o you've made up your mind to lose her, Perrin?" said Mrs. Corbet, as she and her son were at supper one spring evening.

"Yes, there is nothing else to be done. Ellenor isn't a girl to treat me like that just for a bit of fun. At first, when she was just well of the small-pox, she was very kind to me. But when I spoke of our wedding day that had been put off and asked her if she wouldn't tell me it would be soon again, she turned away and didn't say another word for a long time."

"And you left her alone, I hope?"

"Indeed, but, no! I begged and prayed of her to speak to me, till she turned round. She looked white and tired. She was crying, but she was vexed, too. She told me, quite sharp, to leave her alone. She said she wasn't going to marry nobody, and she must have been mad to promise to be my wife before. And then she said she was glad she'd had the small-pox, because it had put off the wedding."

"Perrin, my son, you are far too good for her, and far too simple! If you'd have left her then and there, it's my belief she'd have come looking after me the very next day, just to see what you'd told me. And if you'd have seemed you didn't care she'd have cared a good bit more than she does."

The fisherman shook his head.

"No, it isn't like what you think. It's like this—Ellenor only cares for one man, and that's the master of OrvilliÈre."

Mrs. Corbet shrugged her shoulders.

"Well, well, she must be ensorchelai herself to love him that's such a devil and has so much to do with the Prince of devils. Bah, it was only yesterday I was told of some of Le Mierre's doings! It was Judie Roussel, and she heard it from one of the maids at OrvilliÈre. Just you listen to me, Perrin Corbet, and see what you think of it!—Le Mierre, he wanted a bit of fun, him, and you may depend it wasn't nothing good, so he fetched some of his fine friends to go to the Vale. But they wasn't going to walk, them, no such thing! They makes up their minds they'll use the horse of Le Mierre's neighbour, Langlois. They find a good strong white one in a meadow. What do they do but all jump on his back and be off! Wait a bit! He begins to gallop and to gallop, over hedges and brambles; they couldn't stop him, and and when he gets nearly to the Vale, he throws them off his back in a fine muddy place, and then he's out of sight in a minute. And yet, would you believe it, Langlois swore the white horse had been in the meadow all the time! Of course it was the devil that was the gallopping white horse! And he must be on pretty good terms with Le Mierre to play off such a joke with him, eh, Perrin!"

"I can't say, mother, I'm sure, and, in case even he is good friends with the devil, it's all the worse for the girl that loves him."

"Bah! I've no patience with Ellenor. Le Mierre is a bad man. She knows that as well as you and me do, and yet ... she loves him. Well, well, women are poor fools. But, come, Perrin, isn't there any other girl that would do except Ellenor? There's hundreds nicer than her, and hundreds prettier—specially now."

"If she won't have me, I'll never marry. That's the end of it, mother."

Mrs. Corbet sighed as she heaped up the supper things for Perrin to wash. Such a good, kind son as he was, and to be made a fool of by a self-willed girl like Ellenor!

"It seems I haven't seen Le Mierre for a long time," she went on.

"He's been away ever since his wife's death. It was said everywhere, in the two parishes and even to Saint Pierre Port that he went off because of poor Blaisette. She came again and again to OrvilliÈre like a white sea-gull, crying and flapping her wings against his bedroom window. Her spirit can't rest it seems, because of his wickedness. But, now, I've been told this very day, that he's back to Guernsey: and some there are who say he's been making love to girls in Jersey."

"If only he'd had brought one back as his wife, that foolish Ellenor of yours would have stopped hankering after him!"

"I don't believe he'll marry her, because she is poor and of no family: besides ..."

"You may well say besides, poor girl! But, come, my son, I am tired, I must go to bed."

Rumour was quite correct in giving one of the reasons for Le Mierre's departure to Jersey. He told everyone how he was bothered by the spirit of Blaisette; but he did not add that abject terror of small-pox made him decide to spend some months with well-to-do relations in Jersey, which was quite exempt from the horrible disease.

It was just before Lent when he came home to find a very bleak springtime keeping back the flowers in his garden at OrvilliÈre. With relief, after the first night, he told his housekeeper that the spirit of Blaisette had gone, evidently for good. The woman, a devout Roman Catholic, muttered behind his back.

"She's got enough to do, praying for you in Purgatory, poor soul, if she's allowed to think of such a black heart as yours! The Blessed Angels and Saints know how it would discourage her to come back to see you as bad as ever, and it's my belief, worse!"

The tragic death of Blaisette had almost canonized her: and she, who had been in life, a pretty weak doll, was enshrined in all hearts as a martyr to her husband's brutality. So often does death enrich and enlarge our limited outlook.

It was the evening of the first Sunday in Lent. Jean Cartier, his wife, Mrs. Corbet and Perrin had been to church at Saint Pierre du Bois. It was dark as they entered the parish of Torteval, and Jean said in an anxious voice,

"I suppose Ellenor has left Les Casquets by now?"

His wife nudged him as if to say he had betrayed a secret: but it was too late. Mrs. Corbet's gentle voice asked, in great curiosity, where Ellenor was going at this time of night.

"To Les Brandons, on Pleinmont," said Jean bluntly. "We didn't like it. But as for me, I've not got the heart to refuse her nothing, since we nearly lost her with the small-pox—poor child!"

The women echoed his deep sigh: and Perrin said quickly,

"Look here! I'm off to Les Brandons too! Then I can look after her! Don't wait up for me, mother."

"Very well. But, tell me, Jean. Will Le Mierre be there? Has she met him since his return from Jersey?"

"He will be there, for certain," broke in Perrin. "And, for certain, she has not see him yet. She told me so herself. Adi, then, toute la compagnie."

He swung along and was soon out of sight. The high road of Torteval was thronged with people who, for the most part, carried lanterns. He hurried past, not speaking to a soul. Presently he had reached his home, and, turning sharply round the corner of the little garden, he found himself in a lane which ended in a cart rut and brought him out to the moorland of Pleinmont and close to the Haunted House.

The sky was thick with stars, which flashed like silver bonfires in the blackness of the night. A fresh breeze swept over the gorze bushes of the moorland and blew into yellow and red streamers the sheet of flame that rose from a huge bonfire which was built in a direct line inland from the Haunted House. The sea, below the precipitous cliffs, moaned and sighed, and, far off, in the distance, could be heard the murmur of the deep seas. Shouts of laughter and merry voices, scraps of folk song and impromptu dancing, came from the throng of people scattered over the moorland and gathered round the bonfire.

Most of the girls of the company wore masks, rough, crude affairs, which, however, effectually concealed their faces. These masked girls were to take part in a special feature of Les Brandons, and were inspected curiously by the men present who were to be chosen as partners by these faux visages.

Perrin Corbet moved quietly, almost stealthily, about amongst the people, evidently intent on finding some particular person. All at once he stopped close to the huge bonfire, and stared, with knitted brows, at Dominic Le Mierre, who swaggered in and out amongst the girls, tapping one on the cheek, chucking another under the chin, and pulling the long curls of a young creature in her teens. In the fitful and flickering light, the master of OrvilliÈre looked like a sea-king, so stalwart, so wicked, so magnetic. It was quite plain to Perrin Corbet that he was more than a little the worse for drink; and he watched him closely, and followed him as near as he dared without being observed.

At ten o'clock, and at a given signal, the masked girls went up to the group of men to choose partners. Perrin edged close to Dominic Le Mierre and scrutinized painfully the girl who laid her hand on the "jerseyed" arm of the master. She was of middle height and extremely thin. Her emaciated hand trembled; it looked almost discoloured in the uncertain light. The border of her face that could be seen round the mask was ghastly in its whiteness. She wore a close fitting bonnet which hid all trace of her hair.

With partially glazed eyes, Dominic peered at her.

"You don't look much of a beauty!" he cried, "but I'll soon see who you are, my girl!"

When the masks had all chosen, a circle was formed round the bonfire, the men holding their partners tightly by the hand. Faster and faster flew the circle till the masked faces shewed like a black band, while the outside throng of people cheered and clapped, and encouraged the dancers to madder whirling. Then, suddenly, as by one impulse, the circle was broken up, and a new spectacle was provided for the onlookers.

Each girl seized her partner by the hand and together they leapt across the flaming bonfire. Wild excitement was the order of the night. It was the festival of the rude, primitive elements of human nature. It was a pageant of black shadow and brilliant light. It answered to the spirit of the bleak moorland, to the steeps of the cliffs, to the mystery of the sea.

Only one man in the whole throng was utterly unmoved by the abandonment around him. Perrin kept his deep set, keen eyes fixed on Dominic and his partner. He watched them leap with perfect skill, across the roaring flame of the bonfire. He saw the master bend down, and once more peer into the white face of the girl. He followed, very stealthily, the two, as they drew apart into a shadowed place, where, nevertheless, the light from the bonfire could reach and bring their faces into relief. He watched the girl unfasten her mask and throw it on the grass. He drew a deep breath. Her face was pitifully ugly. It was covered with the pits and dents and scars that small-pox had left. The skin was coarse and rough and of a yellowish white. Her eyes were dim and red and bleared. Her eyebrows and lashes were gone. Her expression was like that of a furtive, crouching creature who dreaded the lash.

And it came.

"Who are you, I'd like to know!" cried the master in a towering rage, "that has dared to choose me only to cheat me. Do you know, woman, that you are as ugly as sin!"

He seized her bonnet and dragged it off. Then he burst into a brutal laugh.

"Almost bald, the old crone! I'll pay you out for this trick. Who the devil are you? Quick, out with it, or else I'll call the other fellows in to help me to find out!"

Perrin moved quite close behind the master, who was too angry to notice him. The girl lifted her eyes to Dominic. She spoke quietly.

"I am Ellenor Cartier."

"I might have guessed it, fool that I am! And you are a greater to think I would even look at you now! You must be quite mad. All I ever cared for in you was your devilry, and your eyes that used to set me all on fire with love. And now you look like a scared rabbit, a white, pinched thing! And your eyes are hideous! And your hair is gone! How dare you cheat me, you ugly creature!"

She had clasped her hands together; and gazed at him in stupefaction.

Suddenly, he turned on his heel and cried in a loud, far-carrying voice—

"Come here, you men, all of you, and help me to throw the witch, Ellenor Cartier, into the bonfire! She's too devilish ugly to live."

The lower sort of the throng laughed uproariously, and turned to stare at the poor girl. But cries of "Shame! shame!" rent the air. Perrin stepped forward, and, with a well-planted blow and a skilful twist of his leg, he threw Dominic to the ground.

"See to the drunken brute!" he cried.

Then he turned to the trembling girl.

"Come, Ellenor," he said, with tender reverence, "come with me, I will take you home."

He led her to his mother, who took her up to her own attic and helped her to get into bed, for the girl shivered with cold one minute and was in a fever the next. Perrin, meanwhile, went off to Les Casquets to tell her people that she was safe; and he gave Jean the story of the evening, for fear he should hear it from strangers. When he came back to the cottage, Mrs. Corbet was in the kitchen.

"She's asleep at last! But she's cried till I thought she would die. I asked her how it was she made herself in such a state; and then she told me all the tale. Silly girl! the very way to upset any man, and still more, Le Mierre, to show how ugly she is now before all them people. And, besides, it was all like play acting, to my mind!"

"Oh, no, not like that, mother!"

"Wait a bit, wait a bit, till you hears all! It seems, she told me, that she planned she'd do this, there's weeks ago, while Le Mierre was yet to Jersey, and she had heard he was making love to girls there."

"But why?"

"Well, listen! She's a strange creature, not like others! It's my belief she comes from those fairies that built Les Casquets. You remember Perrin?"

"No, tell me."

"Well, once my great-grandfather was on the beach to Portelet, and he saw, a long, long way off a big ship. It came nearer and nearer, and it was so big that great-grandfather expected to see it smashed on hidden rocks. But, lo and behold, the ship got smaller and at last, bah, it looked like the toy of a child, and it ran in on the sand, close to great-grandfather. Out of the boat stepped a little chap, and would you believe it, the boat was turned into the blade-bone of a sheep, all tangled in sea-weed."

"Quick, what happened?"

"Have patience, my son, and don't hurry an old woman. Well, great-grandfather asked the little chap where he was going and what was his name. And all he would say was "Je vais cheminant." But he stopped to Guernsey after all and he married a girl from near here—and it was him built Les Casquets. There! that's where she gets her queer ways, Ellenor!"

"And now tell me about her plan."

"Well, it seems she thought, foolish girl, she'd find out, for sure, if Le Mierre really loves her or only her looks. And she couldn't think of no better way than this mad one. She can't know much of men and their ways, her!"

"It's the best thing that could have happened, if only it makes her see Le Mierre in his true colours."

"Well, we must hope for the best. And, look here, Perrin! Nothing he could do before, no wickedness, no cruelty, could make her leave off caring! But we women, if our looks are held up to scorn—well!—that's the worst of all. So who can tell what may happen! Come, I must make her and give her a cup of tea. She told me she hadn't eaten or drank all day."