Chapter XVII

Silvere returned rich, for some time at least, for the _Jeune-Adolphine_ had made a great success of her cruise. She was so heavily loaded with fish that she had been hardly able to reach the market at Dieppe, which was better than that of Boulogne. They had thus gained by their delay, and when the fish were sold were well paid for their trouble.

Before going north again for the second cruise they had come to pass a week with their mothers, wives, and daughters, those who tell off day after day, like a chaplet of sorrow, the long months of absence.

The day after his return Silvere did not leave Elise. All day long, happy in being together, they walked the dunes, confiding to each other the overflowings of their hearts. She told him with caution of the persecution of which she had been the object, but said nothing about the part which Mother Pilote had played. He had learned the truth, however, from another source, and Elise seemed to him only more attractive and more worthy of being loved.

“Elise, I will not go on the second cruise. I am not willing to leave you alone in the village. You have such speaking ways. There is no one who has their heart in their eyes as you have. When you sailed away before, I felt that I should never see you again. I was always on the lookout for you in the North Sea, and I hardly slept for watching the horizon.”

“You are good to have loved me. I, too, often called on you when you were far away.”

“Let us marry, Elise. I will not leave the village. Mother Pilote will be delighted.”

“Listen, Silvere. Until I have found my father’s body I might bring trouble between us. Later on I will be happy to be your wife, so as to care for you and pay back all the kindness which you have shown me. You are the only one who has not forsaken me.”

“But if your father should not be found? Ought we not to marry just the same? Would he wish such an injury to his child?”

“Let us look for him. I cannot bear the idea of his being tossed about pitilessly. If you had seen him, as I have, you would help me snatch him from the dreadful sea.”

“It is not the will, it is the means which we lack. What is it? Are you ill? Why do you tremble so?”

“Do you see that man watching us? He is hidden in the crow’s hole.”

The crow’s hole had been dug in the sand by hunters, who lay there in wait for wild birds as they passed overhead. In the first days of autumn it served as an ambush against the gray crows from the north, who passed over the village on their way to the neighboring fields. It was from them that it had taken its name.

As Elise and Silvere came near, some one crawled out, bent double and creeping on all fours, as if to escape observation.

“What is Barnabé after there? He is not likely to find any great chance to do mischief in this sandy waste. Ho! Barnabé?”

But Barnabé was deaf to the call, and hurrying only the more, soon was out of sight.

“I would rather see his back than his face, Elise. He, at least, has made you no trouble during my absence.”

“On the contrary. He has been better than the others. But your coming has upset him. All day long he has been looking threateningly at me.”

And Elise leaned more closely and more timorously against her lover. He held her hand, and, under the firm pressure, she felt a caressing warmth which made her heart glow.

“Silvere, I have never known anything so sweet as being loved.”

She threw a restful glance at her lover, whose huge figure seemed a tower of strength to her.

“I am so strong now. One is weak when one fights alone.”

“Lise, my beloved, my two arms, all my strength, belong to you always. For your happiness----”

He stopped short. Elise had begun trembling again:

“Silvere, look--there--behind us. He is following me. His eyes are wicked.”

“Who? Barnabé? Wait a moment. I will give him a bit of advice to let you alone.”

“Oh no? Do not leave me! I am not happy unless you are with me.”

“Listen, Elise. It is intolerable that you should be threatened by this rascal. I will clear the road of him.”

Silvere ran toward Barnabé, who took to his heels instantly, muttering threats.

This was not the first day that Barnabé had followed Elise, but she had not wished to say so for fear of making trouble between him and Silvere. But she was not able to resist the urgency of her lover, and let him see a little of how matters stood.

After the first visit to the Bureau at Saint-Valery, Barnabé had returned to the village in a most self-satisfied state. He had filled the tavern with his boasts, telling with many words how he had chastised the insolence of the little hunchback, and swearing that he would return the next day to take the commissaire by the nose. He wanted to accompany Elise on her second visit, but she refused, thinking that such an unbridled advocate would ruin the best cause. He was angry, and followed her, declaring that he would be her champion whether or no, and that he would make her see reason in spite of herself and every one else. She had had to take a decided stand with him. He followed her to Saint-Valery, and fear alone had kept him outside the Bureau. He returned often with the same intention; finally he gave it up, and, in revenge for her slight, had gone over to the girl’s enemies.

This that Silvere drew from her was not all, for Elise had not thought it wise to tell everything to her lover. Barnabé was truly a bad fellow. On their first visit to Saint-Valery he had made disgraceful proposals. If she should recover her father’s body and his money, Elise would be rich, and he had offered to marry her. He believed her, then, capable of breaking her troth. At that time it is true they thought Silvere lost, but for her he would have lived always. She would no more be false to him dead than she would have betrayed him living.

Softened by her thoughts she smiled at her big friend, in all the confidence of her heart. “Silvere, I am so happy. We will work together to recover my father’s body. Take me in your boat to the Vergoyer. Perhaps we can find the place where he lies. That would help us very much in our demands at Saint-Valery.”

* * * * *

The following morning, well before dawn, all three set out together, the two lovers and Barbet. The breeze which came with the day sent them briskly along. The sea was smooth, and in a half hour they were out of the channel. Then, spread out before them, they saw gleaming under the rising sun the sea that hid, as if under a smile, the treacherous abyss.

Seized by a strange emotion Elise drew near Silvere--she found herself irresistibly drawn as by some charm to this new life so sweet and protecting. This big Silvere, who was so gentle, she loved for the faith he had in her.

“Silvere, I believe that we shall find my father, and that he will bid us marry.”

They were drawing near the Vergoyer. The reflection of the sun made delusive gleams, and a dull rumbling seemed to come from the depth of the sea, frightful like all noises whose cause is not known. The boat, now fairly in the rough water, resounded under the blows of the waves.

It was time to take soundings. Elise took the lead, then leaning well forward in the bow she whirled it around her head and with a sudden fling threw it far before her into the sea. When the boat on its course passed over the place where it lay on the bottom, Elise drew the cord taut, and, hauling it in, counted the number of fathoms which it marked.

“Ten fathoms, Silvere. We are on the shallows. Father was wrecked in the gulf.”

From fathom to fathom they sounded to find the greatest depth. Silvere scanned the surface. At the places where the waves seemed quietest he fancied they would find the greatest depth. He steered there, but he was mistaken--seven fathoms only.

The boat tacked again. Misery! Only five fathoms. He changed her course. Twelve fathoms--at last--eighteen--twenty-two--keep right ahead, we are approaching it. Misery! It shoals again--nine fathoms only. For a long time they tried to find the gulf, which they knew to be at least sixty fathoms deep.

“Elise, time passes. We must not delay if we are going to return with the morning tide. The breeze will not be with us as we go back. We will come again to-morrow, and will consult the villagers who are best posted.”

“Let us try again, Silvere. Perhaps our ill-fortune will leave us. One cannot search always without finding.”

Elise tried the lead ten times more, but without success.

“Enough, Elise, let us come about. The tide is falling. We shall not have water enough to get back.”

“Why not wait until night! I have no doubt that if we call upon my father he will make his presence known. With you I am not afraid.”

“No, this is no place to sail at night. One blast from the north-west, and the canoe would be turned keel in air. We----”

His words were cut short by a bark. Barbet was standing up, his feet on the gunwale, his ears erect his nostrils distended.

Elise ran to the stern. Panting and troubled she fled to Silvere for protection. Both were silent, every nerve alert, while the boat held its way with no thought now of turning about. Leaning on each other, motionless, they seemed united by the same feeling of tenderness and affection.

At that moment a sharp, angry growl interrupted them.

“It is no doubt here that the lame man lies. You know, Silvere, the little red-haired man who made so much trouble in the village? You remember how Barbet always growled at him? It was just as he did now.”

The boat sailed steadily on. Barbet barked five times. Elise hid her head on Silvere’s breast and murmured in a low tone:

“It is the launch of friend Joseph. They are all there then.”

“Yes, they are in the gulf. They drifted there after being shipwrecked on the shoals.”

“Oh! Silvere, do you hear Barbet? We are over the lost sailors’ gulf.”

“Eight barks. It is Amadée’s sloop.” They are all there. How many besides, from Berck and Cayeux, that Barbet did not know at all?

“Do you hear? Three times--can it be so--three times only--three times--it is father.” And while Silvere struck the sail to stop the boat, Elise cried out:

“Father, are you there? You will forgive me now that I have found you. Father, are you there?”

The anchor ran out, and the boat came into the wind. Barbet began his barks again--always three together. It was the boat of her father and his six companions.

Elise took the lead and let it slip overboard. When she felt it had reached the bottom she had a shiver. She raised the cord slowly and drew the lead aboard carefully. Its bottom, smeared with grease, had brought up a light covering of fine sand. She looked at it abstractedly for a long time.

Silvere did not dare to break in on her pious thoughts. The full noonday sun shone in splendor, and in the clear light which seemed to envelop her the young girl seemed to brighten and to be alive with a new force.

“Elise, we will make a buoy fast to the anchor. If we do not go at once we shall find the bay entirely dry.”

Recalled to herself, Elise made haste to measure the depth.

Sixty fathoms, over a bottom of fine sand. It was surely the abyss which the old men called the lost sailors’ gulf. “Father, if you are really there, do you pardon me?”

At that very instant Barbet gave three quick joyful barks, then kept on barking without taking breath. He had answered Elise. He announced her father’s forgiveness, the end of all her troubles, and a life of health and happiness.

Then forgetting her unhappy past in her new hopes, Elise sat beside her lover and offered him her hand.

“Silvere, my father gives me to you. You alone have not failed me. I am no longer afraid of being loved.”