one-studded and
sponge-fringed caves under the Gouliots; through the long
rough-polished, sea-scoured passages of the Boutiques; down the seamed
cliffs at Les Fontaines and Grande Greve; along the precarious tracks
and iron rings into Derrible; with the assistance of a rope, into Le
Pot. And for rest-times they spent long delightful afternoons sitting
among the blazing gorse cushions of the Eperquerie, and on that great
rock that elbows Tintageu into the waves, and looks down on the one
side on Port du Moulin and the Autelets, and on the other into Pegane
Bay and Port a la Jument.

This high perch had a peculiar fascination for Margaret. She could
have sat there day after day with perfect enjoyment. She never tired
of it all--the crisp green waters below, with their dazzling fringe of
foam round every gray rock and headland; the gold-tipped pinnacles of
the Autelets, with their fluttering halos of gulls and sea-pies and
cormorants, and their ridi-fringe of tawny seaweed and foamy lace; the
rounded slopes of the Eperquerie; the bold cliffs behind, with their
sprawling gray feet in the emerald sea, and their green and gold
shoulders humping up into the blue sky; beyond them the black Gouliot
rocks and foaming Race, and the long soft bulk of Brecqhou with its
seamy sides and black-mouthed caves.

And here one day they had a novel experience, and Margaret learned
something--got fullest proof, at all events, of something her heart
had already told her.

They were sitting in the sea-ward cleft of this great rock behind
Tintageu, one afternoon, and Graeme had just succeeded in getting the
kettle to boil by means of an armful of old gorse bushes, when,
straightening up for a rest, he said suddenly,--"Hello! Look at that
now!" and pointed out towards Guernsey.

And there they saw a low white cloud, lying on the sea as though it
had just dropped solidly out of the sky. Sea and sky were vivid vital
blue, the sun shone brilliantly, Guernsey, Jethou, and Herm gleamed
like jewels, and the white cloud lay between the upper and the nether
blue like the white ghost of a new-born island not yet invested with
the attributes of earth.

And, as they watched, it crept quickly along the blue-enamelled plain.
It swallowed up the southern cliffs of Guernsey. Its creeping nose was
level with the tall Doyle column. It crept on and on, till Castle
Cornet disappeared and Peter Port was lost to sight. On and on--Jethou
was gone, and bit by bi