Part 4 (2/2)
He scowled and crushed her hands in his.
”You know your character is gone as it is. You're talked of all over the parishes, people say you're mad after me--so, I'd just like to know what difference not meeting me will make.”
”I'm decided not to do it.”
”Very well, my fine lady, we'll see about that. Ah, you little fool, you've wasted the time and now I must go back, my horse is already up to his knees in water. And how will _you_ get back, I'd like to know!”
”Perrin Corbet is coming to fetch me. Look, here he is.”
A quarter of an hour later, all the _vraicqueurs_ were gathered together on the beach to eat their meal in common. Every woman had brought _gache_, biscuits and special _vraicquing_ cakes: while the rich farmers had provided a plentiful supply of cider which had been brought down in little barrels swung to the carts. It was a merry time, and Blaisette Le Mierre was looked upon as the queen of the feast. Very few spoke to Ellenor, for she was shunned as a marked character. Only Perrin paid her every attention, and saw that she had everything of the best. As for Dominic, it appeared as if he did not even see her: and people said he had been persecuted and waylaid by Miss Ellenor, for it was evident he did not care a straw for such a girl.
After the meal, some of the men carted away the _vraic_ to the farms over the cliffs, where it would be used to enrich the land. Others, with the help of the women, spread out the sea-weed, which was stored in heaps on the beach to dry. This, later on, would be used for fuel, and would give out its peculiar pungent smell, so dear and memory-stirring to all Channel Islanders.
So the _vraicquing_ festival ended; and that night Ellenor sobbed herself to sleep, a pa.s.sionate weary creature, too proud to bend to G.o.d and turn to goodness.
It was November; and one evening as Perrin Corbet was crossing a hill on his return home from fis.h.i.+ng, he thought he heard a low moaning. He stopped and listened. Was it the cry of a sea-gull flying into shelter from the storm which was approaching? Was it, perhaps, the spirit of some drowned fisherman haunting his house?
No--it was the voice of a living woman in distress! He waited, and gradually traced the sound to a huge cromlech on the hill. He stopped at the entrance.
”It is I, Perrin Corbet!” he said quietly, ”is anyone in trouble?”
”Yes, yes!” answered an eager voice, ”come in and speak to me--Ellenor.”
”My dear girl,” went on the fisherman's even voice, ”what are you doing here?”
”I've been hiding, there's an hour, from Dominic Le Mierre. Ah, it is no use, I must tell you all, for you never scold me and look black at me, like all the rest do. I said I wouldn't meet him now he's married, but the more I keep out of his way, the more it seems he finds me out.”
”Then you don't care for him no more, like all Torteval said you did?”
”Care for him! Care! I love him with all my soul!”
”And him such a black character, and a smuggler! There's times and times I've seen him again to the cliffs with queer fellows; and others have seen him, too. But n.o.body likes to give him up to the constables, except me, and I've settled it that I'll tell what he is after. He deserves it, the way he treats you. And it will be a fine way of disgracing him. I'll risk that he'll bewitch me.”
A dead silence followed his words. Then Ellenor's hand stole into his, and Ellenor's voice said softly,
”Perrin, is it you love me yet?”
He lifted her hand and kissed it.
”I love you better than even my mother. I love you next best to G.o.d.”
”And yet, Perrin, I am not a good girl.”
”Don't dare to say that to me! You _are_ good when you are not thinking of that scoundrel. It's him that has made people speak about you like they do! But, listen, Ellenor, if you was the blackest of the black, I'd love you, because it's you, and because I was made to love you, once and for ever.”
She burst into a pa.s.sion of tears.
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