The Forest of Vazon | Page 9

his features. As Jean eyed
him he returned the compliment, but the meal was soon over and the
youth accompanied Father Austin to his cell.

There a long and sleepless night was passed by both. The monk in vain
endeavoured to combat Jean's resolution; he argued, prayed, indeed
threatened, but without effect. Finding his efforts hopeless he
abandoned them, and endeavoured to fortify his charge against the
influence of the spell under which he believed him to have fallen. Then
the young man was again the pupil; he listened humbly and reverently
to the repetition of the great truths which the father strove to rivet on
his mind, and joined earnestly in the prayers for truth and constancy.
As daylight broke, and he at length laid himself down to rest, his latest
vision was that of the good man kneeling by him with that rapt look of
contemplation which seemed to foreshadow his immortality.
Jean slept profoundly for some hours. When night began to fall he
received Austin's blessing, no further reference being made to his
expedition, and when the moon was on the eve of disappearance he
launched his boat. As he rounded Lihou point another boat shot out, the
occupant of which hailed him. Recognizing the hermit, Jean paused.
"You steer wrong," said the giant, speaking with an accent which at
once reminded his hearer of that of the maiden; "your course is to the
rising sun." "I go where I will," replied Jean, nettled at this
unlooked-for interruption. "Youth," answered the other, "I have
watched thee and wish thee well! rush not heedlessly to certain death!"
"Stay me not!" resolutely answered Jean, wondering at the interest
taken in him by this strange being. "Thou knowest not!" said the hermit
sternly; "it is not only from death I wish to save thee, but from worse
than death; I tell thee I--" He checked himself, as if fearful of saying
too much, and bent his eyes searchingly into those of Jean, who
murmured simply, "I am resolved." "Then God help thee and speed
thee!" said the giant. Glancing into the boat he saw one of the curved
and pierced shells then, as now, used by Guernsey seamen as
signal-horns: pointing to it he said, "If in peril, where a blast may be
heard on Lihou, sound the horn twice: it is a poor hope but may serve
thee!" He was gone.
Jean paddled into the dreaded bay; the moon had now sunk and he was
further favoured by a slight mist. Knowing the tides from infancy, he
worked his way noiselessly till he approached where the Voizin fleet

lay, then laid himself down and let the current take him. He passed
several boats in safety; as far as he could judge, from the observations
he had taken from Lihou, he was nearly past the anchorage when a
crash, succeeded by a grating sound, warned him of danger. A curse,
followed by an ejaculation of surprise and pleasure, enlightened him as
to the nature of the collision: he was in contact with one of the
anchored vessels. "Odin is good!" cried a voice; "ha! a skiff drifted
from a wrecked vessel! and all eyes but mine sleeping!" The speaker
threw over a small anchor and grappled the boat. Jean was prepared;
without a moment's hesitation he cut the anchor-rope: his craft drifted
onwards, leaving the fisherman grumbling at the rottenness of his
tackle. He offered a short prayer of gratitude, and in a few minutes
ventured cautiously to resume his oars. He heard the breaking of the
waves, but seamanship on the unknown and indistinct coast was useless.
Two sharp blows, striking the boat in rapid succession, told him that he
had touched a submerged rock; the strong tide carried him off it, but the
water poured in through a gaping rent. He was now, however, on a
sandy bottom: he sprang out, pulled the boat up as far as possible, and
sat down to wait for light.
The first break of dawn showed him his position: he was facing
northward; he was therefore on the Hanois arm of the bay. Fortune had
indeed been kind to him, for he had drifted into a small cleft sheltered
by precipitous rocks, a place where concealment was fairly possible, as
it was accessible only by land at the lowest tides. He examined his store
of provisions, which was uninjured; storing it among the rocks he
rested till the sun sank. He then cautiously climbed the cliff, and looked
on the scene revealed by the moonlight. Seawards stood a rough round
tower; no other building was visible on the point, which seemed
deserted. The loneliness gave him courage; when the moon set, the
night being clear, he explored further and satisfied himself that there
were