Where Deep Seas Moan

by E. Gallienne Robin

As he sat on the jonquière, he watched keenly, in a business-like spirit, the gay gestures and pretty dimples of Blaisette Simon, who was the most eager listener of the story-telling group. He had often thought of her as a possible wife. But she was such a universal flirt, that, hitherto, he had received no special encouragement. To-night, however, he felt inclined to exert the full power of attraction which he was quite capable of appreciating and using. All women, whether they avow it or not, love to find their master and bend to him; and Dominic was of the very essence of virility. Indeed, one outspoken girl of Torteval parish said she would rather be beaten by Le Mierre than be kissed by a man all gentleness and kindness.

In a few minutes, Blaisette had left the story-tellers and joined Dominic on the jonquière. She had not the faintest idea how it was she had risen to go to him, but his welcome was of the most delightful, his voice was tender and deep, his eye spoke eloquently of her beauty. Blaisette had never known him in such a compelling mood. Her foolish, weak little head was turned; his gross flattery was nectar to her greedy vanity. He was generally so taciturn, so cold, so aloof. And Blaisette plumed herself on being the cause of this wonderful unbending of his. By supper time they had advanced into the thick of a serious flirtation: and more than one person remarked on the absorbed couple on the jonquière.

Of course Ellenor saw it all, at first with unconcern, then with growing alarm. The rapture died out of her face, which stiffened into tragic lines of misery and jealousy. Every blush and pretty gesture of Blaisette's called forth a new expression in the large clear eyes of the watcher on the stairs. Hitherto it had not entered into her head that Dominic might make her his wife; but, likewise, she had never yet pictured a Madame Orvillière who would take up the master's time and prevent the stolen meetings that were so dear to her. Now, as she watched Dominic's marked attentions to Blaisette, as she saw him, more than once, lay his hand on hers, she realized the meaning of the scene in the chimney corner. He would marry the rich girl. She turned sick and giddy with jealousy. Rising, she groped her way into the garden, and, without cloak or hat, she ran down the quiet lanes and along the high road to the moorland of Pleinmont, where her little home received her with its homely air of comfort. She crept up to her attic bedroom, and when her father and mother returned home, she would give no account of her sudden disappearance from the veille.

"I've brought your cloak and hat," whined Mrs. Cartier, "you must be mad to go home without them! But, there, one never knows what you will do next."

"Leave the girl alone," broke in the father's voice, "she was tired out, she had done the best part of the packing up—it was Blaisette herself told us that. And, Monsieur Le Mierre, he said you were a hard-working girl and would make a good servant, if I'd let you go out. He laughed when he said this, did Monsieur, and it's my belief he'll marry Blaisette before long. It looks as if they meant to keep company. Well, good-night, my girl! I must be off fishing in an hour!"

Christmas Day, not in the least typical, dawned over the heights of Pleinmont in pale gold and soft grey; and the hours that followed were mild and cloudy as those of a day in Spring. The inmates of Les Casquets Cottage ate their humble Christmas dinner of a small piece of beef and a rough kind of raisin pudding; then Jean and his wife composed themselves to the unusual luxury of an afternoon sleep. Ellenor was too restless to stay at home. She wandered over the cliffs and insensibly she made, at last, for the Haunted House.

She threw herself on the grass at the back of the grim, gaunt building, and she tried to collect the miserable, wandering thoughts which were forever haunting her—thoughts of Dominic and Blaisette. All at once, a musical whistle startled her, and Le Mierre himself came up the cliff, a fish basket slung over his shoulder.

"You here, Ellenor!" he cried, sitting down beside her, "on Christmas Day and all alone! Where, then, are all your beaux?"

"You know quite well I've got none, and don't want none, Monsieur," she replied sulkily.

"Come, come, do you expect me to believe that of a pretty girl like you?"