nds, which terrified her
she knew not how or why, first faltered, then ceased altogether; when
she heard the sobs that followed them; and when her heart told her who
was weeping in the next room--then, she began to be influenced by a new
feeling which was stronger than the strongest fear, and she opened the
door without hesitation, almost without trembling.

The coverlet was drawn up over the old man; Gabriel was kneeling by
the bedside, with his face hidden. When she spoke to him, he neither
answered nor looked at her. After a while the sobs that shook him
ceased; but still he never moved, except once when she touched him, and
then he shuddered--shuddered under _her_ hand! She called in his little
sisters, and they spoke to him, and still he uttered no word in reply.
They wept. One by one, often and often, they entreated him with loving
words; but the stupor of grief which held him speechless and motionless
was beyond the power of human tears, stronger even than the strength of
human love.

It was near daybreak, and the storm was lulling, but still no change
occurred at the bedside. Once or twice, as Perrine knelt near Gabriel,
still vainly endeavoring to arouse him to a sense of her presence, she
thought she heard the old man breathing feebly, and stretched out her
hand toward the coverlet; but she could not summon courage to touch him
or to look at him. This was the first time she had ever been present at
a death-bed; the stillness in the room, the stupor of despair that had
seized on Gabriel, so horrified her, that she was almost as helpless as
the two children by her side. It was not till the dawn looked in at the
cottage window--so coldly, so drearily, and yet so re-assuringly--that
she began to recover her self-possession at all. Then she knew that her
best resource would be to summon assistance immediately from the nearest
house. While she was trying to persuade the two children to remain
alone in the cottage with Gabriel during her temporary absence, she was
startled by the sound of footsteps outside the door. It opened, and a
man appeared on the threshold, standing still there for a moment in the
dim, uncertain light.

She looked closer--looked intently at him. It was Francois Sarzeau
himself.

CHAPTER II.

The fisherman was dripping with wet; but his face, always pale and
inflexible, seemed to be but little altered in expression by the perils
through which he must have passed during the night. Young