ed the girl, "we will never see him
again."

Then she told of the death traps beyond the rocks and of the match.

La Touche listened, standing, and still holding the ribband of seaweed
in his fingers.

She could see that he believed what she said and yet his words gave the
lie to what was in his face.

"Oh, Bompard will come back all right," said he. "He's not such a fool
as to get into any of those bogs; he's sulking, that's all."

He shaded his eyes, looking back towards the rocks as though on the
chance of seeing the missing one; then he sat down before his plate and
helped himself to food and the girl, loathing him and the food as well,
sat down and made a pretence of eating.

She noticed that he was cheerful, for a wonder. He ate with good
appetite and shewed in his movements and manner and voice when he spoke
a restrained vivacity new to him.

His blondness, the washed-out blue of his eyes, his features, his voice,
she considered all these anew as she sat opposite to him. It seemed to
her that anything truly manly about him had come from the sea; that
essentially he was a product of Mont Martre or the Banlieu of old Paris.
She loathed him now as only a woman can loathe a man and, woman-like,
her loathing focussed itself upon his blondness and the colour of his
eyes.

Then, when she had done with the pretence of eating she rose up and,
leaving him to remove the things, walked down to the water's edge and
along towards the break in the cliffs.

The tide was nearly out and the sea scarcely broke on the rocks; she had
never seen it calmer nor the islands closer. They seemed to have drawn
in shore during the last half hour and as she looked she saw a great
flock of gulls coming landward, and, as she turned to watch them, she
noticed the far-off mountain tops visible through the cliff break. They
were fuming. One might have fancied that fires had been lit all along
their tops and round the highest peak a turban of cloud was winding
itself, coil on coil.

Then as she stood watching, and from away over, there came a rumble,
deep and cavernous, as if a gargantuan dray were being driven over
subterranean roads. It died out in echoes amongst the foothills and
the silence returned broken only by the wash of the sea on the beach.

She turned towards the sea. It had altered suddenly in colour and from
away beyond the islands the wind was coming. She could see it, raking
the sea like a comb. Then it struck the beac