e gathered
together on the beach to eat their meal in common. Every woman had
brought _gache_, biscuits and special _vraicquing_ cakes: while the
rich farmers had provided a plentiful supply of cider which had been
brought down in little barrels swung to the carts. It was a merry
time, and Blaisette Le Mierre was looked upon as the queen of the
feast. Very few spoke to Ellenor, for she was shunned as a marked
character. Only Perrin paid her every attention, and saw that she
had everything of the best. As for Dominic, it appeared as if he did
not even see her: and people said he had been persecuted and waylaid
by Miss Ellenor, for it was evident he did not care a straw for such
a girl.

After the meal, some of the men carted away the _vraic_ to the farms
over the cliffs, where it would be used to enrich the land. Others,
with the help of the women, spread out the sea-weed, which was
stored in heaps on the beach to dry. This, later on, would be used
for fuel, and would give out its peculiar pungent smell, so dear
and memory-stirring to all Channel Islanders.

So the _vraicquing_ festival ended; and that night Ellenor sobbed
herself to sleep, a passionate weary creature, too proud to bend to
God and turn to goodness.

It was November; and one evening as Perrin Corbet was crossing a
hill on his return home from fishing, he thought he heard a low
moaning. He stopped and listened. Was it the cry of a sea-gull
flying into shelter from the storm which was approaching? Was it,
perhaps, the spirit of some drowned fisherman haunting his house?
No--it was the voice of a living woman in distress! He waited, and
gradually traced the sound to a huge cromlech on the hill. He
stopped at the entrance.

"It is I, Perrin Corbet!" he said quietly, "is anyone in trouble?"

"Yes, yes!" answered an eager voice, "come in and speak to
me--Ellenor."

"My dear girl," went on the fisherman's even voice, "what are you
doing here?"

"I've been hiding, there's an hour, from Dominic Le Mierre. Ah, it
is no use, I must tell you all, for you never scold me and look
black at me, like all the rest do. I said I wouldn't meet him now
he's married, but the more I keep out of his way, the more it seems
he finds me out."

"Then you don't care for him no more, like all Torteval said you
did?"

"Care for him! Care! I love him with all my soul!"

"And him such a black character, and a smuggler! There's times and
times I've seen him again to the cli