round.

Out at sea a few sailing boats at anchor were fishing. Now and then
rivulets of silver glittered among them in the sun: it was the water
running from the nets. The _Cashmere_ was not yet off St. Sampson. She
had set her main-topsail, and was between Herm and Jethou.

Gilliatt rounded the rock, and came under the Gild-Holm-'Ur seat, at the
foot of that kind of abrupt stairs where, less than three months before,
he had assisted Caudray to come down. He ascended.

The greater number of the steps were already under water. Two or three
only were still dry, by which he climbed.

The steps led up to the Gild-Holm-'Ur seat. He reached the niche,
contemplated it for a moment, pressed his hand upon his eyes, and let it
glide gently from one eyelid to the other--a gesture by which he seemed
to obliterate the memory of the past--then sat down in the hollow, with
the perpendicular wall behind him, and the ocean at his feet.

The _Cashmere_ at that moment was passing the great round half-submerged
tower, defended by one sergeant and a cannon, which marks the half way
in the roads between Herm and St. Peter's Port.

A few flowers stirred among the crevices in the rock about Gilliatt's
head. The sea was blue as far as eye could reach. The wind came from the
east; there was a little surf in the direction of the island of Sark, of
which only the western side is visible from Guernsey. In the distance
appeared the coast of France like a mist, with the long yellow strips of
sand about Carteret. Now and then a white butterfly fluttered by. The
butterflies frequently fly out to sea.

The breeze was very slight. The blue expanse, both above and below, was
tranquil. Not a ripple agitated those species of serpents, of an azure
more or less dark, which indicate on the surface of the sea the lines of
sunken rocks.

The _Cashmere_, little moved by the wind, had set her topsail and
studding-sails to catch the breeze. All her canvas was spread, but the
wind being a side one, her studding-sails only compelled her to hug the
Guernsey coast more closely. She had passed the beacon of St. Sampson,
and was off the hill of Vale Castle. The moment was approaching when she
would double the point of the Bu de la Rue.

Gilliatt watched her approach.

The air and sea were still. The tide rose not by waves, but by an
imperceptible swell. The level of the water crept upward without a
palpitation. The subdued murmur from the open sea was soft as