of the grim, gaunt building, and she tried to collect the miserable, wandering thoughts which were forever haunting her—thoughts of Dominic and Blaisette. All at once, a musical whistle startled her, and Le Mierre himself came up the cliff, a fish basket slung over his shoulder.

"You here, Ellenor!" he cried, sitting down beside her, "on Christmas Day and all alone! Where, then, are all your beaux?"

"You know quite well I've got none, and don't want none, Monsieur," she replied sulkily.

"Come, come, do you expect me to believe that of a pretty girl like you?"

"Pretty!" she echoed scornfully, "it's your Blaisette Simon that's as pretty as a wax doll. It isn't me, Monsieur, with my black looks!"

He laughed and put his arm round her. At his touch she trembled and a lovely colour rose in her pale face. Then, with slow, and as if involuntary, movement, her head nestled against his shoulder.

"That's right!" he said, "now you are a sensible girl. Let's be happy while we can. So you call Blaisette mine, do you! What a foolish Ellenor to be jealous of her. She's quite different from you, can't you see that she doesn't set a man's blood on fire like you do, witch?"

"That's all very well, Monsieur, but you told father to the veille that I would make a good servant and he thought perhaps you would wish to engage me for when you marry Blaisette, and I saw you with her on the jonquière!"

"Well, sorcière, is it that I must speak only to you? And what if I do marry Blaisette?"

With a quick look into his amused eyes, she lifted her head from his shoulder and withdrew from his careless embrace. But it was only for a moment. In abandonment of grief and devotion she flung herself against his breast.

"I don't care," she sobbed, "if you marry Blaisette! I don't care if, even, I come to be your servant, but, for the sake of God, love me the best."

He smiled triumphantly over her hidden face and lightly kissed her dark hair.

"Good, there you shew sense! But, tell me, you can't be really jealous if you're willing for me to marry Blaisette? Why, you might even let out about what goes on in this Haunted House, just to vex me. And how do I know you won't do it, even yet?"

"I'd die first!" she cried, looking up proudly.

"That's settled then! And now let me tell you a secret, just to reward you. I am not even thinking of marriage with Blaisette Simon. Come, how many kisses will you give me for that piece of news?"

So heaven opened for Ellenor, and the rest of Christmas Day was spent in going over and over again every word he had said to her behind the Haunted House. She was unusually amiable at home, and her father, who was devoted to her, rejoiced in the sunshine of her ready smiles and bright ways.

This mood lasted but a few days. On New Year's Day she went to Colomberie Farm to help in the kitchen, for there was much to be done in the way of preparing refreshments for the constant string of guests who came to bring greetings and presents to the pretty Blaisette, the rich, desirable heiress.

Ellenor's duty was to take fresh relays of cake and wine into the best parlour: and towards the end of the afternoon, when it was dusk, and the lamps were not yet lit, she entered the room suddenly, intent on business. There were only two people seated by the fire. One was Blaisette, a vision of dainty prettiness in a new blue gown; the other was Dominic Le Mierre.

He held the girl's hand in his. He was bending forward to kiss her as Ellenor entered the room. From the heaven of the last few days, she fell into a hell of jealousy and bitter hatred of Blaisette. At once she turned and fled from the room. It was all very well to speak of his marriage with another girl, when she herself was in his arms. It was another thing to see him kiss the pink and white face of her rival. She could not bear it. Once more she rushed from Colomberie Farm in bitter despair and unreasoning grief.

CHAPTER III.

t was Spring. Dominic Le Mierre still played a double game and there was no talk of an engagement between Blaisette and himself. He met Ellenor secretly; and was often at Colomberie Farm, where he was a welcome visitor, not only to the daughter, but to the father, who valued the advice and skill of the master of Orvillière in all things pertaining to the management of the farm. Now, in the springtime, the countryside was stirring into new life, and masters and men alike were full of enthusiasm over the tilling of the soil and the expectation of good crops to come. Monsieur Le Mierre had sent round word to his neighbours that on a certain day in March he would hold the working festival of La Grand' Querrue, or The Grand Plough. That meant the combination of these neighbours into a band of all day workers, for the purpose of deeply trenching a certain field in preparation for the cultivation of parsnips. The large expensive plough to be used was the joint property of Le Mierre and his richer neighbours, and it was, naturally, available for each in turn. Every master brought his men and his horses and bullocks to the fray, and at seven o'clock in the morning the work and jollity began.

The field to be ploughed lay at the base of cliffs covered with the tender grass and golden gorze bushes of early Spring. Deep purple scentless violets clustered in sheltered nooks, where granite, ivy-covered boulders rose grimly along the slopes and little ravines of the cliffs. Primroses, many of them milk white, starred the grass; and wild blue hyacinths grew tall and graceful in damp patches shaded by stunted trees. But the special field in question lay bare to the sky, surrounded by low hedges, and of a rich red brown colour.

Six bullocks and sixteen horses drew the large plough, and Dominic Le Mierre was captain of the team. He looked his very best, for the work drew out the strength and will of the man. The pose of his body, the skill of his movements, the carriage of his head, marked him as the typical worker of the fields, a very king of farmers. His energy and vitality inspired the other men, and no one could believe it was time for mi-matin when ten o'clock chimed out from the church behind the cliffs. But when the spell of work was broken, the men found they were very hungry, and fell upon the bread and butter, cheese and strong coffee, with tremendous appetites. These good things were brought down in large baskets from Orvillière; and the men scattered in little groups as they ate and drank, discussed farming, or looked out over the wide sea just beyond the field, and wondered if fishing would pay this year.

Suddenly Le Mierre gave the call for a return to work, and again the glorious ploughing went forward till noon. Then the cattle were unharnessed and allowed to feed, two men being left in charge of them. The rest of the workers climbed the hill to Orvillière, where a substantial dinner was provided. There was cabbage soup, a pâlette or big boiled ham, a piece of pork, a round of beef and other things loved of Guernseymen, not forgetting copious