1 has driven him almost out of his senses; he goes about from place to place inquiring for her.” 66 Why does he not advertise, or apply to the detective police ?" "He is not sufficiently sane, Monsieur. I assure you if you saw him you would pity him." "I should like to see him. Where does he live?" "He lives where he always did, at a cottage on St. Aubin's Bay; but he is sure to be here in my coffee-room to-morrow morning, and Monsieur need not trouble to go and find him. He is always here about eleven for a draught of claret.” Monsieur Simonet told all this to Madame in the evening, and it encouraged her to hope that the unfortunate girl would be better off than they could have expected. Next day at eleven Simonet was in the coffee-room. The landlord had told him that he would know Captain Bronté at once by his talk. This was the case. He entered, called for a tankard of wine; then, seeing a stranger, said to Simonet, "Pardon me, sir, but I have lost a daughter. Have you heard of any pretty girl wandering about the world?" "The man's distraught," said Simonet to himself. "I doubt whether he would know his daughter if he saw her." Then he said. to Captain Bronté, "I think I have heard of such a person. Will you come to a private room, and we can talk it over?" Bronté accompanied with passionate eagerness. Simonet asked him to state how and when his daughter left him. This he did in so coherent a manner that Simonet thought he might be trusted with the girl. 66 "She is in this house," said he to Bronté. At another time I will tell you how I came to meet with her. Now, you would rather see her. She shall come to you." Accordingly, Madame Simonet took Laura to the door of her father's room, telling her nothing, except that she would find him there. "That man," said Monsieur to his wife, "is more fortunate than he deserves. As to the girl, she has merely been weak." "Why, if she had been strong and spirited, what would you have had her do, alone, in a boat with that wild man and his panther?" 66 Jump into the sea, child." "It is a difficult question," said Madame, reflectively. That same evening Simonet related all that he had done to Musical Willie, who approved and was grateful. "Ah well," he said with a sigh," that poor wretch is beyond his power." CHAPTER XIX. GUERNSEY. Andriou Tope tout! HE Channel is that silver strip of sea THE which severs merry England from the tardy realms of Europe. That belt of water has done great things for England; has kept the Anglo-Norman race pure from admixture with metaphysical Germans and vivacious Gauls; has given to modern times a nobler because a freer and more peaceful Asylum than that of Romulus and Remus on the Seven Hills of old. The Channel Islands are those specks upon the ocean-stream which, close upon the kindred coast of France, yet apper They are our tain to the Royalty of England. sole reminders of the chivalrous days when Normandy was ours-an heirloom from the Conqueror and his race, from the renowned Plantagenets. Of all the many islets which cluster around Great Britain, these have the noblest memories and the highest beauties. Wilder, storms may dash themselves on the shores of the Hebrides; purer waters, if we believe Wordsworth, kiss the margin of the Isle of Man; but for unique charm of scenery, by land and sea, the Channel Islands are peerless; and their atmosphere, invigorating yet delicately tempered, heightens one's enjoyment of their beauty. Although the camellia grows a stately tree, its ruddy bloom shining like mystic lamps amid a mass of dark greenery -although the orange and citron ripen, and the fig becomes a spheroid of luscious sweetness,—yet the summer air is devoid of languor, and the racy perfume of ocean brings health to the body. |