made it, was an encumbrance. Gilliatt surveyed the species of
niche, at a height within his reach, in the side of the Little Douvre.
These natural closets, not shut in, it is true, are often seen in the
rocks. It struck him that it was possible to trust some stores to this
depot, and he accordingly placed in the back of the recess his two boxes
containing his tools and his clothing, and his two bags holding the
rye-meal and the biscuit. In the front--a little too near the edge
perhaps, but he had no other place--he rested his basket of provisions.

He had taken care to remove from the box of clothing his sheepskin, his
loose coat with a hood, and his waterproof overalls.

To lessen the hold of the wind upon the knotted cord, he made the lower
extremity fast to one of the riders of the Durande.

The Durande being much driven in, this rider was bent a good deal, and
it held the end of the cord as firmly as a tight hand.

There was still the difficulty of the upper end of the cord. To control
the lower part was well, but at the summit of the escarpment at the spot
where the knotted cord met the ridge of the plateau, there was reason to
fear that it would be fretted and worn away by the sharp angle of the
rock.

Gilliatt searched in the heap of rubbish in reserve, and took from it
some rags of sail-cloth, and from a bunch of old cables he pulled out
some strands of rope-yarn with which he filled his pockets.

A sailor would have guessed that he intended to bind with these pieces
of sail-cloth and ends of yarn the part of the knotted rope upon the
edge of the rock, so as to preserve it from all friction--an operation
which is called "keckling."

Having provided himself with these things, he drew on his overalls over
his legs, put on his waterproof coat over his jacket, drew its hood over
his red cap, hung the sheepskin round his neck by the two legs, and
clothed in this complete panoply, he grasped the cord, now firmly fixed
to the side of the Great Douvre, and mounted to the assault of that
sombre citadel in the sea.

In spite of his scratched hands, Gilliatt easily regained the summit.

The last pale tints of sunset were fading in the sky. It was night upon
the sea below. A little light still lingered upon the height of the
Douvre.

Gilliatt took advantage of this remains of daylight to bind the knotted
rope. He wound it round again and again at the part which passed over
the edge of the rock, with a bandage of