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The Toilers of the Sea: Gild-Holm-'Ur

He walked noiselessly now toward Lethierry's house. He saw above him the windows of Deruchette's room. In the garden he saw Deruchette herself. A nightingale was singing. The night was inexpressibly silent. There was some one with Deruchette. It was a man, the young Episcopalian curate whose life, Gilliatt recalled, he had once saved from the high tide of the Gild-Holm-'Ur rock. The curate had offered him a sovereign, which Gilliatt had refused, saying it was no matter. The curate had then pressed upon him a Bible.

The curate had the beauty of a pale head and face of a pictured angel. He spoke a language which echoed the rhythm of the sacred Psalms. He spoke now. Deruchette spoke. Their speech was of love. They embraced. Gilliatt stole off in the night.

Lethierry was transported at the recovery of his wonderful engines. "I will build a hull around them," he said. "I shall have to borrow, but my credit is good. Only for that villain of a Clubin--see, here is a note from Rantaine. He gave Clubin for me, he says, seventy-five thousand francs, equal to what he stole from me with interest." "Here," said Gilliatt, "are the seventy-five thousand francs." He handed Lethierry the little iron box with the three 1,000 notes. Lethierry embraced him. "You more-than-man!" he exclaimed. "You shall marry Deruchette at once!" "I shall not marry Deruchette."