ed in a crowd on the cliff to welcome it. Which one was
it?

It was the _Samuel-Azenide_, always the first to return.

"Surely," said Yann's old father, "the _Leopoldine_ won't be long now; I
know how 'tis out yonder: when one of 'em begins to start homeward, the
others can't hang back in any peace."

CHAPTER III--ALL BUT TWO

The Icelanders were all returning now. Two ships came in the second day,
four the next, and twelve during the following week. And, all through
the country, joy returned with them, and there was happiness for the
wives and mothers; and junkets in the taverns where the beautiful
barmaids of Paimpol served out drink to the fishers.

The _Leopoldine_ was among the belated; there were yet another ten
expected. They would not be long now, and allowing a week's delay so as
not to be disappointed, Gaud waited in happy, passionate joy for Yann,
keeping their home bright and tidy for his return. When everything was
in good order there was nothing left for her to do, and besides she
could think of nothing else but her husband in her impatience.

Three more ships appeared; then another five. There were only two
lacking now.

"Come, come," they said to her cheerily, "this year the _Leopoldine_ and
the _Marie-Jeanne_ will be the last, to pick up all the brooms fallen
overboard from the other craft."

Gaud laughed also. She was more animated and beautiful than ever, in her
great joy of expectancy.

CHAPTER IV--STILL AT SEA

But the days succeeded one another without result. She still dressed
herself every day, and with a joyful look, went down to the harbour to
gossip with the other wives. She said that this delay was but natural;
was it not the same event every year? These were such safe boats, and
had such capital sailors.

But when at home alone, at night, a nervous, anxious shiver of anguish
would run through her whole frame.

Was it right to be frightened already? Was there even a single reason
to be so? But she began to tremble at the mere idea of grounds for being
afraid.

CHAPTER V--SHARING THE DREAD

The tenth of September came. How swiftly the days flew by!

One morning, a true autumn morning, with cold mist falling over the
earth, in the rising sun, she sat under the porch of the chapel of the
shipwrecked mariners, where the widows go to pray, with eyes fixed and
glassy, throbbing temples tightened as by an iron hand.

These sad morning mists had begun two days before,