Where Deep Seas Moan

by E. Gallienne Robin

CHAPTER III.

t was Spring. Dominic Le Mierre still played a double game and there was no talk of an engagement between Blaisette and himself. He met Ellenor secretly; and was often at Colomberie Farm, where he was a welcome visitor, not only to the daughter, but to the father, who valued the advice and skill of the master of Orvillière in all things pertaining to the management of the farm. Now, in the springtime, the countryside was stirring into new life, and masters and men alike were full of enthusiasm over the tilling of the soil and the expectation of good crops to come. Monsieur Le Mierre had sent round word to his neighbours that on a certain day in March he would hold the working festival of La Grand' Querrue, or The Grand Plough. That meant the combination of these neighbours into a band of all day workers, for the purpose of deeply trenching a certain field in preparation for the cultivation of parsnips. The large expensive plough to be used was the joint property of Le Mierre and his richer neighbours, and it was, naturally, available for each in turn. Every master brought his men and his horses and bullocks to the fray, and at seven o'clock in the morning the work and jollity began.

The field to be ploughed lay at the base of cliffs covered with the tender grass and golden gorze bushes of early Spring. Deep purple scentless violets clustered in sheltered nooks, where granite, ivy-covered boulders rose grimly along the slopes and little ravines of the cliffs. Primroses, many of them milk white, starred the grass; and wild blue hyacinths grew tall and graceful in damp patches shaded by stunted trees. But the special field in question lay bare to the sky, surrounded by low hedges, and of a rich red brown colour.

Six bullocks and sixteen horses drew the large plough, and Dominic Le Mierre was captain of the team. He looked his very best, for the work drew out the strength and will of the man. The pose of his body, the skill of his movements, the carriage of his head, marked him as the typical worker of the fields, a very king of farmers. His energy and vitality inspired the other men, and no one could believe it was time for mi-matin when ten o'clock chimed out from the church behind the cliffs. But when the spell of work was broken, the men found they were very hungry, and fell upon the bread and butter, cheese and strong coffee, with tremendous appetites. These good things were brought down in large baskets from Orvillière; and the men scattered in little groups as they ate and drank, discussed farming, or looked out over the wide sea just beyond the field, and wondered if fishing would pay this year.

Suddenly Le Mierre gave the call for a return to work, and again the glorious ploughing went forward till noon. Then the cattle were unharnessed and allowed to feed, two men being left in charge of them. The rest of the workers climbed the hill to Orvillière, where a substantial dinner was provided. There was cabbage soup, a pâlette or big boiled ham, a piece of pork, a round of beef and other things loved of Guernseymen, not forgetting copious draughts of island cider. Two o'clock saw the men once more at the ploughing, and the afternoon dragged a little till four o'clock, when the housekeeper and the maids from Orvillière appeared, bringing each her large basket of mirelevée. This meant tea and currant cake, and probably cider. A halt was called. Once more the men grouped themselves into unconscious picturesquesness, and ate and drank to their fill. But at this al fresco meal a delightful air of familiarity and coquetry made itself felt by the presence of the rosy maidens from Orvillière; above all by the appearance of Blaisette Simon, who brought down a special batch of cakes, made and cooked by herself. Le Mierre was at her side at once and a pretty flirtation sprang up, for the master was in an excellent temper and the girl was marvellously taken by the handsome power and devilry of the captain of the work. Never had she seen him look half so well, she said to herself. Ah, if he proposed, she would not feel inclined to refuse him! She leant over the hedge and looked out to sea, and he stood close beside her, his blue jerseyed shoulder brushing the stray gold of her hair. Lovers they seemed, even if lovers in reality they were not.

So thought Ellenor Cartier as she watched them from the little cove below the field. She stood, a solitary figure against the sky, on the rough arm of a little harbour where she waited for the return of her father from fishing. She had been watching for the red sail of his boat since three o'clock, but she had turned many times to send hungry, lingering looks at the field, above all at the prominent figure of Le Mierre. When Blaisette came, in the glory of a new gown and a pink sunbonnet, it seemed to Ellenor that life was harder than she could bear, for she was shut out from the Grand Plough. Her father had not been asked to help, he was too much beneath the rank of Le Mierre; therefore no excuse could be framed to admit her into the enchanted field. Jealousy sharpened her eyesight, she thought she could see the white hand of Blaisette slip through Dominic's arm. It was too much. She turned away and looked out to sea, blinded by tears.

The red sail of Cartier's boat fluttered in the breeze that blew from the land, and with swift grace the little craft came into harbour. Ellenor dashed the tears from her eyes and smiled down at the men in the boat as they fastened it to a hook in the breakwater and climbed up beside her. Her father was her friend, her refuge, her comfort; and something of his influence over her seemed to belong to the other man, his mate. Perrin Corbet was tall and angular, without the slightest pretention to good looks, but with a fund of good nature and humour in his grey eyes, and when he smiled back at Ellenor a shy tenderness glorified his plain face into something far beyond mere beauty of feature.

The men and Ellenor crossed the sandy cove and climbed the winding cliff path which led directly past the Grand Plough. Jean and Perrin lingered to watch the splendid action of Le Mierre, as, once more, he led the line of animals: but Ellenor walked on and never even glanced to see if Blaisette were still in the field. She did not wait for the men and kept a little ahead of them as she mounted the cliff to the moorland above. Her head was bent, her arms hung down listlessly.