This eBook was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
By Gilbert Parker
As Ranulph had surmised, the ship was the Narcissus, and its firstlieutenant was Philip d'Avranche. The night before, orders had reachedthe vessel from the Admiralty that soundings were to be taken at theEcrehos. The captain had at once made inquiries for a pilot, and JeanTouzel was commended to him. A messenger sent to Jean found that he hadalready gone to the Ecrehos. The captain had then set sail, and now,under Jean's skilful pilotage, the Narcissus twisted and crept throughthe teeth of the rocks at the entrance, and slowly into the cove, reefson either side gaping and girding at her, her keel all but scraping theserrated granite beneath. She anchored, and boats put off to takesoundings and explore the shores. Philip was rowed in by Jean Touzel.
Stepping out upon the beach of Mattre 'Ile, Philip slowly made his wayover the shingle to the ruined chapel, in no good humour with himself orwith the world, for exploring these barren rocks seemed a useless whim ofthe Admiralty, and he could not conceive of any incident rising from themonotony of duty to lighten the darkness of this very brilliant day.His was not the nature to enjoy the stony detail of his profession.Excitement and adventure were as the breath of life to him, and since hehad played his little part at the Jersey battle in a bandbox eleven yearsbefore, he had touched hands with accidents of flood and field in manycountries.
He had been wrecked on the island of Trinidad in a tornado, losing hiscaptain and his ship; had seen active service in America and in India;won distinction off the coast of Arabia in an engagement with Spanishcruisers; and was now waiting for his papers as commander of a ship ofhis own, and fretted because the road of fame and promotion was sotoilsome. Rumours of war with France had set his blood dancing a little,but for him most things were robbed of half their pleasure because theydid not come at once.
This was a moody day with him, for he had looked to spend it differently.As he walked up the shingle his thoughts were hanging about a cottage inthe Place du Vier Prison. He had hoped to loiter in a doorway there, andto empty his sailor's heart in well-practised admiration before the altarof village beauty. The sight of Guida's face the day before had given apoignant pulse to his emotions, unlike the broken rhythm of past comediesof sentiment and melodramas of passion. According to all logic ofcustom, the acuteness of yesterday's impression should have been followedup by today's attack; yet here he was, like another Robinson Crusoe,"kicking up the shingle of a cursed Patmos"—so he grumbled aloud.Patmos was not so wild a shot after all, for no sooner had he spoken theword than, looking up, he saw in the doorway of the ruined chapel thegracious figure of a girl: and a book of revelations was opened andbegun.
At first he did not recognise Guida. There was only a picture before himwhich, by some fantastic transmission, merged into his reveries. What hesaw was an ancient building—just such a humble pile of stone and roughmortar as one might see on some lone cliff of the AEgean or on abandonedisles of the equatorial sea. The gloom of a windowless vault was behindthe girl, but the filtered sunshine of late September fell on her head.It brightened the white kerchief, and the bodice and skirt of a faintpink, throwing the face into a pleasing shadow where the hand curved overthe forehead. She stood l