdyke,
I mean? It's all a question of this wretched money.
Why shouldn't Mother give it to him and his sisters?
Surely they would leave her sufficient to live
on?"

Youth is sanguine. Yvonne had reached the same
conclusion as Tollemache; that, if money were really the
root of all evil, the noxious growth that had sprung into
such vigorous existence in Pont Aven since the feast of
Saint Barbara might be torn out bodily.

But Ingersoll thought the discussion had gone far
enough for the time. Certainly a settlement on reasonable
lines might be effected; but it was impracticable to
form anything in the nature of a fixed opinion until
Yvonne and her mother had talked matters over in the
light of full understanding. Something was gained in
// 278.png
the fact that the last obstacle in the way of complete
confidence between Yvonne and himself had been thrown
down. His manner showed how beneficial this belief on
his part might prove. He sprang up with a certain
alertness of movement that was eloquent of new-born
hope.

"No more talk tonight, Mignonne," he cried cheerfully.
"Now that we know the worst, we can fight in
the open side by side. Hitherto I have felt that I was
treating you unfairly in withholding from your ken the
most damaging item in your mother's catalogue of worries.
Tell her what I have said. I want you to speak
without reservation. Then, if she is equally candid, we
shall know just where we stand, and whence the main
attack may come."

Unhappily Yvonne was aware, when kissing her father
goodnight, that the enemy was attacking already; but
she held steadfast to the resolve not to disclose Raymond's
brazen scheme at present. The day had produced
sufficient wretchedness of spirit already.

.tb

So the two parted, and Yvonne, when safe in the solitude
of her room, knelt and prayed that some ray of
sunshine should pierce the gathering clouds. Then, in
more tranquil mood, she forced her thoughts into a new
channel by reading some pages of a biography of John
Ruskin. By curious chance she came across a passage
dealing with Ruskin's ill-fated love for Rosie La Touche,
and containing a poignant passage in a letter he wrote to
a friend:
// 279.png

.in +4
.ll -4
"I wanted my Rosie <i>here</i>. In heaven I mean to go and talk with
Pythagoras and Socrates and Valerius Publicola. I sha'n't care a bit
for Rosie there; she needn't think it. What will grey eyes and red
cheeks be good for <i>there</i>?"
.in -4
.ll +4

Yvonne closed the book with a snap. That shaft from
the bow so deftly wielded by a master archer had pierced
her very heart. She loved Tollemache. She wanted her
Lorry <i>here</i>. If any maleficent influence drove him from
her, all the brightness and color would depart out of her
life, a pleasant world grow cold and gray for evermore.

Then, being weary yet eminently healthy, she went
to bed and slept dreamlessly, and was up betimes in the
morning. It was pleasant to see the sun rising into a
clear sky above the stunted trees crowning the Toulifot
hill. The frosty weather, coming unusually early that
year, had lasted far beyond the prescribed brief period
of such cold snaps in December. There was little or
no wind. It was an ideal day for a walk. Meaning to
excuse herself from motoring, and wheedle her father
into a long tramp after luncheon,--with Lorry, perchance,
to disprove the infallibility of the adage
that two is company and three is none,--she warned
Mère Pitou that she would return for the midday
meal.

"Ah, <i>tcha</i>!" said Madame testily. "What between
one thing and another, I'm thinking of taking a holiday.
Little Barbe could have done all the cooking
needed in this house during the past week. Look at
your father! Anyone would say I starved him. As for
// 280.png
you, flying about and eating scraps and hashes in
strange hotels, I'm surprised at you!"

Yvonne assured her irate landlady that the best
ragout in Brittany would not lack appreciation that day,
and went to visit her mother in more cheerful mood than
she would have deemed possible overnight. It was market
day, and the Place au Beurre, beside whose old
houses the parish church of Saint Guenolé reared its
modest spire, was alive already with country carts,
smart coifs, and velvet jackets. In the larger square
across the bridge traders from neighboring towns were
erecting stalls for the display of their merchandise,
mostly wearing apparel and articles of household use.

Yvonne knew everybody, and everybody knew her.
She had a smile and a nod for the Widow Limbour,
whose confectionery and sweets had won her heart years
ago, for Marrec the barber, Daoudal the baker, Madame
Le Naour, purveyor of a strange blend in hats and
liqueurs, and Madame Le Garrec, seller of newspapers
and picture postcards. Monsieur le Courronc, whose
little gallery had held many of her father's pictures,
had spared a moment from his artistic wood carving,
and was looking out at the crowded marketplace. The
Morvans, <i>Monsieur et Madame</i>, whose Breton costumes
and laces excite the desire and empty the purses of fair
visitors in the summer, were in Pont Aven that day, and
Canivet the coach builder was standing at the entrance
to the yard that houses his industry. Each and all
greeted Yvonne. For a few happy minutes she forgot
her worries, until a girl met her, and asked shyly:
// 281.png

"Is there any news of Madeleine?"

That took some of the blue out of the sky. Yvonne
had to confess that nothing was known of Madeleine except
that she had gone to Quimperlé the previous day.
Her questioner simpered, and passed on. Madeleine's
story was already discredited. Much water would flow
under the bridge before she was reinstated in the good
opinion of Pont Aven.

.tb

Yvonne caught sight of Tollemache, standing, with a
pipe in his mouth and his hands in his pockets, outside
Julia's. (And, by the way, there is no disrespect in
this curt allusion to the name of the chief hotel in the
village. It is never spoken of locally otherwise than as
"Julia's" in English and "Chez Julia" in French.
The excellent lady who to a large extent built, and in
every other way owns, the property would think her
popularity was fading if any more ceremonious description
was used.)

Near Lorry were Captain Popple and Jackson, the
latter now promoted to a stick and a slow limp. Yvonne
would have passed with a smiling "Goodmorning," but
Tollemache pocketed his pipe and hailed her. She realized
instantly that he was excited about something quite
out of the common run, though his air was studiously
composed.

"You're going to Mrs. Carmac, I suppose?" he said.

"Yes," she answered, coloring slightly under the intensity
of his gaze, for Lorry had fine eyes, and now
they seemed to be looking into her heart; which was so
// 282.png
absurd a notion that her cheeks grew redder and redder.

"You won't be there long before Raymond comes in,"
he went on earnestly. "When he turns up I want you
to look out through the window, and touch your chin
with your right hand. That's all."

She laughed quite merrily, for sheer relief at the discovery
that he was thinking of anything but the fantasy
that had caused that riot in her veins.

"Dear me!" she cried. "What does that signify in
the code? Is he to be garroted straight off?"

Tollemache laughed too. "Don't ask any questions,
little girl, and you won't be told any fibs," he said.
"Captain Popple and Jackson and I have some business
on hand, and we want Mrs. Carmac and you to be present
when we drive a bargain with the wily Raymond.
Now, I sha'n't tell you any more; so you needn't pout."

"I'm not pouting."

"Oh, by the way, if there's any news of Madeleine,
get it while the deputation is approaching."

She courtesied, with a demure "<i>Oui, M'sieur</i>." Somehow,
that morning, despite the unpleasing tidings that
might have arrived from Paris, she felt oddly light-hearted.

.tb

But the smile froze on her lips when she met Raymond
on the steps of the annex, where he had evidently stationed
himself in order to waylay her. His slight figure
was tightly buttoned up in a heavy overcoat, and he
carried another coat over his left arm; so he raised his
hat more awkwardly even than usual. Then she remembered
// 283.png
that he was going down the river with the salvors,
and summoned all her woman's guile to the task of
bringing him back to her mother's apartments, in case
he had been there already and taken leave. She could
hardly have explained her motive. It sufficed that Lorry
had made a point of Raymond's attendance under given
conditions, and she was determined that his wish should
be obeyed.

"I've received a telegram from Duquesne," he said,
plunging at once into a topic on which they could converse
freely without the inevitable constraint of a first
meeting after the extraordinary disclosure of the preceding
night. "It's satisfactory, in a sense. He was
unable to approach Madeleine, because Fosdyke met
her on arrival at the Gare St. Lazare. But he followed
them. Fosdyke took Madeleine to a small hotel, and left
her there. Duquesne will endeavor to see her this morning."

"Has he obtained her address?" inquired the girl
eagerly, sinking her loathing of the man in the importance
of his statement.

"No. I'll show you the message, if you'll hold this
coat for a second or two."

"Come to Mrs. Carmac's room."

"Sorry, I've just seen Mrs. Carmac, and am making
for the quay."

"I insist," she said, with a very creditable effort at
a coquettish glance. "We can't stand talking here.
Come. I'll not keep you more than a minute."

Raymond, veritably astounded by her manner, as well
// 284.png
he might be, followed her without demur. He was elated,
almost excited. A new and entrancing vista opened before
his mind's eye. Were the difficulties that yet loomed
so large about to vanish into thin air? If Yvonne proved
gracious, what else was there to bother him? Each upward
step on the creaking stairs seemed to be another
rung in the ladder of fortune. He did not know
it, but he had reached the highest point of the climb
when he stood in Mrs. Carmac's room on the first
floor.

Yvonne had hurried on ahead, and put a warning
finger on her lips when she cried aloud, ostensibly to her
mother but actually for the secretary's benefit, "Mr.
Raymond is coming in. He has news of Madeleine,
and I didn't want to wait outside lest Peridot should
pass. I mean to avoid Peridot until, by one method or
another, I get in touch with Madeleine."

The explanation was not only plausible but strictly
accurate. When she crossed to the window and made the
agreed signal to Tollemache she might well have been
looking out to learn if Peridot was coming down the
Toulifot.

Lorry and his companions were already on the way.
They had seen the meeting in the doorway, and assumed
that Yvonne had drawn Raymond in her wake. Nevertheless
her stanch friend and devout lover was watching
the window. He grinned broadly, and waved a hand.
Why, she knew not; but her pulses throbbed. Some remarkable
thing was going to happen. She felt it in the
air.
// 285.png

Then she focused her thoughts on what Raymond was
saying. He had produced the telegram, the text of
which ran exactly as he had given it.

"As I may be absent all day," he added, "I took the
liberty to tell Duquesne to wire the result of his interview
with Mademoiselle Demoret to Mrs. Carmac. You have
his address, and can communicate with him without waiting
for me."

Mrs. Carmac nodded. She knew of the arrangement
already, and meant to inform Yvonne of it herself.
She was quick-witted, and her daughter's manner carried
a vague consciousness of the imminence of some
matter more important even than the tangle in which
Madeleine Demoret was involved.

"That sounds practicable," said Yvonne, rather for
the sake of detaining Raymond than by way of agreement,
since her father's revelation had destroyed every
shred of confidence in the man himself and his Parisian
helper. "Monsieur Duquesne can at least let us know
where Madeleine is staying. Then I'll risk all in a personal
appeal."

"I would advise you strongly to act only through
Duquesne," said Raymond. "He has wide experience,
and is thoroughly trustworthy. You can depend on
his discretion. He----"

.tb

There was a knock at the door. Tollemache entered.
After him came Popple, red-faced and serious, and Jackson,
with a bulldog expression on his Cockney features.

"I want you to give me five minutes, Mrs. Carmac,"
// 286.png
said Lorry gravely. "Certain facts have reached
me----"

"I'm sure you'll forgive me," broke in Raymond,
with glib assurance, "but I am accompanying the salvage
party, and I'll walk slowly on to the quay."

"No, you'll remain here!" said Tollemache. "What
I have to say concerns you more than any other person
breathing. Just listen! I'll come to the point quickly.
Mrs. Carmac, I have good reason to believe that this
man Raymond stole your jewels. I believe he has them
in his possession at this moment. Of course I'm fully
alive to the risk I run in bringing such a charge if it is
not substantiated. Now, Raymond, if you're in a hurry,
hand over those pearls and diamonds. By staging the
<i>pièce de conviction</i> you'll save a lot of bother. Then
the court, which is now assembled, can pronounce sentence,
and you'll know exactly where you are, which
should be a relief."

Tollemache paid no heed to the half-repressed cry of
amazement that burst simultaneously from the lips of
both women. He was gazing sternly and fixedly at
Raymond, whose sallow face had suddenly grown livid.
During a few trying seconds it really seemed as though
the rascal thus roundly accused of a dastardly crime
would collapse in a faint. But he rallied, and blurted
out a protest in a voice choked with fury.

"How dare you?" he cried. "You hound, to attack
a defenseless man! Mrs. Carmac, I appeal to you! Do
you allow me to be so grossly insulted in your presence?"
// 287.png

"<i>Defenseless</i> strikes me as the right word," said
Tollemache, ignoring Mrs. Carmac's involuntary attempt
at interference. "Of course you intend it as a plea on
account of your injury; but unless I am mistaken--in
which case I stand to be shot at in any way you choose--you
got your arm broken when rifling Mrs. Carmac's
trunk. However, I'll explain the whole business to your
complete satisfaction. Give me those pearls and the
other things. I mean to have them now! Don't think
you can escape by bluff, you miserable whelp! Hand
them over, or I'll take them, and use as much force as
may be necessary!"

Tollemache strode forward, and grasped the lapel of
Raymond's coat. Then indeed it was more than probable
that the secretary would drop where he stood. He
trembled like one in a palsy, and his lips twitched convulsively,
but could only mouth incoherent sounds.

.tb

Tollemache did not hesitate. Unbuttoning the overcoat,
and endeavoring to avoid touching the bandaged
arm, he thrust a hand into the inner right-hand pocket
of Raymond's jacket. At that the accused man uttered
a queer squeal of mingled rage and despair, and struck
wildly at his adversary with his left fist. Tollemache
merely moved his head, and the blow passed harmlessly
over his shoulder. In the same instant he withdrew
something from Raymond's pocket, and stepped back.

"What's this?" he said coolly, exhibiting a small
square case, covered with Morocco leather.

Mrs. Carmac, who had watched this trying scene with
// 288.png
manifest distress, looked at the object that Tollemache
held in full view. Her eyes dilated in sheer terror; but
recognition dawned in them, and she cried excitedly:

"That is the case which contained my pearls!"

Tollemache pressed a spring, and a lid flew open.
There, coiled within, reposed a string of pearls. Mrs.
Carmac gave them one glance; then she turned on the
man who had been so dramatically compelled to relinquish
his booty.

"Oh, how could you do such a thing?" she wailed
brokenly. "You knew how I prized them--the one gift
of my husband's which I valued."

"Your husband's!" snarled Raymond. "Which
husband? Carmac?"

She flinched as if he had dealt her the blow intended
for Tollemache; but her champion was in no mind to
permit a discomfited rogue to vent his spleen on a woman.

"Unless you're a bigger fool than you are unquestionably
a knave, you'll hold your tongue," he said,
speaking with a vehemence that silenced Raymond for
the moment. "Now let us have no more humbug. I
don't want to hurt you. Where are the other articles?
Either give them up yourself or tell me where to find
them."

Though quivering with passion, the detected thief
apparently realized that he had nothing to gain by further
pretense. From the left-hand outer pocket of his
jacket he took two cases similar in size and material to
that which held the pearls, though the color of the
leather differed in each instance. He ignored 
// 289.png
Tollemache, and gave them to Mrs. Carmac. Even in that
supreme instant his brazen nerve did not fail him.

"This dispute really affects you and me," he said.
"I suggest that you discuss it with me privately."

"At present, Raymond, I would call your attention
to the fact that you are discussing things with me," said
Tollemache firmly. "Mrs. Carmac," he went on,
"kindly glance through your belongings, and tell me if
there is anything missing."

She obeyed, though in a pitiable state of nervousness.
In the cold, clear light of a December day, diamonds
and rubies, sapphires and emeralds, winked at her
evilly as her trembling fingers turned over the contents
of the cases, which had evidently been extracted from a
larger receptacle so that they might be disposed of in
Raymond's clothing without attracting attention by
their bulk.

"Yes," she faltered, "I believe that every article is
here."

.tb

"Now," said Tollemache, turning again to the ashen-faced
Raymond, "I've proved my charge in the presence
of witnesses. The stolen goods have been found in your
possession. I admit that it is sheer good luck alone that
swung the investigation my way. Had you been
searched tonight, we might have whistled for the actual
proof, because Mrs. Carmac's property would have been
lying beneath the sea on the reef, unless it happened to
be picked up by the diver. The facts are simple. You
were with Mrs. Carmac in the deck saloon of the Stella
// 290.png
during the gale. When Mr. Carmac shouted to his wife
that the yacht had broken down, and would be dashed
ashore within ten minutes, Mrs. Carmac fainted.
Neither you nor anyone on board realized that the vessel
would strike on Les Verrés and not on the coast.

"Being a thief in heart, you remembered that a small
fortune was lying in those two boxes, and you thought
you had plenty of time to open them, secure both the
money and the jewels, and trust to luck for escape when
the yacht was wrecked. If either of your employers
was saved, and inquiry seemed possible, you had the
plausible excuse that you were safeguarding the most
valuable part of their property. You might have found
some difficulty in explaining how you came to be in
possession of duplicate keys; but you took the chance.
I must say that for a man at the very gates of death you
displayed a cool nerve which might command admiration
if applied to a worthy object.

"As it happened, there was one man who kept an eye
on you. Jackson here was below at the time, preparing
tea. The sudden racing of the engines, the stoppage
of the screw, and the fact that the yacht was drifting
told him what had occurred. Then he heard the cry,
'All hands on deck!' and was himself running along
the gangway when he saw you rush down the main companion
and dart into the cabin occupied by Mr. and
Mrs. Carmac. Thinking you might need his help, he
followed you.

"By the time he reached the door you had Mrs. Carmac's
box open, and had snatched the jewelcase, which,
// 291.png
being locked, you stuffed into a breast pocket. Then
you turned to Mr. Carmac's trunk, and were about to
insert a key, when the yacht struck, and fell on her beam
ends. The heavy trunk rolled on top of you, and broke
your arm. Jackson thought you were killed; but in the
same instant he was flung across the lower saloon, and
had his ankle dislocated. When he was lying there you
managed to crawl in and join him, and each of you was
carried out by the crew later. Is that the correct
story, Jackson?"

"True as the Gospel, every word, s'elp me!" said
Jackson.

"So you see, Raymond, this poor fellow didn't know
what to think during the last few days. He couldn't
swear that you actually took the case, because you
were kneeling beside the box, and your back was toward
him. But you took something, and until the search was
made and the robbery discovered he could not be certain
what it was. He had his suspicions, but wisely kept a
still tongue; though, had he left Pont Aven earlier, he
meant to tell me what he had seen. Last night he and
Captain Popple and I reviewed the facts carefully. In
the first instance, we believed that you meant to drop
the jewels overboard today, and then cause a careful
search to be made in that exact place. I know why you
were willing to relinquish your loot. I'll deal with that
side of a nasty business in a minute or two. Secondly,
I called on Dr. Garnier early this morning, and both he
and the nurse assured me that, notwithstanding the
physical agony you were suffering when brought ashore,
// 292.png
you insisted on removing your coat yourself, placed it
on a chair, and stipulated that your clothes should not
be touched by anyone. Of course I had to do a bit of
guessing; but I guessed right."

.tb

Yvonne, now that the shock of an extraordinary and
painful scene was yielding to a sense of its paramount
importance in view of Raymond's previous attitude, was
gazing at Tollemache with new wonder in her eyes. The
light-hearted, happy-go-lucky dabbler in art had conducted
this remarkable investigation into a crime with
the easy assurance of a skilled lawyer. He had marshaled
his facts lucidly. He had decided on the one
method that would insure complete success, and had
adopted it without hesitation. Each trenchant sentence
had a sledge-hammer effect on the culprit, who saw his
inmost thoughts laid bare mercilessly, yet in a manner
wholly devoid of heat or bluster. She could not find it
in her heart to pity Raymond; but she was aware, for
the first time in her life, of a species of awe with regard
to Tollemache.

The man who was judge and jury and prosecuting
counsel in this new and thrilling form of criminal procedure
had not, however, reached the end of his brief.
He nodded to Popple and Jackson.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "We've carried that job
almost to a finish without a hitch. I'll join you on the
terrace when Mrs. Carmac has settled matters with this
chap."

Raymond made one last effort to assert himself. "I
// 293.png
have not interfered with your stage effect," he sneered.
"It was not necessary. I shall explain to Mrs. Carmac,
and to none other, why her jewels came to be in my
care."

"Don't think it!" said Lorry, smiling pleasantly into
the vengeful face raised to his. "I'm not through with
you yet. You're dealing with a man now, not with a
terrified woman. So long, you two! I'll soon make an
end of our unworthy secretary!"

The two men saluted silently and went out.

.tb

When the door had closed on them Tollemache drew
some sheets of manuscript from a pocket.

"You've heard the evidence and verdict, Raymond,"
he said, piercing the defeated schemer with unwavering
eyes. "Now I shall proceed to pass sentence. I
have jotted down here a full confession. In return for
my clemency you will undertake never to interfere in
any way with regard to Mrs. Carmac's second marriage.
You understand exactly what I mean. You and
I both know why you were giving up to the vagaries of
the sea thousands of pounds' worth of pearls and diamonds.

"This bargain is between you and me. Mrs. Carmac
herself is not a party to it. I return her jewels, and she
asks no questions. So long as you hold your tongue,
and leave her in peace, she will ignore the facts I have
made known this morning. Breathe one syllable affecting
her private affairs, whether today, or next year,
or in twenty years, and your signed confession of the
// 294.png
theft is handed over to the proper authorities. You
need not hope to extricate yourself by appeals or threats.
Your fate doesn't rest with Mrs. Carmac, but with me,
and if the occasion arises I'll crush you as I would a
scorpion. Sit down, if you're tired, or feel faint. But
keep your wits active.

"It's now or never for you! You either agree or go
to jail, and if you choose the latter course, you'll find
French law devilish unpleasant to any scoundrel who
tries to bolster up his offense by trading on a woman's
bygone history."
// 295.png

.sp 4
.h2 id=chXIV
CHAPTER XIV||A BRETON RECKONING
.sp 2

Raymond squirmed, but signed the confession. Tollemache
forced the belief that he was in deadly earnest.
The blackmailer had either to accept the proffered terms
or concoct schemes of reprisal in a cell. At the last
moment Mrs. Carmac intervened.

"I know what it means to be tempted, and to yield,"
she said sadly, realizing now that her own somewhat
checkered record was not hidden from anyone in that
room. "You, Mr. Raymond, have only yourself to
blame for your misfortunes. Even your physical injury
is the direct outcome of an attempt to steal the
few trinkets I prize. But I would never forgive myself
if I turned you out into the world penniless and suffering.
Please tell me the truth. Have you any money?"

"Very little," came the sullen answer. "I have spent
a good deal during the last few days."

"But how?" she cried, genuinely surprised. "You
are under no expense here."

"Since candor is in the air, I may as well acquaint
you with the facts," said Raymond bitterly. "You
blurted out your own secret, and I thought I saw a way
of improving my position. I should have won too if
it were not for a piece of cursed ill luck in the finding
of those boxes. I employed Duquesne to ferret out
// 296.png
your early history in Paris. If I disappear, you had
better pay him well, or he may take it into his head to
go to Rupert Fosdyke with the story. Of course I
don't expect you to place much credence in anything I
say; but mere commonsense should show you that the
only safe course is to send me to Paris with sufficient
means to secure Duquesne's silence. That is a fair
offer. Take it or leave it, as you will. Let me point
out, however, that the Madeleine Demoret affair supplies
a reasonable excuse for my journey, and, if you
are as generous as you can afford to be, I promise to
devote myself wholly to the task of diverting any suspicions
Duquesne may have formed as to the motive behind
my previous instructions."

Tollemache, with a wisdom beyond his years, seemed
to know when to strike and when to hold his hand. Raymond's
suggestion was eminently reasonable. The evil
spirit that had raised all this commotion could best
allay it.

"Come, Yvonne," he said. "Let us leave Mrs. Carmac
to determine this matter as she thinks fit. I offer
no opinion. Mrs. Carmac has not compounded a
felony,--that responsibility rests with me,--and, if she
chooses to employ Raymond in a personal undertaking,
I cannot interfere. He knows the penalty if she is
troubled by any future act of his. I'll hunt him round
the globe!"

.tb

Yvonne never knew what terms her mother made with
Raymond. That they did not err on the side of parsimony
// 297.png
may be taken for granted. Long after the tornado that 
swept through Pont Aven that Christmastide was
forgotten by all save a few, the ex-secretary was able
to buy a share in an automobile agency.

Lorry was hugely amused as the two descended the
stairs. "Socrates believes there isn't any guile in my
composition," he grinned. "I wonder what he'll say
when he reads the screed to which that beauty has just
put his left-handed signature?"

"Dad will agree with me that you carried a very difficult
matter through with great skill, Lorry," said
Yvonne.

"But the joke is that if Raymond stuck to his guns
I was done for. Who cares tuppence whether a skunk
like him goes to prison or not? Not a soul! But the
whole press of Europe would stand up on its hind legs
and roar if the Carmac millions were thrown into the
melting pot of the law courts. Don't you see, Yvonne,
I had to rush Raymond off his feet. I've broken about
twenty statutes made and provided. If he had shown
one quarter the nerve in that room which he displayed
when the Stella was drifting on to the reef, he could
have laughed at me."

"For all that, Lorry, you were very clever, and I
think you're a dear," said Yvonne quietly.

Neither her father nor her lover should ever be told
now of the sordid compact that Raymond had put before
her during that memorable walk by the side of the
Aven. She would simply erase the hateful record from
her mind; but she could not close her eyes to the certain
// 298.png
fact that Raymond's daring project had shriveled
into nothingness because he saw that, no matter what
the consequences, Mrs. Carmac's daughter would never
marry a common thief. That phase had passed like the
stupor of a nightmare. The vital problem presented
by her mother's future remained insoluble as ever.

.tb

In the crowded Place they met Peridot. There was
no chance of avoiding him: he had seen them leaving
the annex. Before they could join Popple and Jackson
beneath the sycamores the fisherman barred the way,
cap in hand.

"Pardon, Ma'mselle," he said, speaking with a civility
that hardly masked a note of defiance, "have you
any news of Madeleine?"

"Nothing definite, nothing reliable," she answered,
striving valiantly to convey the impression that the mystery
of Madeleine's whereabouts would soon be cleared
up satisfactorily.

"Nothing that you would care to tell, Ma'mselle--is
that it?"

"No, Peridot. Madeleine said she was going to
Quimperlé; but I have heard that she is in Paris. That
is all I know--probably all that anyone in Pont Aven
knows."

She had flushed under the fisherman's penetrating,
scornful gaze not because of the effort to conceal a
scanty budget concerning her wilful friend's flight, but
out of sheer sympathy with the man, whom she knew
to be consumed with wrath and shame.
// 299.png

"Then I shall be justified in killing any man who
calls her a strumpet?" went on Peridot icily. He had
used a Breton word which Tollemache did not understand,
but Yvonne's gasp of horror was eloquent, and
Lorry came to the rescue.

"You must have taken leave of your senses, Peridot, to
address Mademoiselle Yvonne in that manner," he said.

The fisherman spat, an unprecedented thing.
"<i>Gars!</i>" he growled. "Taken leave of my senses, have
I? I'd like to see you if your girl had bolted with the
first well dressed dandy who made eyes at her. Scratch
a Russian and you find a Tatar, they say. Scratch
Monsieur Tollemache and you might find--Peridot!"

With that he left them, swaggering off among the
throng of peasants as though he had not a care in the
world. Yvonne's troubled glance followed him. Here
was a new Peridot, a man out of whose life was fled the
light-hearted gaiety and spirit of good-fellowship that
had made him so popular in the village. No sooner, it
would seem, was one cloud dispelled than another gathered.
Yvonne shuddered with foreboding; for in those
gray-green eyes she had seen the lurid light of a volcano.

.tb

During some days peace reigned in that small circle of
a small community with which this chronicle has dealt
so intimately. Mrs. Carmac did not hurry her departure.
She promised Yvonne that on arriving in
London she would consult Bennett as to her exact position.
She neither affirmed nor denied that Walter Carmac
// 300.png
had renewed his American citizenship. Ingersoll, when 
the girl brought a faithful record of the discussion
between her mother and herself, drew the only reasonable
inference,--that no steps had been taken in that
direction. The knowledge was disheartening. Not without
cause did he say to Tollemache that he had fathomed
his wife's nature to the depths. Were it possible for
her to end her days in real communion with the husband
and child she had forsaken deliberately, she would gladly
have renounced wealth and social position. As it was,
she meant to cling fiercely to the bulk of her possessions,
thinking that thereby she would have a stronger hold
on Yvonne, since she hoped to draw the girl nearer by
the lure that money alone could spread so enticingly.

Undoubtedly she had it in mind to provide ample
revenues for the Fosdyke family, with guarantees of
large interests in the estate at her death, and thus close
the only source that threatened discredit and loss. But
this was the half-measure that so often spells disaster.
Its outcome lay in the lap of the gods, and the gods
were frowning on her.

Meanwhile she lingered on in Pont Aven. The equable
climate suited her health, she said. She dreaded the
formalities with regard to the succession, and wanted
to leave all such disagreeable details to the lawyers.
Until Madeleine Demoret's affair was settled she wished
to remain within call of Paris. These were excuses.
They deceived none, Yvonne least of any. The girl's
affection never wavered for an instant when the interests
of father and mother were at war. Her father could
// 301.png
not be at ease until the woman who had broken his life
was far from the village, and the daughter was on pins
and needles of anxiety that the mother should depart.

.tb

Raymond--suddenly reverted to type, become once
more the discreet, unobtrusive secretary--reported that
Madeleine and Fosdyke seemed to have quarreled. He
had visited the girl, and found her uncommunicative and
rebellious. Fosdyke had gone to England. He supplied
Madeleine's address, and Yvonne wrote, in friendly
and sympathetic strain, asking for news of her welfare.
By this time Ingersoll had advised the cessation of any
effort to persuade her to return. It was not in human
nature to expect the girl to endure the slights that
would inevitably attend her reappearance. To her Pont
Aven must henceforth be a sealed Paradise. If ever she
saw the place again, she would tread its familiar ways
a stranger and unregarded.

At last came a letter from Madeleine herself. Its
tone was honest, and very much to the point. She had
imagined that Rupert Fosdyke meant marriage. When
she was disillusioned she spurned him, and had obtained
a situation as a nurse, her country speech and Breton
costume being passports to ready employment. It was
better so. Paris takes a more lenient view of certain
aspects of life than Pont Aven.

.tb

Singularly enough, during those days no word of love
was spoken between Tollemache and Yvonne. The
mine was laid, and the smallest spark would fire it; but
// 302.png
the spark was not forthcoming, and for the excellent
reason that Lorry wished Mrs. Carmac and her millions
far away before he asked Yvonne to marry him. If, in
some distant time, the girl's mother insisted on enriching
her, it would be difficult to defeat her intent. But it
was Yvonne he wanted, not Mrs. Carmac's money. He
was more attached to Ingersoll than to his own father,
a narrow-minded Philistine who had cut himself adrift
from a son because the ingrate preferred art to money
spinning.

If once he and Yvonne were wed, Mrs. Carmac's ambitious
schemes in behalf of her beautiful "niece" would
go by the board. Circumstances had made it impossible
that father and mother should meet, even at their
daughter's wedding--and where could such a marriage
take place but in Pont Aven, and who should spread
the wedding feast but Mère Pitou?

So Lorry bided his time; though Yvonne read him like
a book, and the knowledge that her mother's continued
residence in the village alone prevented Lorry from
taking her in a bearlike grip and telling her that she
was the one woman he had ever loved, or ever would
love, gave active reinforcement to her anxiety concerning
her father, whose well-being, she was convinced, depended
on the prompt and complete restoration of life to
its normal plane.

Thus, when preparations were being made by Mère
Pitou for the Réveillon--that cheerful feast which enlivens
the midnight of Christmas--Yvonne did not hesitate
to tell her mother that on that occasion at least they
// 303.png
would see little of each other, and perhaps less in the
immediate future, as she was going with her father to
Concarneau.

Mrs. Carmac took the hint gracefully. As a preliminary
she sent Captain Popple and Jackson to England;
the one to become a sort of factotum in her Surrey
house, the other to join the staff in her Charles
Street residence.

"Ask your father, as a last concession, to allow you
to travel with me as far as St. Malo when I leave on
the twenty-sixth," she said. "It will be a long and
weary journey otherwise. Have you a friend who can
accompany you? You would need to stay one night in
St. Malo and return here next day."

Ingersoll did not demur. It was arranged that Barbe
should go with Yvonne; so one heart, at least, rejoiced,
since the mere prospect of such an outing brought untold
joy to a little maid who regarded St. Malo as a
place so unutterably remote that it figured in her mind
only as a geographical expression somewhat akin to
Timbuktu and the North Cape of Lapland.

.tb

Yvonne left her mother about four o'clock on Christmas
Eve. Tollemache was waiting for her, and together
they strolled to the cottage. There was much
to be done, because Mère Pitou expected a large party.
Peridot, though specially invited, had refused to come.
Indeed, his manner was so gruff that Barbe, who acted
as messenger, was moved to tears while relating the
reception accorded her.
// 304.png

"<i>Tcha!</i>" snorted her mother. "That's a man's way,
all over. When a woman gives him the slip he'll sulk
and paw the ground like an angry bull for a week or
so. Then he'll drown his sorrows in cognac, and at the
next <i>Pardon</i> you'll see him squaring up to some pretty
girl as if the other one had never existed. What about
that sardine boat which the American lady promised
him? That should widen his mouth when it reaches the
quay."

Mère Pitou never alluded to Mrs. Carmac by name.
To a Frenchwoman the word presented no difficulty; but,
owing to some whim, Yvonne's "aunt" was "the
American lady," and was never promoted to greater
intimacy of description in the old woman's speech.

"The vessel is ordered in Concarneau," said Yvonne.
"With complete equipment it is to cost five thousand
francs. Mrs. Carmac has also given another five thousand
francs to the notary to be invested for Peridot;
who is well aware of both gifts, but has neither called
nor written to express his thanks."

"The worm!" cried Madame. "<i>Peridot</i>, indeed!
He ought to be christened <i>Asticot</i>!"

As an <i>asticot</i> is a maggot, it was well that none but
Yvonne had overheard Mère Pitou's biting comment, or
the fisherman's new nickname might have stuck, its point
being specially appreciable in a fishing community.

.tb

The weather that night was peculiarly calm and mild,
even for Southern Brittany. Shortly after midnight
Ingersoll, who had been watching Yvonne and
// 305.png
Tollemache dancing the gavotte, in which the girl was
an adept, and her lover a sufficiently skilful partner to
show off her graceful steps to the utmost advantage,
suddenly decided to smoke a cigar in the open air.

He quitted the studio by a French window, and
strolled into the garden, which stretched some little way
up the steep slope of the hill, and through a narrow
strip toward the road on one side of the cottage. Owing
to the feast, Pont Aven was by no means asleep; but the
streets were empty, as the people were either entertaining
or being entertained. In a house near the church
a girl was singing the "<i>Adeste fideles</i>" in a high, pure
treble. Those in her company, men, women, and children,
burst into the harmonious chorus, "<i>Venite,
adoremus; venite adoremus in Bethlehem.</i>" As the
appeal swelled and then died away, and the girl's voice
took up the solo, Ingersoll remembered the verse, "And
suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the
heavenly host praising God," and his eyes grew dim
with unshed tears.

The hymn ceased. From some more distant gathering
came the strumming of a banjo in the latest Boulevard
refrain. Ingersoll smiled at that. Not often might
any man hear twenty centuries summed up so concisely.
He was about to reënter the cottage when a woman,
hatless, but with head and face veiled in a shawl of
black lace, appeared indistinctly in the roadway. He
knew instantly that it was his wife. Only two women
in Pont Aven walked with such ease and elegance, and
they were Yvonne and her mother.
// 306.png

A second later he heard the familiar creak of the
garden gate. So she was coming in! He was utterly
at a loss to account for this amazing intrusion. He had
counted implicitly on his wife's sense of good breeding
and fairness restraining her from any frenzied effort to
undo the havoc of the past, and a spasm of anger shook
him now because of this threatened invasion of his small
domain. At any rate she should not have the hysterical
satisfaction of placing him in a false position before
Mère Pitou and her guests, to say nothing of Yvonne
and Tollemache.

He retreated into the deep shadow of a lofty retaining
wall, whence he could see without being seen. If, as
he expected, there was a commotion among the dancers
when the unexpected visitor was announced, he would
escape by way of the open hillside, and remain away during
some hours. Then, in the morning, Yvonne and he
would end an intolerable state of things by leaving Pont
Aven for some unknown refuge until Lorry told them
that the coast was clear.

Thus do some men plan when beset by some unforeseen
difficulty. Be they wise or foolish, they seldom learn
that in those crucial moments of life when events of real
importance take place they are as straws caught in a
whirlpool, and no more capable than straws of predetermined
governance of their deeds and movements.

Ingersoll was barely hidden before he received a fresh
surprise. His wife had not gone to the door. She was
in the garden, and coming round to the back evidently
meaning to look in on the revelers and remain unseen.
// 307.png
She halted but a few paces short of the place where
Ingersoll was standing, and soon he knew that she was
crying in a heartbroken way. Her very attitude, the
care she took to restrain the sounds of her grief, and
not become visible to any eye that chanced to look out
through the open window, showed that she was in the
depths of despair. By a rapid revulsion of feeling the
man's heart ached for her. Strive as he might, and
strong as were the dictates of the social laws that closed
and bolted the door of reconciliation, he was tempted,
or it may be divinely inspired, to make known his presence,
and utter words of healing and forgiveness.

But the opportunity, no less than the impulse, passed
as quickly as it had risen.

The dancing had stopped. Evidently in response to
some question of Yvonne's, Tollemache came to the
window, and peered out.

"Ingersoll!" he cried.

There was no answer. The artist could not be detected
in any event, and the change from a well lighted
room to the external darkness temporarily blinded
Lorry's sharp eyes, or he might have noted the slight,
shrinking figure beneath one of the apple trees.

"He's not there," he said, speaking over his shoulder
to Yvonne.

The girl came nearer. "I saw him go out," she persisted.

"Yes, of course. I saw him too. He stopped to light a
cigar. Bet you he's gone for a stroll. You remember last
year at this time he went to Julia's for half an hour."
// 308.png

That was an unfortunate recollection on Lorry's part.
He was aware of it instantly; but Yvonne helped to slur
it over by saying that she had no doubt "Dad" would
soon return. Then the two rejoined their Breton
friends.

.tb

Mrs. Carmac clearly meant to take no further risk
of discovery. She hurried away. After a momentary
indecision Ingersoll followed. His action was inexplicable,
even to himself. It arose, perhaps, from a desire
to make certain that his wife reached the hotel.
Such a motive was at least comprehensible. It came
within the bounds of that intelligence which regulates
ordinary human affairs. But there is another subtler
spirit essence which sends out through space its impalpable,
invisible, yet compelling influences. Sometimes
the storm-tossed soul makes silent appeal for help,
and finds response in some other heart whence aid is
unsought and unsuspected.

Howsoever that may be, John Ingersoll followed his
wife, and Pont Aven was soon in an uproar, when the
news spread that while Monsieur Ingersoll was rescuing
<i>l'Américaine</i>, Madame Carmac, from the waters of
the harbor, Peridot, easygoing, devil-may-care Peridot,
was battering Rupert Fosdyke into a hardly
recognizable corpse on the open road near the
hotel.

.tb

In a village rumor of that sort seldom lies. Both
these sensational statements were true; though the one
// 309.png
became widely known far more speedily than the other.
In fact, Peridot's crime had witnesses. A party of
villagers, coming down the Toulifot, heard voices raised
in altercation. Then there were sounds of a scuffle,
and a tall man was seen to fall, while a shorter man
stooped over the prostrate body and struck blow after
blow with an iron belaying pin.

The women screamed; the men ran forward to seize
the would-be murderer. He offered no resistance, but
said calmly:

"When one meets a viper one batters its head. It is
the only safe thing to do, eh?"

He seemed to find comfort in the thought. He repeated
it many times, in one form or another. When
the police came, and a sergeant who happened to be a
great friend of his had the miserable task of arresting
him and charging him with murder,--for Rupert Fosdyke
was dead; would have died under any one of those
half-dozen fiercely vindictive blows,--Peridot was quite
cheerful.

"<i>Cré nom!</i>" he cried. "It is not often one finds a
snake hereabouts at Christmastime. This one made a
mistake. It shouldn't have come to Pont Aven, where
we wear stout sabots!"

Then he broke gaily into one of Albert Larrieu's
Breton songs:

.nf b
"<i>Toc! toc! toc! toc!
  C'est à Concarneau
Qu'on voit de belles filles,
Prestes et gentilles,
  Dans leur petits sabots!</i>"
..
// 310.png

"Shut up, Peridot, for the sake of the good God!"
muttered his friend. "Come, Man! There's your
mother looking out. She heard your voice!"

"Is that you, Jean Jacques?" came a shrill cry from
a bent figure etched in the lighted rectangle of an open
door in a cottage higher up the hill. "Time you were
home and in bed!"

"Don't worry, Mother, I'm in good company," he
shouted. "Here is the law on one side of me, and a dead
viper on the other! I'll go straight tonight, never
fear!"

Mère Larraidou saw her son walk off down the hill
with his friend the sergeant. In pity the men who were
lifting a corpse desisted from their gruesome labor till
the door was closed again.

.tb

When Ingersoll carried the body of an insensible and
half-drowned woman into Mère Pitou's there was a rare
stir.

By chance the lesser tragedy which took place in the
river beneath the line of dwarfed oaks had passed unnoticed
by the villagers. Greatly wondering, and wholly
at a loss to account for his wife's behavior, the artist
had followed her into the main road, and kept her under
close observation when she failed to cross the bridge and
hurried along the narrow street leading to the harbor.

Once clear of the last mill, he could watch her from a
greater distance, because the valley widens with the
stream, and the hills are neither so high nor so precipitous.
On and on she went, past Madame Maréchale's
// 311.png
café, past the triangular grass plot where roundabouts
and swings and canvas theaters stand in the
summer, past the jolly little Hotel Terminus, and along
the picturesque Chemin du Hallage; which is not a carriage
road, but a pleasant footpath, bordered on the
one hand by pretty villas and on the other by the tidal
stream, with here and there beneath the stunted trees
a rustic seat overlooking the water.

At such an hour, long after midnight, the last pollard
oak marks the Ultima Thule of Pont Aven. The
nearest house in front is nearly a mile away, and reached
only by a narrow track through the gorse.

Some vague terror caused Ingersoll to quicken his
pace, and a few seconds later to break into a run. Perhaps
his wife heard him, and, fearing interference, made
up her mind to delay the great adventure not a moment
longer. Uttering a wailing cry, she threw herself into
the water. The tide was falling, and as the main stream
travels close to the right bank at that point she was
swept away as though some giant hand were waiting to
clutch her.

Commending his soul to Heaven, Ingersoll raced
ahead to a rocky plateau which, although submerged
now, drove a broad and fairly level causeway far into
the center of the river. He was just in time. He saw
a white face, a hand, whirling in the current. Plunging
in, he grasped desperately at the place where he
judged the body might be. Then began a fight, a
life and death struggle against a relentless, overwhelming
force. Yet somehow he conquered, and found himself
// 312.png
with a limp body in his arms, wading knee deep in a
tract of mud and slime.

Though slightly built and frail looking, and, owing
to the worry and confinement of his recent life, rather
out of condition, once he had regained his breath he
made light of carrying his wife to the cottage.

He could not tell why he brought her there, rather
than to the hotel. He remembered afterward giving the
matter some thought; but he was either deterred by the
sight of so many people in the Place,--brought thither
by the affrighting news of murder,--or by the notion
that a further scandal might be averted if the unhappy
woman were tended by those whom he and she could
trust. None of Mère Pitou's guests knew that Mrs.
Carmac had been rescued from the estuary. They
thought she had mistaken some byway, and fallen into
the Aven, a quite possible accident to a stranger on a
dark night.

.tb

So a second time Yvonne stripped her mother's slender
form of its water-soaked garments, while Mère Pitou
loudly invoked the aid and commiseration of various
saints--but did not forget to fill hot-water bottles and
wrap them in flannel before applying them to the unconscious
woman's benumbed body and feet. Dr. Garnier
came, and shook his head, muttering of "shock,"
and "derangement of the nervous system," and in the
midst of all this turmoil and furtive fear of the worst
consequences arrived Celeste, searching for her mistress,
and almost incoherent with her story of Rupert Fosdyke's
// 313.png
fate. He had arrived in the village by the half-past
four train that afternoon, and after a long talk
with Madame had dined alone. She was told that he
went out shortly before midnight, and met Peridot, and
was straightway beaten to death.

After some hours of horrible uncertainty Mrs. Carmac
recovered sufficiently to speak.

"Where am I?" she muttered, staring about wildly.

"At home, Dear, with me," whispered Yvonne.

The dazed eyes slowly gathered consciousness of
Yvonne's presence. "Who took me out of the river?"
she went on.

"The man who has loved you all his life, Dear," said
the girl softly. She had the fixed belief now that her
mother would surely die, and was resolved that her last
hours should be made happy by knowledge of her husband's
devotion.

"What! John saved me! Was it he who followed
me?"

"Yes, Dear. He risked his life for your sake, and
carried you here unaided."

"A good man," came the low murmur. "I was not
worthy of him."

"Mother, you are to try and sleep now. The doctor's
orders must be obeyed. Otherwise you will be
very, very ill."

"I am sick unto death already, dear one. But I shall
do as you bid--to please you--and John. One word!
Tell him--tell him--that I am poorer than when I left
him. Rupert is here. He gloated over my downfall.
// 314.png
He knows everything, and would hear of no terms. No,
it is not Raymond's doing. I asked that. He met some
man, who knew us in the old days, and who had read
the account of the wreck. I am a pauper of sorts,
Yvonne. Please ask your father not to turn me out."

"Mother!" wailed the girl in a voice strangled with
grief. "You must not talk like that! You'll break my
heart!"

"Ah, <i>tout passe</i>, Yvonne, even broken hearts! You
will be far happier in your cottage than ever I was in
a mansion. Yes, I'll sleep--if only to please you--and
John. Tell him I said that, will you?"

.tb

Next morning Ingersoll, who, thanks to the exertion
demanded after the plunge into the river, was not one
whit the worse for the wetting, sent the following telegram
to Bennett:

.in +4
.ll -4
"Rupert Fosdyke met his death here last night, and Mrs.
Carmac was nearly drowned. Both events closely bound up with
succession to Carmac estate. Probably you will understand. Can
you come at once?--<sc>Ingersoll.</sc>"
.in -4
.ll +4

That afternoon came the reply:

.in +4
.ll -4
"Profoundly distressed. Crossing tonight. Wire reports concerning
Mrs. Carmac's health Southampton and St. Malo.

.rj
"<sc>Bennett.</sc>"
.in -4
.ll +4

Yvonne wept with sheer gratitude when her father
said that, with Dr. Garnier's permission, he would visit
her mother. She had not dared to suggest it; but Ingersoll
// 315.png
knew that his action had added one more link to the
chain of love that bound his daughter and himself. Dr.
Garnier, of course, was aware of no reason why the
woman should not meet her rescuer; though he might
have been startled had he seen the look of terror that
darkened her eyes when she found her husband bending
over her.

"Don't be afraid, Stella," said he. "I am not here to
reproach you. Be content, and live! We want you to
live, Yvonne and I."

"John, forgive!" she murmured.

"I do forgive, Stella, as I hope to be forgiven!"

"John, how could I have left you?"

"That is all passed now--merged in the mists of long
years. You will be made happy here. I mean what I
say. You are in Yvonne's care, and in mine, and
always in God's. Believe that, and you will soon be
restored to health and to such happiness as life can
bring."

She sobbed convulsively, and he called Yvonne in
haste, thinking that perhaps he had done more harm
than good. However, the invalid rallied after he had
gone, and seemed to gain strength, though slowly. Next
day she was wracked by the first symptoms of pneumonia.

When Bennett arrived she was conscious and free
from pain. He had not been seated by the bedside many
minutes before he put a curious question.

"Do you feel able to sign a will?" he said.

She smiled wistfully. "Have you not been told?"
// 316.png
she said. "I shall lose everything. My second marriage
can be proved illegal."

"I am not quite sure of that. I only want you to
pull through this present illness. But it is well to prepare
against all eventualities. Would you wish to constitute
your daughter your sole heiress?"

She was beyond the reach of surprise, and contented
herself with a fervent yes.

"I have prepared the necessary documents. Listen
now, while I read," and the woman's weary, puzzled
eyes dwelt on the lawyer's grave face as he recited
the testamentary clauses by which "Stella Ingersoll,
otherwise known as Stella Carmac," left all her real
and personal estate to "her daughter, Yvonne Ingersoll."

"Now we'll get witnesses, and remember that you
sign your name Stella Ingersoll," said the lawyer, with
a cheerful and businesslike air. "Mr. Tollemache will
be one witness, my clerk another, and little Barbe Pitou
a third; so you need not worry at all because of the
change of signature."

Forthwith, in the presence of Lorry and Bennett's
clerk, and the scared Barbe, Mrs. Carmac signed her
name in a way that was strangely familiar, though she
had not seen it written that way during two decades.
A precisely similar will was executed in the name of
"Stella Carmac."

.tb

Bennett had not erred in his judgment. The pneumonia
developed a high temperature that night, and
// 317.png
Yvonne's mother died without recovering consciousness.
She was buried at Nizon. To silence gossip, and by
her husband's emphatic wish, she was described on the
monument erected to her memory and to that of Walter
Carmac as "Stella, wife of the above-named Walter
Carmac, and formerly known as Stella Ingersoll."

The lawyer's extraordinary haste and anxiety with
regard to the two wills was explained after the funeral.

"I have always had reason to believe that the validity
of the marriage might be questioned," he said, when he
had drawn Ingersoll, Yvonne, and Tollemache into the
privacy of the studio. "When Mr. Carmac executed
the will which may now, under advice, be set aside, he
caused two copies to be made with blank spaces for
names and dates. A few days later he lodged a sealed
envelope with me and another with his bankers, and each
bore the superscription:

.in +4
.ll -4
"'This document is to be kept always in its present condition,
and never opened unless my wife's succession to my estate shall
be disputed. In that event the document must be produced and
acted on.'
.in -4
.ll +4

"I broke the seal yesterday, soon after Mr. Ingersoll's
telegram came to hand, and was not surprised to
find a will, properly filled in, signed, and attested, leaving
Carmac's estate to 'Stella Ingersoll, formerly wife
of John Ingersoll, artist, at one time resident in the
Rue Blanche, Paris,' and dated subsequently to that
already in existence. So, you see, all these tragic happenings
might have been averted. Rupert Fosdyke
// 318.png
could never have touched a penny of his uncle's money
beyond the provision made for him in both wills."

But a white-faced girl looked at her father, and their
eyes met, and each knew that a Power not to be controlled
by any human agency had brought about the
horrors that had agitated their beloved village during
that memorable month.

.tb

And, when the clouds disappeared, and the sun shone
on a Brittany pink with apple blossom, Yvonne herself
had to ask that absurd fellow Lorry whether or not he
really wanted to marry her, because he was hanging
back shamefacedly, for no better reason apparently than
the ridiculous one that he had no right to woo and wed a
girl so rich as she. At least if she didn't exactly say
"Will you marry me?" she did the next thing to it by
telling him that she and her father had decided to regard
themselves merely as trustees of the Carmac millions
for the benefit of their fellows. They would touch
little, if any, of the money for personal needs. The notion
was thoroughly distasteful to both, and they would
help each other to find the best and wisest means of getting
rid of the incubus.

"So, you see, Lorry, with the exception of some of
my mother's jewelry, which I know she would wish me to
keep and wear, I shall be quite poor," said Yvonne demurely.

That settled matters completely. They were in a
secluded part of the Bois d'Amour. How could locality
be better named? The wedding took place before the
// 319.png
summer, and they roamed through Switzerland in
June.

.tb

Madeleine? Madeleine is a certificated nurse in a
big Paris hospital, very smart in her nice uniform, and
thoroughly devoted to her profession.

Peridot? What French jury would convict Peridot
of murder when his story was told? His advocate almost
moved the judge to righteous indignation against
the iniquitous Fosdyke, and Peridot was let off with a
light sentence. He came back to Pont Aven, was received
with open arms by the village, and sailed away in
his own <i>vague</i> to pursue the elusive sardine. Last year
he married little Barbe. So Mère Pitou's views anent
fishermen as husbands must have been modified by Peridot's
ownership of a fine boat and good money invested
in French rentes.

Pont Aven, save for the riotous month of August, is
still unchanged. A new house springs up here and there,
and rumor has it that sometime soon, maybe when the
gorse is in flower next summer, a new launch will replace
the old one which has to be coaxed daily to Port
Manech and back during the season.

But that is all--nothing to make a song about.
Mademoiselle Julia, ever busy, growing younger each
year, still cracks jokes and encourages art; though, to
be sure, her opinion of cubism and futurist pictures is
distinctly unfavorable to both forms of excess. She is
always ready with a smile and the right word. If, for
instance, anyone asks her if she knew Yvonne, and
// 320.png
Ingersoll, and Lorry, and where Mere Pitou's cottage
stands, you should see the way she jerks her head on one
side, and hear her rattle out, with a merry twinkle in her
eyes:

"<i>Qu'est-ce que tu veux que je te dise, moi?</i>"

.sp 2
.ce
THE END