In vain Gwennola strove to convince the poor fellow that the vision could be naught but some phantasy of the brain, or that the figure seen was that of some wandering madman who bore a likeness to her dead brother. Job clung to his tale, at last breaking down utterly in his terror and perplexity, and sobbing out prayers to every saint in the calendar to enlighten him as to what the vision would have him do.
It was some time before all were sufficiently calm to set out on their expedition, an expedition from which Marie in vain strove to dissuade her mistress. The thought of so immediately entering the now horror-haunted forest was agony to the poor waiting woman; but in spite of her own inward qualms, Gwennola was firm in her purpose. Truth to tell, the young mistress was inclined to be of an obstinate and tenacious disposition, and, having decided on her plan of action, carried it through in spite of opposition, so that Marie, knowing well her wilful temper, was fain to yield to her wishes, and strive, if vainly, to conquer her fears.
Gwennola, on the contrary, gave no outward sign of her misgivings; some strange elation seemed suddenly to have over-mastered them, and her merry laugh rang cheerily through the sunlit glades as she challenged Marie to a race.
Mère Fanchonic's humble dwelling was reached at last, and the young châtelaine's gracious sympathy and kindly words brought many a blessing down on her head from the old woman ere they departed once more on their homeward way, Mère Fanchonic herself hobbling slowly to the door to scream shrill injunctions to Job to guard well his young mistress, for, though the way was short, there were perils on all sides.
That such was the case in those lawless times Gwennola knew only too well, but she possessed the daring spirit of her race, and her father had ever yielded to her more licence than was deemed fitting for a young girl in those days. Therefore Gwennola had been accustomed from childhood to wander in the woods around Mereac, accompanied only by the faithful Job and Marie, or perchance by her father, or brother. The thought of that brother, so dear and so long mourned, brought a sadness afresh to her bright face as she turned her steps towards the château. The thrill of elation had gone, and a sudden gloom seemed to have plunged her from unaccountable mirth to melancholy; neither could she altogether explain what oppressed her, unless indeed it could be Job Alloadec's strange vision.
Twilight was creeping with stealthy footsteps upon them, in spite of their haste, as they passed swiftly along the narrow woodland path, and Marie had shrunk closer to her mistress's side, when a sudden crackling of boughs in a thicket close by caused both girls to scream aloud in fear, as a man leapt out from the wood on to the path in front of them. Flesh and blood without doubt was the intruder, no hollow-eyed apparition of the dead, such as they had half dreaded: a man, short, thick-set, with a red stubbly beard and hard, reckless eyes, which stared now into theirs with a fierce, yet frightened defiance.
"Monsieur de Coray?" he gasped, and looked eagerly behind the girls towards Job, who had hurried up to his young mistress's side.
"De Coray?" questioned Gwennola, who was the first of the three to regain her self-possession, signing at the same time to Job to keep by her side. "Is it then Monsieur de Coray with whom you desire speech?"
"Yes—no," stammered the man, glancing from right to left. "Pardon, mademoiselle, I feared—nay—methought——" And then, with the gasp of one who sees safety but in flight, he sprang once more into the brushwood, and disappeared, as suddenly as he had come, amongst the trees.
"Nay," said Gwennola de Mereac gently, as Job, with a suspicious grunt, made as though he would set off in pursuit, "there was no harm; the poor man is half crazed with fear or something worse. Besides," she added with a smile, "thou wouldest not leave us alone, good Job, to find our way home through these twilight woods. Parbleu! it was well that yon poor, frightened rogue had no business with us, for he wore an ugly look, and it is possible that he hath friends, beside Monsieur de Coray, in yon dark forest. Come, my Marie, tremble not now danger is past, but let us return the more quickly, seeing that perchance my father even now grows anxious."