these objects lent the same
delusive countenance to others, to those unknown now turned to dust and
gone to nothingness, who may not even have been of their blood and race.

CHAPTER XX.

It was about the middle of the summer, after my severe illness, that I
went to the Island for a long visit. I was taken there by my brother and
my sister, the latter was like a second mother to me. After a sojourn
of several weeks with our relatives at St. Pierre Oleron (my good Aunt
Claire and her two old unmarried daughters) we went alone, we three, to
a fishing village upon the Long-Beach, which at that time was entirely
off the line of travel. The Long-Beach is that portion of the
Island commanding a view of the ocean over which the west winds blow
ceaselessly. Upon this coast, which extends without a curve straight and
seemingly limitless, with the majestic sweep of the desert of Sahara,
the waves roll and break with a mighty noise. Here there are to be seen
many uneven waste spaces; it is a region of sand where stunted trees and
dwarfish evergreen oaks shelter themselves behind the dunes. A curious
kind of wild flower, a pink and fragrant carnation, blooms there
profusely all summer long. Two or three villages, composed of humble
little cottages, whitewashed like the bungalows of Algeria, break the
loneliness of this region. These homes have planted about them such
flowers as can best resist the sea-winds. Dark skinned fishermen and
their families, a hardy honest people, still very primitive at the time
of which I write, live here; even sea-bathers had not found their way to
these shores.

In an old forgotten copy-book where my sister had written down (in a
stilted manner) the impressions of that summer I find this description
of our lodgings.

"We dwell in the centre of the village, in the square, at the Mayor's
house.

"This house has two ells, which are spacious beyond measure.

"Its dazzling whitewashed surfaces sparkle in the sun, its window
shutters are fastened with large iron hooks and painted a dark green
as is the custom here. The flower bed that is planted in the form of
a wreath all around the house grows vigorously in the sand. The
day-lilies, one surpassing the other in beauty, open their yellow, pink
and red blossoms, and the mignonette beds which at noon-time are fully
abloom waft on the air an odor that is sweet as the scent of orange
blossoms.

"Opposite us a little path hollowed out of the san