loose stones on the path plunging into the sea. They were both laden
with part of the boat's cargo. They stopped to rest for a minute or two
at the spot where I had sat down, and the other boatman began talking
earnestly to Tardif in his _patois_, of which I did not understand a
word. Tardif's face was very grave and sad, indescribably so; and,
before he turned to me and spoke, I knew it was some sorrowful
catastrophe he had to tell.

"You see how smooth it is, mam'zelle," he said--"how clear and
beautiful--down below us, where the waves are at play like little white
children? I love them, but they are cruel and treacherous. While I was
away there was an accident down yonder, just beyond these rocks. Our
doctor, and two gentlemen, and a sailor went out from our little bay
below, and shortly after there came on a thick darkness, with heavy
rain, and they were all lost, every one of them! Poor Renouf! he was a
good friend of mine. And our doctor, too! If I had been here, maybe I
might have persuaded them not to brave it."

It was a sad story to hear, yet just then I did not pay much attention
to it. I was too much engrossed in my own difficulties and trouble. So
far as my experience goes, I believe the heart is more open to other
people's sorrows when it is free from burdens of its own. I was glad
when Tardif took up his load again and turned his back upon the sea.




CHAPTER THE FIFTH.

WILL IT DO?