Produced by Distributed Proofreaders                          THE ISLE OF UNREST                                   BY                          HENRY SETON MERRIMAN                               TO LUCASTAGOING TO THE WARSTell me not sweet I am unkindThat from the nunneryOf thy chaste breast and quiet mindTo war and arms I flyTrue a new mistress now I chaseThe first foe in the fieldAnd with a stronger faith embraceA sword a horse a shieldYet this inconstancy is suchAs you too shall adoreI could not love thee dear so muchLovd I not honour moreRICHARD LOVELACECONTENTSCHAPTER       I THE MOVING FINGER      II CHEZ CLÉMENT     III A BYPATH      IV A TOSSUP       V IN THE RUE DU CHERCHEMIDI      VI NEIGHBOURS     VII JOURNEYS END    VIII  AT VASSELOT      IX THE PROMISED LAND       X THUS FAR      XI BY SURPRISE     XII A SUMMONS    XIII WAR     XIV GOSSIP      XV WAR     XVI A MASTERFUL MAN    XVII WITHOUT DRUM OR TRUMPET   XVIII A WOMAN OF ACTION     XIX THE SEARCH      XX WOUNDED     XXI FOR FRANCE    XXII IN THE MACQUIS   XXIII AN UNDERSTANDING    XXIV CE QUE FEMME VEUT     XXV ON THE GREAT ROAD    XXVI THE END OF THE JOURNEY   XXVII THE ABBÉS SALAD  XXVIII GOLD    XXIX A BALANCED ACCOUNT     XXX THE BEGINNING AND THE ENDTHE ISLE OF UNRESTCHAPTER ITHE MOVING FINGERThe Moving Finger writes and having writMoves on nor all thy piety nor witShall lure it back to cancel half a lineNor all thy tears wash out a word of itThe afternoon sun was lowering towards a heavy bank of clouds hangingstill and sullen over the Mediterranean A mistral was blowing The lastyellow rays shone fiercely upon the towering coast of Corsica and thewindows of the village of Olmeta glittered like goldThere are two Olmetas in Corsica both in the north both on the westcoast both perched high like an eagles nest both looking down uponthose lashed waters of the Mediterranean which are not the waters thatpoets sing of for they are as often white as they are blue they areseldom glassy except in the height of summer and sailors tell that theyare as treacherous as any waters of the earth Neither aneroid norweatherwisdom may as a matter of fact tell when a mistral will arisehow it will blow how veer how drop and rise and drop again For itwill blow one day beneath a cloudless sky lashing the whole sea whitelike milk and blow harder tomorrow under racing cloudsThe great chestnut trees in and around Olmeta groaned and strained in thegrip of their lifelong foe The small door the tiny windows of everyhouse were rigorously closed The whole place had a windswept airdespite the heavy foliage Even the roads and notably the broad Placehad been swept clean and dustless And in the middle of the Placebetween the fountain and the church steps a man lay dead upon his faceIt is as well to state here once for all that we are dealing withOlmetadiTuda and not that other Olmetathe virtuous di Capocorso infact which would shudder at the thought of a dead man lying on itsPlace before the windows of the very Mairie under the shadow of thechurch For Cap Corse is the good boy of Corsica where men thinksorrowfully of the wilder communes to the south and raise their eyebrowsat the very mention of Corte and Sartenewhere at all events the womenhave for husbands menand not degenerate Pisan vinesnippersIt was not so long ago either For the man might have been alive todaythough he would have been old and bent no doubt for he was a thicksetman and must have been strong He had indeed carried his lead up fromthe road that runs by the Guadelle river Was he not to be traced all theway up the short cut through the olive terraces by one bloody footprintat regular intervals You could track his passage across the Placetowards the fountain of which he had fallen short like a poisoned ratthat tries to reach water and failsHe lay quite alone still grasping the gun which he had never laid asidesince boyhood No one went to him no one had attempted to help him Helay as he had fallen with a thin stream of blood running slowly from onetrouserleg For this was Corsican workthat is to say dirty workfrombehind a rock in the back at close range without warning or mercy ashonest men would be ashamed to shoot the merest beast of the forest Itwas as likely as not a charge of buckshot low down in the body leavingthe rest to hemorrhage or gangreneAll Olmeta knew of it and every man took care that it should be nobusiness of his Several had approached pipe in mouth and looked at thedead man without comment but all had gone away again idlyindifferently