There were now left in Le Crépuscule the demoiselles whom Lenore had brought with her from Rennes a year ago, and two others who had come to madame many years ago, and who must perforce stay on, having no other home than this, living as they did upon madame’s bounty. And there were also two young squires, who had sworn fealty to madame, but hoped some day to ride to Rennes and win their spurs in the lists of their Lord Duke. For the present they were content to remain out on the lonely coast, where Courtoise taught them the articles of knighthood, and where twenty stout henchmen could look up to them as superiors. These, with David le petit, Anselm the steward, Alixe, Courtoise, and a young peasant woman, who had come to foster the infant of Madame Lenore, comprised the attendants of the three ladies of Crépuscule. It was a well-knit little company, and one so accustomed to the quiet life, that none of them save only one desired better things.
Of the mood of Alixe during these summer months, much might be said. Throughout the spring she had been in a state of hot desire for what was not in Le Crépuscule. She was filled with unrest; but her plans were too vague, too indefinite, for immediate action. Strong as was the will that would have carried her through any difficulty that lay not in the condition of her heart, she was still, after nearly six months of dreaming and debating, in Le Crépuscule. Still she labored through the long, dull mornings; and still, through the afternoons, she drifted about through moving seas of doubt and yearning. She longed for the world, but she could not give up Le Crépuscule, and those whom it held. Here was her problem,—which way to turn. She felt that another such winter as she had just passed would drive her senses from her; but she knew that anywhere outside Le Crépuscule the visions of three faces, the fair, sad faces of her ladies, would haunt her by day and by night till she should return to them at last. She carried her struggle always with her, and at length it drove her to seek an old-time solitude. She began to spend her afternoons in a cave in the great cliff north of that on which the Castle stood. This cave had been formed by the action of the water, and it stretched in cavernous darkness far into the wall of rock,—much farther than Alixe had ever dared to go. Near the entrance, four or five feet above the tide-washed floor, was a little ledge where she was accustomed to sit till the rising water drove her to the upper shore. Tides, in Brittany, are proverbially high; and at full tide the top of the cave’s opening was scarcely visible above the water; so it behooved Alixe to restrain herself from sleep while she lay therein, meditating on her other life.
On the 19th of July the tide was at low ebb at half-past two in the afternoon; and at three o’clock Alixe entered the cave, and climbed, dry-shod, up to her ledge of rock. Here, as she knew, she was safe for two hours, if she chose to stay so long.
The interior of this cave was by no means an uninteresting place, though Alixe had never yet explored it beyond the space of twenty feet, where it was bright with the daylight that poured in through its jagged entrance. After that it wound a darker way into the cliff, and the far recesses were lost in utter blackness. A spoken word directed toward the inner passage-way would reverberate along that mysterious interior till one could not but be a little awed at the vast extent of the lost passage. The visible floor of the cavern was a thing of interest and beauty, for at low tide it was like a little park, where pools of clear sea-water alternated with groves of filmy plants, small ridges of pebbles and rocks, and patches of delicately ribbed sand, where every species of shell-fish dwelt. At times Alixe spent hours in studying sea-life in these places; and certainly, on hot summer afternoons, no pleasanter occupation could have been found. Probably others than Alixe would have taken to it, were it not for the fact that the cave was the scene of one of the weirdest legends of the coast, and was held in avoidance as much by Castle folk as by the peasantry. Alixe, however, had long been held to possess some uncanny power over the people of the supernatural world, for she would venture fearlessly into the most unholy spots, emerging unharmed and undisturbed; nor could any one ever learn from her whether or not she had actually held intercourse with the creatures whom they devoutly believed in, and so devoutly dreaded.
To-day, certainly, there was no suggestion of the uncanny about her as she lay upon her ledge of rock, looking off upon the sparkling waters that danced up to the very edge of her retreat. With one hand she shaded her eyes from the golden glare, and her head was pillowed on her other arm. Her usually smooth brow was puckered into a frown for which the sun was not responsible; nor yet was Alixe’s mind upon any subject that might be supposed to anger or distress her. For the moment she had dropped her inward debate, and was lazily watching the sea. The warmth of the afternoon had made her drowsy, and now the shadowy coolness of the cave soothed her till her vivid mental images had become a little blurred, and the sparkle of the water and its crispy rustle, as it advanced and retreated over the sand outside, was luring her mind into the faery wastes of dreamland. She wondered a little whether she were awake or asleep; but, in point of fact, her eyes were not actually shut, when a slender figure came round a corner of the entrance, and slipped lightly into the cave.
Alixe started, and sat up straight, while a high tenor voice cried out: “Ho, Mistress Alixe, ’tis thou, then? Is’t I that discover thee in thy retreat, or thou that hast invaded mine?”
“Ohé, David, thou’st startled me! Meseemeth I all but slept.”
“’Tis a day for sleep, but this is not the place. Is there room there on the ledge? Wilt let me up? ’Tis wet enough, below here.”
“Yea; thy feet slop i’ the sand, and thou’st frightened two crabs. Canst climb hither?”
He laughed merrily, and scrambled up beside her, his light body seeming but a feather in weight. She made room beside her, and he sat down there, cocking one parti-colored knee upon the other, and beginning lightly: “Thus bravely, then, thou comest into the cave of the water goblin. Art thou, perchance, courted here by some sly water sprite?”