But Gwennola had proved a stumbling-block to his ambitions, and conceiving that her father, who was devoted to this sole surviving child, would be likely to leave her whatever fortune it was possible to divide from the inheritance of his lands, he decided to wed her—not that he loved her; but, bah! what did that matter? Neither did it concern him that the maiden took no pains to conceal her hatred of him. It pleased the inherent cruelty of his nature to cause pain, and it delighted him to watch the shudder that shook her when he alluded, with mock devotion, to their union. For the scorn he endured at her hands he promised himself a charming and protracted revenge when she was his wife. Now, to his chagrin, his dreams were in an instant shattered, and, instead of the presumptive heir and honoured guest, he found himself a hunted murderer, condemned already without trial, and all, he bitterly told himself, through the machinations of a puling girl and her lover—a lover whom he had been on the brink of consigning to a felon's grave as reward for his inopportune presence at Mereac.
Thus pondering, de Coray fell into a heavy slumber, out-wearied by the events of a long and unpleasantly exciting day, nor did he awake till the warm rays of the sun struck downwards, sending long, bright shafts of light almost to the heart of the dark shadows of his hiding-place.
Consumed with hunger and thirst, still it was some time before he could summons up sufficient courage to creep forth from his lair. It was a day of dazzling sunshine, which illuminated even the depths of that grey and gloomy forest, and for a moment de Coray stood there, blinking, like some suddenly disturbed owl, before his sight grew accustomed to the brilliant glare. Presently, however, he became aware of a girl's slim figure seated in the doorway of the hut, beside her spinning wheel. A pretty enough picture was thus formed—the dark background of forest, the quaint and dilapidated woodland hut, and stray rays of golden glory lighting up the figure in the foreground, in its picturesque dress and cap of a Breton peasant girl, a dress which set off to perfection the beauty of the face bent low over the humming wheel. It was in fact the face rather of a Madonna than a mere peasant, for the beauty lay not only, or chiefly, in the delicate oval of her cheeks, the regularity of her features, or the glossy luxuriance of the long plaits of black hair which fell over her shoulders, but in the soft and tender expression of her lips and dark eyes, which were swiftly raised to meet de Coray's curious gaze.
A sudden flush of joy, rather than maidenly bashfulness, crimsoned the girl's cheeks as she rose hastily, and with a deep curtsy welcomed her visitor.
To his surprise, de Coray found himself treated with a respect and gratitude wholly unlocked for. It was evident that her brother had breathed no word of his patron's true character or the reason of his present difficulties, but instead had sung such praises into his simple sister's ears that she looked upon de Coray in the light of some poor, persecuted saint.
If is a strange experience thus to be taken for what one is too obviously not, and de Coray listened, half amused, half pleased, to her shy, faltering words of gratitude.
The suspicions which had lurked around his heart as to the trustworthiness of his little ally faded away before the clear truth of his sister's dark eyes, and involuntarily he made an effort to assume the rôle which she had given him so innocently. It was the wolf in sheep's clothing once more, but this time the wolf was more anxious to hide his own dark skin than to devour the trusting lamb.
So, after the meal was over, they sat there together, those two ill-assorted companions, whilst in still shy but more confiding sentences Gabrielle related to her visitor the simple story of her life. It was so simple, so humble, yet, as he sat there by her side, watching the innocent beauty of her face and listening to her murmured words, interrupted as they were by an occasional burst of bird song from the whispering woodlands around, it seemed a very idyll of beauty.
The glamour of an entirely new experience had crept over the cruel, scheming man of many crimes as he sat there waiting for the twilight to fall, the glamour which hangs around the days of early childhood and innocence, and seems to whisper of things holy and beautiful. It thrilled him with a new sense of what life might be, and made him shrink back appalled from what his had already been.
It was shame, and yet not without its sweetness, to see himself mirrored in this peasant girl's eyes as a noble knight whose goodness and untarnished honour had been already the theme of her girlish thoughts, and he almost shivered as he pictured how the light of reverence and admiration would fade from her sweet face did she know the truth.