The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1899-12-03

almost failed him as the two set out
upon their way. But his thoughts were
busy.
The sun was sinking in an angry purple
sky as they crossed the trickling Scorff,
and mounted the track that led out of tho
valley Of Polniac upon the open landes.
The solemn melody of the vesper psalm
reached their ears as they passed the hill
side chapel. Yves Pengaverec crossed
himself devoutly and shivered a little;
but his brow was as black as the West
ern sky.
Not through the Coet ar Groach-the
haunted Fairies Wood-that lay dark and
mysterious on the hillside above them.
Not through there, though that was the
nearest way. Yves recalled the bitter
words that the woman at the auberge
had spoken to Daoulaz, and they sounded
in his ears like q hideous forewarning.
Not through there. Rather keep to the
track right up the valley-though 1t were
a mile farther-than pass through there.
He did not mean to harm the man-no
no! But he would have share Of those
golden napoleons that the stranger knew
so i'll how to take care ola share that
he could carry to the old man Mathurin
when he asked him again for the hand OF
Anne. He would have a share of them
by fair asking, If 1t could be so. And II the
stranger WOuIu NOT ylSlu Iueii up' why
then. Yves scanned with lowered eye
lids the sturdy bulk of the man who
trudged by his side, and compared 1t
critically with his own wiry build. And
a grim smile passed over his lips.
The stranger tramped on all unheedipg,
noisily familiar. The silent, gloWering
figure strobe at his side. And SO they
passed up the valley and out on the bare
landeS.
Darkness was falling around them
darkness that gathered no illumination
from the cloud-muffled sky. The desolate
heath stretched out before, vague,
gloomy. illimitable. No f1utter Of air
passed over the great solitude; no cry
of bird or beast broke into the night; a
vast ineffable stiffness lay heavy upon
all the world
Yves Pengaverec's conscience stirred
uneasily- A vague sense of awe weighed
upon him. There was something I'M
earthly in this intense hush. He tried to
whistle; he urged his companion to sing
but the sounds died away in their
threats; and they strobe on together in
silence.
Big drops of rain began to fall with a
splash on the crisp heather. The night
grew blacker and blacker still, till he
could scarcely see the figure of the man
who walked but an arms length! He had
but to stretch out his arm and grapple
with him, and the leather pouch. But,
no. Ten thousand times, no! Not there.
Wait till they had passed the great men-
hir on the heath, where Mathurin had
found him that night twenty years ago;
where his dead mother lay buried. Moth
er of mercy! Not till they were past
that! The drops of sweat stood upon his
brow at the thought.
OF sudden a binding flash, Pickering,
lambert, swept across the sky. A crash
ing peal of thunder burst over their
heads. And at the same instant, as il
set loose by the sound, a cataract Of rain
descended. The storm that Daoulaz pre-
dicted had come.
Kissing and seething and spluttering,
the torrent streamed down. No pause, no
change, no intermission. The thunder
rolled and clattered necessarily. The
lightning leapt and f1ickered over the
face of the heath. Tongues Of flame, blue
tinged, quivering, lit on the trembling
heather and shed a CHASTITY, ftful glare
over the solitude. The deep stiffness had
given place to a very hell of discord.
Yves superstitious terrors gripped him
closer, and his blood stood still. Was
this tempest by chance a sign, a por-
tent, a divine warning? Was he to be
consumed by the wrath from above, de-
voured by some celestial messenger of Ven
geance, with that sin-that sinful design
of his-unshriven. upon his. soul? He was
a Breton by training, If not by birth-with
all the Breton beliefs grown deep-rooted
in his brain; and his nature fought stout
ly with the hooking hardihood which the
red wine had engendered in him. But
the red wine conquered. Bah! the storm
was nothing; it had been expected all
day; it was usual at the time Of year
And he meant no harm to the man. Storm
or no, he would have his share of the
mOney-once they were past the menhir
They could not be far from 1t now.
With lowered heads and bent shoulders
they were gaining the crest of the heath,
where the menhir for centuries un-
known had kept its solitary watch A
flash of dazzling brilliance zigzagged
down the sky and irradiated- the somber
plain. All! there it was in front of
then-black and massive and irregular,
with the tall crucihX on its summit in
outline against the sky. Another flash,
and another; and they could see it quite
distinctly.
Stay! What was that? The flash had
fallen on something pale at the foot of
fancy? Yves knees shook; the sweat
started, cold and clammy, upon his brow:
the flesh along the ridge of his back
shuddered and crept He waited for the
next flash. his dry lips muttering a
prayer. The flash was long in coming.
There was a lull in the tempest; the rain
abated, the heavens remained black.
Then all at once the fury Of the storm
burst out upon them once more. Flash
followed flash; the plain was lit with
a thousand Pickering sheets Of fire; the
thunder rolled like some avenging spirit.
And he saw.
They were but thirty yards from the
base of the great menhir, and the light
ming flashes lit it with a fierce, changing
intensity. A womans shape stood out
lined against the stone, her arms thrown
around 1t, her face turned from the trav-
elers. 1t was no mistake, no illusion, no
deception Of the eyesight; the steely,
quivering light played around the pale
robed figure and illumined 1t in keen
contrast with the darkness Of the gran
tie. A womans figure chung there, sure
enough? And whose? Whose? The
prayer would not come now. It had
died away upon his nerveless lips, and
his tongue CROPPED for it in vain. He
could only watch-watch-wat with
starting eyeballs and fluttering breath.
Then, as he still stood gazing, horror
stricken, paralyzed by q growing awe,
the figure seemed of a sudden to turn
and beckon TO him; and in a lull of the
thunder rattle there came a long wall
floating upon the storm, calling the name
of Yves Pengaverec.
He stayed no longer With outstretched
arms, praying, supplicating, grooming, in
a very ecstasy of supernatural fear, he
ran blindly forward with that glorious
shining figure standing In miraculous
radiance before his eyes, and cast himself
at it's feet sobbing passiCnately.
Yves Pengaverec is an aged man now;
and he and his old wife Anne, faithful
companion Of his long life voyage, are
content to look forward with patient eyes