ptics for a moment on the crumpled piece of paper,
but she saw it not. She was undressing, but she knew it not; she did
it mechanically, as if by instinct. Her thoughts were with her
father and the unhappy home she was condemned to share with him.
Home! alas! it was more like a hell. She shuddered at the thought.
She was of a naturally quiet temperament, and she abhorred these
awful scenes.

She earnestly hoped that the time would soon come when she would
once more sail in smooth waters.

As she was moving about, her foot trod upon some object. "What is
this?" she said to herself, as she stooped to pick it up. By whom
that piece of paper had been placed there, she could not imagine.

By the light of the candle, she managed to read the missive. How her
heart gladdened. She read it over and over again. It contained a
message from Frank telling her that he hoped to hear from her at her
earliest convenience. "So you will," she said half aloud as she
carefully folded the small piece of paper.

She slept peacefully that night.

CHAPTER XXIII.

A SECRET CORRESPONDENCE.

On the following day she wrote to Frank and gave the letter to
Jacques, asking him to carry it in the evening at the Rohais. The
old man smiled at her, and carefully pocketing the piece of silver
which she thrust into his hand, he remarked: "I s'pose you don't
care for the guv'nor to know anything about this 'ere business."

"How dare you call my father so?" she said, pretending to be
offended; "no; don't let him have any knowledge of this or any other
message I may entrust you with in the future."

"He won't; look 'ere Miss, I'll do anything for you, you're a good
'un; and as for your father gettin' anything out of me; I'd as well
have the last bone in my body pulled out afore I'd say anything
against you or your young man. You're the very picture of your
mother, that you are, she was a good woman----."

"Jacques, if you cannot express yourself in English, talk in
Guernsey French, as you used to do," she said, for Jacques was
showing forth his knowledge.

"What have I said?" he questioned in his native tongue, then he
added: "I thought I was speaking well, I beg your pardon if I have
offended you, Miss."

"You have not displeased me," she said. "I must go now, or my
father will be fretting about my absence. I can trust you?"

"Yes, I will do anything for you. Good-night, Miss."

"Good-night, Mait Jacques."

And, with a light step a