The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1908-12-09
Eyes" he calculated.

80 an /, Sdlu IeIIluue. WHICH
the wave overtakes us we must
throw ourselves onto it.. We shall
only have to keep up. 1t will wash
us ashore"
"Onto the box, madam" shrieked
the man, pulling her up.
For a moment they stood there to-
gether. For a moment the great wall
of water lowered over them. Then
came an overwhelming rush, and
cold, and blindness, and suffocation,
and frenzied struggles, with great
agony of mind. But through it all
Gertrude was conscious of the mans
strong grasp upon her arm. He had
taken hold of her to pull her up on
the box-seat beside him, and
let go-neyer at least until he had
drawn her out of the water and laid
her safe under the tamarisk bushes
high and dry upon the sand.
The danger had been extreme, but
it had not lasted long, and Ger
| trude never lost her senses, so that
now, when she had got the salt water
out of her eyes, she was able to OBJ
serve. And the first thing that
| struck her was the altered aspect
of the country. The desert had dis
appeared. The town-clad, church
crowned mount, which had hooked
before like an outcast fragment of
the world, cut. off and disinherited,
was an island now on the bosom of a
| beautiful lake; and at her feet, in
stead of the heavy road and the
binding dust where the horse had
toiled, and her soul had suffered for
their sufferings, the little waves
Tapped and gurgled humorously, in
| innocent Inconsistencies Of all the
wicked works Of the cruel old ocean
or, if you like it better
"The beautiful ocean, mother OF
wavelets,
Lingering, and longing, and loving
the shore"-
as it is written by some one who
doubtless meant something.
but what is that?" said Ger
trude, pointing to an ugly, inexplic-
able black mass floating at some little
distance from the shore.
THAT" said the man, despond-
ingly, "is my carriage and my poor
dear horse" -.
Gertrude turned to look at him,
intending to say something sympa-
thetic. He was sitting under a tama-
risk bush at a respectful distance, in
a detected attitude, looking the pic
ture of misery. But what his ap-
pearance suggested NOR than any,
thing was the fact that he was very
wet .t- ga,
Its a good thing it's a warm day."
Gertrude, said, trying to make the
best of it, and meaning that had cold
been added to his wetness he must
have felt worse. But the man was
offended. He thought her fippant
and heartless. "It is the way of the
world" he sighed; gazing forward out
of large, melancholy eyes. II am
ruined, and you laugh What is it to
you If I s~tarve?" \ ~
Gertrude rose to her feet. TITS
a great deal to me-" she said; you
are a good and honest man, I think,
and on that account alone it would
be of consequence, because there are
so few. But you are a brave man
also, and I owe you my life, and on
that account, too, it is Of consequence,
because I am grateful. And I am
rich. See here, I have q diamond
ring. I bought it n day because
the fancy took me, and it is worth
more, probably, than your horse and
carriage, or all you ever possessed;
but I will give it to you to- keep
always if you like, or you may take
it as a pledge, and return 1t when l
send you its value in money to re-
deem it." .
The man had risen when she did,
and now she went up to him and put
the ring on his little finger. She kept
her word, and some months later
sent the money to redeem it, having
even in the midst of all her own
trouble, taken the precaution to make
a note of his lame and address for
the purpose. But the Breton folk
are sentimental b%rigands, and the
man returned the check, sa ing he
preferred to keep the ring, if he
might be permitted, as a porte bon
heur and souvenir of madame.
Whereupon, as a matter of course,
madame begged him to keep the
check as we'll, and they remained
fast friends forever after.
But now thoroughly recovered by
this last exertion of her mind, Ger
trude began to be practical again.
"What are we to do?" she ex-
claimed. eve are losing such prec-
ious time"
The first thing for madame is to
be dried" he answered. There is a
cottage up the road. But how can
madame walk without boots?" with
a gesture of despair. But Gertrude
was halfway to the cottage before the
words were we'll out. She would not
wait to have her things properly
dried, she would only have them
wrung out, so that she could walk in
them. There was no carriage to be
had nearer than Pontorson. Very
we'll, then, she would walk to Pontor-
son Impossible, the driver said, in
her stocking feet! Why, it was
miles! Nevertheless, she would
walk, she retorted, and be there