Part 4 (1/2)
Orvilliere Farm was gay, outside and in, with garlands and crowns of flowers; and in the kitchen and in the field beside the house, tables were laid for the customary dinner of roast beef and mutton, plum pudding and _gache a corinthe_. Cider flowed liberally; and, after dinner, the guests were in fitting mood for the games that followed till tea-time. Then all the evening long, dancing waxed fast and furious, with intervals for songs. Dominic delighted the company by giving Ellenor a sounding kiss when she chose him for her partner in--
”Saluez, messieurs et dames, Ah! mon beau laurier!”
and all the company then shouted in chorus--
”Entr'embra.s.sez-vous par le jeu d'amourette, Entr'embra.s.sez-vous par le jeu d'amour.”
But it is certain Ellenor would not have dared to choose the bridegroom had he not been half drunk. Perrin Corbet, a sober man himself, looked on in disgust; and glanced at Blaisette to see how she took it. But she was giggling as usual, and drinking mulled wine from one of the new wedding cups.
At five in the morning the wedding party broke up; and all the guests said that Ellenor Cartier was a shameless girl. Perrin heard and clenched his fist.
CHAPTER V.
”Quick! get up, Ellenor, you must have overslept yourself!” cried Jean Cartier one morning in August, as he woke his daughter with a loud knocking on the part.i.tion between the attic bedrooms of the cottage.
”It's all right, father,” the girl called in reply, ”I've been up there's a long time, but I am putting the roses round my hat. The breakfast will be ready as soon as you're down.”
Jean dressed in particularly old clothes, and Mrs. Cartier chose out the shabbiest skirt she possessed, for they were preparing for a day of hard work on the beach. But, to their surprise, when they came down to breakfast, Ellenor wore a pretty gown of dark red stuff. She explained, carelessly, that indeed _she_ would not make herself a fright before all the countryside; and if the gown was spoilt, well, it couldn't be helped. Her parents said nothing, for Ellenor's temper was more uncertain than ever, and they dreaded an outbreak; but Mrs. Cartier had her suspicions.
After breakfast the three started for Rocquaine Bay, where a lively scene was being played, for it was the time of _vraicing_ or sea-weed harvest. Lines of carts were ranged above high-water mark, and the patient horses were decked with flowers. The beach and sands swarmed with people all smiling and gay, and for the most part wearing nosegays. Rich and poor from two parishes chatted, laughed and worked hard with sickles at cutting the _vraic scie_ from the low rocks. Very soon, the beach was dotted with heaps of sea-weed, each marked by a pebble, bearing the owner's name in chalk. The more adventurous waded across the _cols_ or causeways to rocks at some distance from the sh.o.r.e and found rich stores of golden weed.
Amongst these adventurous spirits was Ellenor. She had persuaded one of the farmers to take her on his horse to a high group of rocks, hidden from the beach by Rocquaine Tower, and here she worked undisturbed, and in full possession of a wonderful growth of _vraic_.
She took off her hat, and her hair curled about her forehead in damp little rings, for the sun was scorching. A dusky red glowed in her tan cheeks; her eyes, s.h.i.+ning with excitement and the joy of work, followed the skilled movements of the sickle she swung to and fro, and she was entirely absorbed in gathering in the precious _vraic_.
But, all at once, she paused. She heard, distinctly, the splash of horse's feet. Someone was coming to interrupt her and share her harvest. She would not have it! She had first thought of these rocks! She would fight for her rights!
The splas.h.i.+ng came nearer. She did not turn round. A scrambling sound followed; then she heard heavy steps mount the rocks.
”Ellenor,” said a well-known voice, ”what luck to find you quite alone here!”
It was Dominic Le Mierre, and it was the first time the two had met alone since his wedding day. He took her hand and smiled into her eyes, which filled with tears.
”You cheated me,” she said, ”you told me you were not going to marry her.”
He laughed and stooped to kiss her.
”You silly girl! If I had told you I'd never have got so many kisses from you, and you wouldn't have liked that, eh! What difference does this marriage make to you and me, I'd like to know! Besides, don't pretend to be so good all of a sudden. Didn't you choose me at my wedding feast, and didn't I kiss you before everybody? Not that I remember it too well, for I had had a little drop, but I've been told of it since.”
”Ah, I was mad that night--mad with jealousy!”
”Go on being mad!” he cried, ”how well you look in that red gown, though it's a common rag besides the fine clothes of my milk-and-water wife. Bah, what a fool she is! Don't you know I married her for money and for her good family? But she is like a silly baby. Her pretty face doesn't touch me. She might stare at me for ever with her eyes of blue china, and my blood would lie quiet like a stagnant pond. As for you, witch, your eyes burn into me and set me in a blaze. And I vow you'll have to meet me pretty often.
Where shall we agree to see each other to-morrow night?”
”Nowhere,” she replied sulkily.
”I like that! What new trick are you up to now, pretending you don't want to meet me?”
”I _do_ want to meet you!” she cried pa.s.sionately, ”but I've got a little bit of pride left, and I'm decided not to meet a married man on the sly!”