n's story in
his mind.

It was long ago in the old smuggling days. Some bold free-trader of Sark
or Guernsey had lighted on that cave and used it as a storehouse. Some
too energetic revenue officer had disappeared one day and never been
heard of again. He had been surprised--by the free-traders--perhaps in
the very act of surprising them--brought over to L'Etat in a boat, been
dragged through the tunnel, or made to crawl through, perhaps, with
vicious knife-digs in the rear, and had been left bound in the darkness
till he should be otherwise disposed of. His captors had been captured
in turn, or maybe killed, and he had lain there alone and in the dark,
waiting, waiting for them to return, shouting now and again into the
muffling darkness, struggling with his bonds, growing weaker and weaker,
faint with hunger, mad with thirst, until at last he died.

It was horrible to think of, and desperate as his own state was, he
thanked God heartily that he was not as that other.

Morning brought no slackening of the gale. It seemed to him, if
anything, to be waxing still more furious.

He had only two eggs left, and they might both be bad ones, but he would
not have ventured round the headland that day for all the eggs in
existence.

He broke one presently, in answer to a clamour inside him that would
brook no denial, and found it good, and lived on it that day, and mused
between times on the strange fact that a man could feel so mightily
grateful for the difference between a bad egg and a good one.

His sixth egg turned out a good one also, and the next day there came
another hopeful lull, which permitted him to harry the puffins once
more, and gave him a dozen chances against contingencies.

On the eighth day the storm blew itself out, and he looked hopefully
across at the lonely and weather-beaten cliffs of Sark for the relief
which he was certain they had been aching to send him.

The waves, however, still ran high, and, though he did not know it till
later, there was not a boat left afloat round the whole Island. The
forethoughtful and weather-wise had run them round to the Creux and
carried them through the tunnel into the roadway behind. All the rest
had been smashed and sunk and swallowed by the storm.

CHAPTER XXVI

HOW HE HELD THE ROCK

The sun blazed hot next day, and he spread himself out in it to warm,
and all his soaked things in it to dry, and blessed it for its wholesome
vigour.

Nance or B