he
red and yellow light played full on the weird face of the old man as
he lay opposite to it, and glanced fitfully on the figures of the young
girl, Gabriel, and the two children; the great, gloomy shadows rose
and fell, and grew and lessened in bulk about the walls like visions
of darkness, animated by a supernatural specter-life, while the dense
obscurity outside spreading before the curtainless window seemed as a
wall of solid darkness that had closed in forever around the fisherman's
house. The night scene within the cottage was almost as wild and as
dreary to look upon as the night scene without.

For a long time the different persons in the room sat together without
speaking, even without looking at each other. At last the girl turned
and whispered something into Gabriel's ear:

"Perrine, what were you saying to Gabriel?" asked the child opposite,
seizing the first opportunity of breaking the desolate silence--doubly
desolate at her age--which was preserved by all around her.

"I was telling him," answered Perrine, simply, "that it was time to
change the bandages on his arm; and I also said to him, what I have
often said before, that he must never play at that terrible game of the
_Soule_ again."

The old man had been looking intently at Perrine and his grandchild as
they spoke. His harsh, hollow voice mingled with the last soft tones of
the young girl, repeating over and over again the same terrible words,
"Drowned! drowned! Son and grandson, both drowned! both drowned!"

"Hush, grandfather," said Gabriel, "we must not lose all hope for them
yet. God and the Blessed Virgin protect them!" He looked at the little
delf image, and crossed himself; the others imitated him, except the old
man. He still tossed his hands over the coverlet, and still repeated,
"Drowned! drowned!"

"Oh, that accursed _Soule!_" groaned the young man. "But for this wound
I should have been with my father. The poor boy's life might at least
have been saved; for we should then have left him here."

"Silence!" exclaimed the harsh voice from the bed. "The wail of dying
men rises louder than the loud sea; the devil's psalm-singing roars
higher than the roaring wind! Be silent, and listen! Francois drowned!
Pierre drowned! Hark! Hark!"

A terrific blast of wind burst over the house as he spoke, shaking it to
its center, overpowering all other sounds, even to the deafening crash
of the waves. The slumbering child awoke, and uttered a scre