He soon went on his way, climbed the hill of Vale Castle, descended again, and directed his steps towards the Bû de la Rue.
The Houmet-Paradis was a solitude.
His house was in the same state in which he had left it in the morning, after dressing himself to go to St. Peter’s Port.
A window was open, through which his bagpipe might have been seen hanging to a nail upon the wall.
Upon the table was the little Bible given to him in token of gratitude by the stranger whom he now knew as Caudray.
The key was in the door. He approached; placed his hand upon it; turned it twice in the lock, put the key in his pocket, and departed.
He walked not in the direction of the town, but towards the sea.
He traversed his garden diagonally, taking the shortest way without regard to the beds, but taking care not to tread upon the plants which he placed there, because he had heard that they were favourites with Déruchette.
He crossed the parapet wall, and let himself down upon the rocks.
Going straight on, he began to follow the long ridge of rocks which connected the Bû de la Rue with the great natural obelisk of granite rising erect from the sea, which was known as the Beast’s Horn. This was the place of the Gild-Holm-’Ur seat.
He strode on from block to block like a giant among mountains. To make long strides upon a row of breakers is like walking upon the ridge of a roof.
A fisherwoman with dredge-nets, who had been walking naked-footed among the pools of seawater at some distance, and had just regained the shore, called to him, “Take care; the tide is coming.” But he held on his way.
Having arrived at the great rock of the point, the Horn, which rises like a pinnacle from the sea, he stopped. It was the extremity of the promontory.
He looked around.
Out at sea a few sailing boats at anchor were fishing. Now and then rivulets of silver glittered among them in the sun: it was the water running from the nets. The Cashmere was not yet off St. Sampson. She had set her main-topsail, and was between Herm and Jethou.
Gilliatt rounded the rock, and came under the Gild-Holm-’Ur seat, at the foot of that kind of abrupt stairs where, less than three months before, he had assisted Caudray to come down. He ascended.
The greater number of the steps were already under water. Two or three only were still dry, by which he climbed.
The steps led up to the Gild-Holm-’Ur seat. He reached the niche, contemplated it for a moment, pressed his hand upon his eyes, and let it glide gently from one eyelid to the other—a gesture by which he seemed to obliterate the memory of the past—then sat down in the hollow, with the perpendicular wall behind him, and the ocean at his feet.
The Cashmere at that moment was passing the great round half-submerged tower, defended by one sergeant and a cannon, which marks the halfway in the roads between Herm and St. Peter’s Port.
A few flowers stirred among the crevices in the rock about Gilliatt’s head. The sea was blue as far as eye could reach. The wind came from the east; there was a little surf in the direction of the island of Sark, of which only the western side is visible from Guernsey. In the distance appeared the coast of France like a mist, with the long yellow strips of sand about Carteret. Now and then a white butterfly fluttered by. The butterflies frequently fly out to sea.
The breeze was very slight. The blue expanse, both above and below, was tranquil. Not a ripple agitated those species of serpents, of an azure more or less dark, which indicate on the surface of the sea the lines of sunken rocks.
The Cashmere, little moved by the wind, had set her topsail and studding-sails to catch the breeze. All her canvas was spread, but the wind being a side one, her studding-sails only compelled her to hug the Guernsey coast more closely. She had passed the beacon of St. Sampson, and was off the hill of Vale Castle. The moment was approaching when she would double the point of the Bû de la Rue.
Gilliatt watched her approach.
The air and sea were still. The tide rose not by waves, but by an imperceptible swell. The level of the water crept upward without a palpitation. The subdued murmur from the open sea was soft as the breathing of a child.
In the direction of the harbour of St. Sampson, faint echoes could be heard of carpenters’ hammers. The carpenters were probably the workmen constructing the tackle, gear, and apparatus for removing the engine from the sloop. The sounds, however, scarcely reached Gilliatt by reason of the mass of granite at his back.
The Cashmere approached with the slowness of a phantom.
Gilliatt watched it still.
Suddenly a touch and a sensation of cold caused him to look down. The sea had reached his feet.
He lowered his eyes, then raised them again.
The Cashmere was quite near.
The rock in which the rains had hollowed out the Gild-Holm-’Ur seat was so completely vertical, and there was so much water at its base, that in calm weather vessels were able to pass without danger within a few cables’ lengths.
The Cashmere was abreast of the rock. It rose straight upwards as if it had grown out of the water; or like the lengthening out of a shadow. The rigging
