and laid it on her mouth, stifling utterance. Then the paralysis that
had fettered her tongue from her birth, would creep over the rest of her
senses and over all her limbs, till she lay motionless and helpless
under the hand of the menhir, like a stone herself, only alive and
conscious. This dream had come more frequently since Paul had been away,
and Annette would often look up and down the road--that road which was
her only link with the world beyond--in the vague hope that it might one
day bring her some deliverance.

And now, as she stood listening to the galloping hoofs, she had an odd
feeling that Jean of Kerdual was threatening once more to render her
powerless, but that this time he would not prevail: for that something
was coming along the road, nearer--nearer--with every gallop, to free
her from him for ever. Then suddenly the sounds changed: the horseman
was ascending the hill on the other side, and the galloping grew
laboured and slower. Would he never come into sight? It seemed to
Annette that she could bear it no longer: she set off and ran along the
road and up the hill, to meet the unseen rider. The slow-thoughted,
simple-minded peasants looked after her, wondering. She had nearly
reached the top, when, silhouetted against the sky on the crest of the
hill, appeared the figure of a man on horse-back, his Breton tunic and
long hat-ribbons flying loose in the wind, as he reined in his chafing
steed. He rose a moment in his stirrups, pointed out to sea with his
whip, and shouted something inaudible: at the same instant his horse
shied violently, as it seemed, at some object by the roadside, and
threw his rider to the ground.

The man, the bringer of tidings, lay motionless in the road, the horse
galloped wildly on: the dumb girl stood, half way up the hill: the dumb
girl, who alone had heard the message. The next moment she threw her