dark to wait.

Presently they heard the grating of the prow of the barge on the stones
below, the steps of men stumbling up the steep path, and voices mingled
in confused talk. The glimmer of a couple of lanterns went bobbing in
and out among the rocks and bushes. There was a little crowd of eight or
ten men, and they came on carelessly, chattering and laughing. Three of
them carried axes, and three others a heavy log of wood which they had
picked up on their way.

"The log is better than the axes," said one; "take it in your hands this
way, two of you on one side, another on the opposite side in the middle.
Then swing it back and forwards and let it go. The door will come down,
I tell you, like a sheet of paper. But wait till I give the word, then
swing hard. One--two--"

"Stop!" cried Nataline, throwing open the little window. "If you dare to
touch that door, I shoot."

She thrust out the barrel of the rifle, and Marcel's shot-gun appeared
beside it. The old rifle was not loaded, but who knew that? Besides,
both barrels of the shot-gun were full.

There was amazement in the crowd outside the tower, and consternation,
and then anger.

"Marcel," they shouted, "you there? MAUDIT POLISSON! Come out of that.
Let us in. You told us--"

"I know," answered Marcel, "but I was mistaken, that is all. I stand by
Mademoiselle Fortin. What she says is right. If any man tries to break
in here, we kill him. No more talk!"

The gang muttered; cursed; threatened; looked at the guns; and went off
to their boat.

"It is murder that you will do," one of them called out, "you are a
murderess, you Mademoiselle Fortin! you cause the people to die of
hunger!"

"Not I," she answered; "that is as the good God pleases. No matter. The
light shall burn."

They heard the babble of the men as they stumbled down the hill; the
grinding of the boat on the rocks as they shoved off; the rattle of the
oars in the rowlocks. After that the island was as still as a graveyard.

Then Nataline sat down on the floor in the dark, and put her face in
her hands, and cried. Marcel tried to comfort her. She took his hand and
pushed it gently away from her waist.

"No, Marcel," she said, "not now! Not that, please, Marcel! Come into
the house. I want to talk with you."

They went into the cold, dark kitchen, lit a candle and kindled a fire
in the stove. Nataline busied herself with a score of things. She put
away the poor little store of provisions,