Her clothes had been patched and mended till it was impossible to mend them any longer, and they now hung in tatters about her. Her hair, once so black and glossy, was streaked with white, and her face wore the look of one who has known all that life has to give of joy and of sorrow, and who has walked in the presence of death as with a friend. By her side shambled the young bear, a shaggy, ferocious-looking monster, enough of itself to strike terror to the hearts of the amazed sailors. The men in the boat lost their courage, and their nerveless hands refused to grasp the oars. But the stern, commanding voice of La Pommeraye restored their presence of mind. The boat's keel grated on the rocks, and La Pommeraye leaped ashore and fell on his knees before the pale ghost of the woman he had loved so faithfully, and followed through half the world.
"Mademoiselle!" he said, but he could get no further. His heart had risen in his throat, and was choking him. She, too, stood like one stunned, her knees trembling, her brain swimming. She would have fallen, but that she took his extended hand to support herself.
The bear had been growling uneasily at her side, and when he saw La Pommeraye's hand touch his mistress, he gave a savage growl, and was about to spring upon the intruder. Marguerite bade him down, and the obedient creature crouched at her feet.
"Mademoiselle has a strange guardian," said La Pommeraye, who had risen at the animal's approach.
"He has kept me alive, Monsieur. But for him I should have gone mad, or cast myself into the sea."
"Where are your companions?"
La Pommeraye shuddered as he asked the question, but he could keep it back no longer.
"It is well with them," she answered calmly; "they sleep behind yonder hill."
"Dead?" exclaimed La Pommeraye, beneath his breath.
"All dead," was her quiet reply.