"Look here," he cried, almost in a rude voice, "he loves you so much that he lets you run the risk of getting the small-pox! Very well! I'm decided what to do. I'll go back to tell my mother I am coming here to look after you twice a day, perhaps more, and I'll give him a piece of my mind. My mother will go to Les Casquets. I'll stop the mouths of the two parishes, so will my mother and your parents, or I'll know why. Now, go back, and I'll be off for the doctor and for food."
"Wait, just a minute, Perrin! There is something more I must say, to cast it off my mind. It is all my fault that Blaisette has the small-pox. It was me that went to the witch to Saint Pierre Port to cast a spell on my rival the day after the Grand' Querrue. I didn't tell no names, but that's why she's bad, and oh, Perrin, it's all my fault."
"Yes, I suppose it's that, in a way. But it's my belief there's another reason for her sickness. You remember she came the wrong way to church on her wedding day? Ah, we all know what that means—trouble—as sure as her name is Blaisette. But I must be off!"
In a few hours Perrin returned with a store of food and the unwilling doctor, who was obliged to go up to see the patient he dreaded so horribly, for Perrin took him by the arm and did not leave him till he had landed him in the sick room. Then the fisherman sought out Le Mierre, and the coward and scoundrel tried to hold his own. But Perrin's threats of appeal to the Royal Court awed him into a promise to give out money to pay for the expenses of his wife's illness. Corbet, himself utterly fearless of disease, frightened the drunkard into further dread of the house: and Ellenor had it all her own way. But it was of no avail. Pretty, frail Blaisette could not battle with a terrible illness, neglected at the very first; and two days after Perrin came to Lihou, she died, without a look or a sign.
There was no thought of taking her poor body across to the other island for burial in the sweet quiet churchyard of Saint Pierre du Bois. She was laid to rest in a grave dug hastily in a corner beside a dark boulder. No hymns were sung over her. Only the grey sea moaned and the wind sighed, as her rough coffin was lowered into the grave. No messenger, mounted on a black horse, bore the news of her death from house to house, up and down the two parishes. Only a poor fisherman repeated the sad tidings as he trudged, first to Colomberie Farm and then to Orvillière, where Dominic's aunt kept house in state while her graceless nephew was away. No Messieurs of distinguished Torteval families were honoured bearers, but a good man and a bad man had carried her coffin to the dark place of burial. No weird feasting followed the unconsecrated ceremony: only Dominic took refuge from sickening terror in a drunken bout.
But Perrin stood long beside her grave: and prayed for the poor little woman so soon to be left alone in the island, henceforth to be haunted by her sad spirit.
An hour after Blaisette's burial, Ellenor fainted while she was making preparations for leaving the house. Perrin, guessing what would follow, rowed her across to the main island, as soon as she was able. His mother had returned to her home, and Jean and poor weak Mrs. Cartier prepared to nurse their child through an attack of small-pox. The doctor shook his head. It was a particularly bad case, he said, and it was doubtful if he could save Ellenor.
