Part 5 (2/2)

Was this sad gentle voice in reality Ellenor's? Was this nestling hand hers? Did it really creep through his arm?

”My girl, we must not dictate to G.o.d about what He does! I confess I don't understand half He lets happen to us. But I couldn't question it.”

”Poor Perrin!” she went on softly, ”to care for me, of all the girls in the two parishes.”

”I wouldn't change you for the Queen on her throne?”

He caught her to his breast and folded her to his heart. In the heaven of his faithful love she felt, at least, safe from her own lurid pa.s.sion, and at rest from the biting remarks of her little world.

CHAPTER VI.

It was the night of Christmas Eve and the snow fell thick and fast.

This weather, so unusual in the Channel Isles, had delayed Perrin Corbet in the little town of Saint Pierre Port, and it was past ten o'clock when he reached home. His mother had gone to bed, but not before she had prepared her son's supper and left the little kitchen the picture of comfort. After his meal, Perrin turned the lamp low, lit his pipe, and sat down in his mother's arm-chair before the _vraicq_ fire. The wind moaned in the huge chimney, with a cradling sound, but Perrin was not in the least inclined to sleep. To-morrow would be his wedding day. He could not realize it; he could not believe he would so soon reach the height of joy. He tried to picture to-morrow. Ellenor, in the white gown she had described to him, would stand before the altar, and he, her devoted lover, would take her hand and declare, before G.o.d and before the world, that she was to be his wife.

Then, the rest of the day would be spent in quiet joy at Les Casquets Cottage, with his mother as the only guest of the Cartiers.

He pictured the moment when he would say, taking out his watch, ”Now, mother, now, Ellenor, it is time for us to go home.”

He would light the lantern, and with those two women, so dear, so precious, he would return to this very cottage, henceforth to be a palace to him, since Ellenor, his queen, would be his wife. He would deal so tenderly with her, for she had suffered much, his poor Ellenor! He would never reproach her if she seemed to fret after Dominic. She could not uproot, all at once, such a deep love. He would lead her gently back to the ways of religion which she had deserted. He would remind her, one quiet evening, that she was of those who were admitted to The Holy Supper of the Lord, for had she not been confirmed at the same time as he had? And, please G.o.d, she would listen to him. Perhaps, in days to come, she would learn to love him a little. Perhaps that joy would be his when baby hands clasped his rough brown fingers and a rosy baby mouth kissed his adoring lips!

His pipe was out; and his head was bent as he dreamed of the morrow, his wedding day. For a moment, the wind had ceased its moaning and a deep stillness enfolded the cottage.

Suddenly, a sharp tap rang through the kitchen. Perrin started, his dreams scattered. He listened, breathless, his island blood frozen, his Celtic temperament at once calling up visions of the supernatural.

Again the tap sounded on the window; and this time, a familiar voice re-a.s.sured Perrin.

”Let me in, Corbet, quick, I bring bad news.”

In a moment Cartier stood in the kitchen and cried breathlessly,

”Have you seen Ellenor? She hasn't been home since early this afternoon!”

The ruddy colour left Perrin's tanned face.

”My G.o.d, no, I haven't seen her! What, then, can have happened?”

Then, with graphic, trembling words, Jean told how Ellenor had gone to Saint Pierre to buy some finery for her wedding bonnet; how, hour after hour, when the snow was thick and the wind howled over the moorland, she had been anxiously looked for; how, at last, in despair, he had said to his wife that he would go to Perrin, for they must be off to look for Ellenor all the way to Saint Pierre Port.

At once, Corbet went upstairs, and, waking his mother, told her the story of his girl's mysterious disappearance.

”We'll go round to Les Casquets and bring Mrs. Cartier over here, mother. She's a poor creature, and she can't be left alone. Who can tell when Cartier and I will be back!”

It was two o'clock before the men started to walk to Saint Pierre Port. It was brilliant moonlight at four o'clock, and the gusts of snow had died away with the wind; but the men searched, in vain, for any trace of Ellenor. As soon as it was dawn, the two parishes were roused, and those who were kind helped to look for the missing girl.

The rest shrugged their shoulders and said that Christmas Day was not meant to be wasted in such a search, for such a queer wild girl as Ellenor Cartier. At last a child found in a hedge a paper bag: it contained a spray of artificial flowers, a few drenched roses. The child's mother guessed this must be the finery Ellenor had gone to buy, for everyone knew the pitiful story by now. But the hedge was ominously near Rocquaine Bay. What did this mean?

<script>