essed, with the shrewdness of an old salt, that his son
was not indifferent to this beautiful heiress; for he rather insisted
upon talking about him.

"It's very queer," said he, "the boy's never so late out. He went over
to Loguivy, Mademoiselle Gaud, to buy some lobster baskets; as you know,
lobster-catching is our main winter fishery."

She dreamily lengthened out her call, although conscious that it was too
long already, and feeling a tug at her heart at the idea that she would
not see him after all.

"A well-conducted young man like Yann--what can he be doing? Surely he's
not at the inn. We don't fear that for our lad. I don't say that now and
then, of a Sunday, with his mates----You know, Mademoiselle Gaud, what
them sailors are. Eh! ye know, he's but a young chap, and must have some
liberty now and again. But it's very rare with him to break out, for
he's a straight-goer; we can say that."

But night was falling, and the work had been folded up. The little ones
on the benches around drew closer to one another, saddened by the grey
dismal gloaming, and eyed Gaud hard, seeming to say--

"Why doesn't she go now?"

On the hearth, the flames burned redder in the midst of the falling
shadows.

"You ought to stay and have a bit o' supper with us, Mademoiselle Gaud."

"Oh, no! I couldn't think of it!" The blood rushed to her face at the
idea of having remained so late. She got up and took her leave.

Yann's father also rose to accompany her part of the way, anyhow as far
as a lonely nook where the old trees make a dark lane.

As they walked along together, she felt a sudden sympathy of respect
and tenderness towards him; she would have liked to have spoken as to a
father in the sudden gushes of feeling that came over her; but the words
were stifled in her throat, and she said not a word.

And so they went their way, in the cold evening wind, full of the odour
of the sea, passing here and there, on the barren heath, some poor
hovels, where beach-combers dwelt and had already sealed themselves up
for the night; dark and neglected they looked under the weather-beaten
roofs; these crosses, clumps of reeds, and boulders they left behind.

What a great way off Pors-Even was, and what a time she had remained!

Now and then they met folks returning from Paimpol or Loguivy; and as
she watched the shadows approach, each time she thought it was Yann;
but it was easy to recognise him at a good distance off, and so she