The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1894-12-09
THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY. DECEMBER 8, 1884,

without at once referring 10 her strange
demeanor. would at first quiet her by
teaching her. as had grown pleasant
habit, the few AndaluSian airs / knew,
and through their gentle influence at last
ind my way 10 tax her with cowardice;
but I never got but one answer then
'Oh. sir, never go there, but seem to
see his face. peering from behind the
beasts and bales OF Carnac hayi Do not
/ speak OF this 10 father Pierre"
lnsensibly the greater her timidity was
shown. the more intense became my fas-
cination for that quarter Of our schOoner's
hold.
II some forbidding wrath haunted it, 1
/ haunted It also; but never so ii could at
. tract attention to Celeste's repulsiOn and
dread. If the poor soul was scourged by
stun another dark secret. I reflected, it
[ should remain her own.
Late one afternoon I had dOzed here as
/ the children romped and played. Perhaps
the cessation of their wild games and the
l silence which followed had finally aroused
me. When 1 awoke the yellow light
streaming through the hatchway told me
that sunset and the evening meal had
I nearly come.
The hold was quite deserted. As I
| arose I fancied I saw something like
shadow dart back among the shadows
and instantly lose itself behind the bales
of hay. I was irresistibly drawn toward
I it.
I went at once among the calves and
I the sheep. They were soberly munching
/ their food. and I saw nothing unusual
here. I was about to turn away, when
! detected a slight movement and rustlins
/ behind the bales Of hay.
Some roguish child hiding in play"
/ thought as leaped upon the lower bales
I and, thrusting my arm behind the higher
/ ones, called out gaily as in sportive taunt:
Il have you now, monsieur
Ill. 81
I but not that of one of Pierre FlOquets
/ children; for the next instant a stalwart
/ form followed my swiftly withdrawn arm.
/ and in one of its clenched and trembling
| hands there flashed an ugly knife.
"Perdimientor Kissed the man in the
| Spanish tongue. while struggling to reach
me, as if to silence any cutlery might
make.
was now safely behind a strong barred
/ stanchion. 1 could have gained the middle
/ of the hold and leaped through the hatch
way to my friends, before he could have
reached me; and seeming to realize this.
/ his manner instantly changed to one of
temporization and parley.
who are you, and why are you here?'' 1
sternly demanded.
81 am poor Spaniard. seeking my own
4 land with heavy hearti"
His tone was pitiful now; and his situa-
/ ton filled me with strange compassion.
But I stolidly urged:
Pierre Floquet has a warm heart. He
would deal generously with you If you
/ came TO him with your distress"
NO no, nor he retorted with savage
impetuosity. You know but one side of
| Pierre Floquet. Were I to go to him, were
/ you to but speak of this to him, silence
would come to him or to me-perhaps to
morer'
Here he made a significant gesture with
his knife-point toward his breast.
Then 1 said, reaching my hand to his
| and grasping it reassuringly, sit is better
that should be your friend than he or
/ you an assassin"
He nodded his head swiftly. gratefully,
as he said:
There are other days to come in which
| you will not regret such friendship"
Have you food?" 1 asked.
PLENTY and to spare"
And drink?'
! Both water and wine"
| Then l can do nothing for you"
/ but silencer' he Interrupted eagerly
"Complete Silence 70 sFloquet, TO his sons
and-ahd to both his daughters! Shall it
| be miner
Forever If that will help you to safety
4 and friends"
But they were calling me to the cabin:
calling me from the upper evening shad-
/ ows into the now darker shadows of the
| hold. Our hands clased tightly again, and
/
/ certain of his trust. I turned away beWril-
/ dered and came to the little cabin table so
/ distracted and unnerved that Pierre Flo
! quet roared out:
Our stranger friend has looked on some
/ Breton ghost among the calves and the
/ sheep"
All laughed merrily at this sally, save
/ poor Celeste. For little time her face
was more blanched than mine; and |
4 pitied her anew for the heavy load she had
/ borne from a discovery more ominous
/ than my own.
l think was more silent. but certainly
more considerate and tender, to Celeste
after that night. I could not bear to en-
| ter that hold again, more than Celeste;
and l was racked by untold torments lest
some untoward revelation should bring
the journey of Pierre Floquet to ruin and
! despair.
Countless times my impulse was to
share condolences with Celeste. l have
been unutterably thankful since that did
not. AS often was I tempted to disclose
what knew to Pierre Floquet and claim
his generosity, through our almost affec-
! tionate friendship, and thus prevent he
| horror of some accidental tragedy, but
from this the frightful emphasis of the
! stowaway always held me back.
] On the second morning afterward, the
snow-capped Pyrenees were sighted, and
on the evening of the same day the En-
| AhquCbd Oel CTepl SLOWLY between
the headlands of Capes San Lorenzo and
! Torres, through the fantastic shipping of
the harbor and was soon rocking softly
/ beside the ancient muelle of Gijon.
The hustle and activity of the quay soon
attracted all of Pierre Floquet's family
to the pier-side of our little craft. Still
filled with trepidation concerning our Sc
cret passenger, 1 stole away from my
friends at the first opportunity and beck
oning solitary barquero to the schooner's
prov, l gave him some French coin and
bade him wait for a single passenger.
Descending quickly into the dark hold,
/ called out in low tone:
'Senor Refugidado Come instantly
The man was already close beside me-
told him of the waiting boatman; sprang
upon deck and helped him gain footing
there, no easy task with his stiffened
limbs, and almost pushed him from the
schooner's deck into the waiting boat
as he fervently breathed a, "God guard
thee and meI' and I turned to face Pierre
| Floquet, who was approaching with no
gentle tread; while 1.-THE and ghostly
form seemed stealthily creeping behind
| him.
stShroa barbor ttfav,as bo1ra +o,,,y1