f the coast
trees in the direction of the waves and of the off-sea breezes. The
old trees had grown awry and dishevelled, bending their backs under the
time-honoured strength of that hand.

Gaud was almost at the end of her walk, as the chapel in sight was that
of Pors-Even; so she stopped there to win a little more time.

A petty mouldering wall ran round an enclosure containing tombstones.
Everything was of the same colour, chapel, trees, and graves; the whole
spot seemed faded and eaten into by the sea-wind; the stones, the
knotty branches, and the granite saints, placed in the wall niches, were
covered by the same grayish lichen, splashed pale yellow.

On one of the wooden crosses this name was written in large letters:

"GAOS.--GAOS, JOEL, 80 years."

Yes, this was the old grandfather--she knew that--for the sea had not
wanted this old sailor. And many of Yann's relatives, besides, slept
here; it was only natural, and she might have expected it; nevertheless,
the name upon the tomb had made a sad impression.

To waste a little more time, she entered to say a prayer under the old
cramped porch, worn away and daubed over with whitewash. But she stopped
again with a sharp pain at her heart. "Gaos"--again that name, engraved
upon one of the slabs erected in memory of those who die at sea.

She read this inscription:

"To the Memory of GAOS, JEAN-LOUIS, Aged 24 years; seaman on board the
_Marguerite_. Disappeared off Iceland, August 3d, 1877. May he rest in
peace!"

Iceland--always Iceland! All over the porch were wooden slabs bearing
the names of dead sailors. It was the place reserved for the shipwrecked
of Pors-Even. Filled with a dark foreboding she was sorry to have gone
there.

In Paimpol church she had seen many such inscriptions; but in this
village the empty tomb of the Iceland fishers seemed more sad because so
lone and humble. On each side of the doorway was a granite seat for
the widows and mothers; and this shady spot, irregularly shaped like a
grotto, was guarded by an old image of the Virgin, coloured red, with
large staring eyes, looking most like Cybele--the first goddess of the
earth.

"Gaos!" Again!

"To the Memory of GAOS, FRANCOIS, Husband of Anne-Marie le Goaster,
Captain on board the _Paimpolais_, Lost off Iceland, between the 1st and
3d of May, 1877, With the twenty-three men of his crew. May they rest in
peace!"

And, lower down, were two cross-bones under a black skull with gre