"It is true that I can be of very little a.s.sistance," sighed the unfortunate youth, "but if there is any danger, I can at least share it, and, though my sight is poor, perhaps, as a sort of compensation, I can hear remarkably well, so I may be able to find out which way the men went if they are still prowling around the house."

This artless offer was made with such evident sincerity, that Cloarek, exchanging a compa.s.sionate look with Suzanne, said, kindly:

"I thank you for your offer, my young friend, and I would accept it very gratefully if your hand did not require attention. The burn is evidently a deep one, and must pain you very much, so you had better attend to it without further delay, Suzanne," he added, turning to the housekeeper.

Cloarek went out into the garden. The moon was shining brightly on the sleeping waves. A profound stillness pervaded the scene, and no other human being was visible. Climbing upon the wall, he gazed into the depths below, for the garden wall on the side next the sea was built upon the brow of a steep cliff. Cloarek tried to discover if the gra.s.s and shrubbery on the side of the cliff had been broken or trampled, but the investigation revealed no trace of any recent visitor. He listened attentively, but heard only the murmur of the waves as they broke upon the beach, and, concluding that there was no cause for alarm as such a thing as a robbery had not been heard of since Sabine had lived there, he was about to leave the terrace and reenter the house when he saw one of those rockets that are used in the navy as signals at night suddenly dart up from behind a clump of bushes half-way up the beach.

The rocket swiftly described a curve, its stream of light gleaming brightly against the dark blue heavens for an instant, then died out.

This occurrence seemed so remarkable to Cloarek, that he hastily retraced his steps to see if there were any vessel in sight to respond to this signal from the sh.o.r.e, but no vessel of any sort or kind was visible,--only the broad expanse of ocean shimmering in the moonlight met his gaze.

After vainly endeavouring to explain this singular occurrence for some time, but finally deciding that the rocket must have been fired by smugglers as a signal, he returned to the house.

This occurrence, which ought, perhaps, to have furnished the captain with abundant food for thought, closely following as it did the bold abduction of which he had been the victim, was speedily forgotten in the grave reflections that his conversation with Onesime had awakened.

CHAPTER XIV.

ARGUMENTS FOR AND AGAINST.

When Cloarek rapped at the door of his daughter's room the next morning, she promptly responded to the summons, smiling and happy.

"Well, my child, did you rest well?" he inquired.

"Splendidly, father. I had the most delightful dreams, for you bring me happiness even in my sleep."

"Tell me about these delightful dreams. I am always anxious to hear about everything that makes you happy, whether it be an illusion or reality," he responded, anxious to bring the conversation around naturally to the subject of Onesime. "Come, I am listening. What brilliant castles in Spain did you behold in your slumbers?"

"Oh, I am not ambitious, father, even in my dreams."

"Is that really so, my child?"

"It is indeed, father. My desires are very modest. Luxury and display have no charms for me. I dreamed last night that I was spending my life with you,--with you and dear Suzanne, and with Segoffin, who is so warmly attached to you."

"And who else?"

"Oh, yes, I forgot."

"Therese, I suppose?"

"No, not Therese."

"Who was it, then?"

"M. Onesime."

"M. Onesime? I do not understand that. How did M. Onesime happen to be living with us?"

"We were married."

The words were uttered in such a frank and ingenuous manner that Cloarek could not doubt the perfect truthfulness of his daughter's account; and rather in doubt as to whether he ought to congratulate himself on this singular dream or not, he asked, a little anxiously:

"So you and M. Onesime were married, you say?"

"Yes, father."

"And I had consented to the marriage?"

"You must have done so, as we were married. I don't mean that we were just married,--we seemed to have been married a long time. We were all in the parlour. Three of us, you and Onesime and I, were sitting on the big sofa. Suzanne was crocheting by the window, and Segoffin was on his knees fixing the fire. You had been silent for several minutes, father, when, suddenly taking M. Onesime's hand and mine,--you were sitting between us,--you said: 'Do you know what I have been thinking?' 'No, father,' M. Onesime and I answered (for naturally he, too, called you father). 'Well,' you continued, 'I have been thinking that there is not a happier man in the world than I am. To have two children who adore each other, and two faithful old servants, or rather two tried friends, and spend one's life in peace and plenty with them, surely this is enough and more than enough to thank the good G.o.d for now and always, my children.' And as you spoke, father, your eyes filled with tears."

"Waking as well as dreaming, you are, and ever will be, the best and most affectionate of daughters," said Cloarek, deeply touched. "But there is one thing about your dream that surprises me very much."

"And what is that?"

"Your marriage with Onesime."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"How strange. It seemed so perfectly natural to me that I wasn't at all surprised at it."

"But in the first place, though this is not the greatest objection, by any means, M. Onesime has no fortune."

"But how often you have told me that all these business trips, and all these frequent absences that grieve me so much, have been made solely for the purpose of ama.s.sing a handsome dowry for me."

"That is true."

"Then, in that case, M. Onesime does not need any fortune."

"Nevertheless, though it is not absolutely indispensable that M. Onesime should possess a fortune, it is certainly very desirable. There is another objection."

"Another?"

"M. Onesime has no profession and consequently no a.s.sured social position."

"He is not to blame for that, poor fellow! Who could possibly consider his enforced idleness a crime? Will, education, capability, none of these are lacking. It is his terrible infirmity that proves such an obstacle to everything he undertakes."

"You are right, my child; this infirmity is an insuperable obstacle that will unfortunately prevent him from achieving success in any career; from creating any position for himself, and even from marrying, except in dreams, understand."

"I don't understand you at all, my dear father. I really don't."

"What! my child, don't you understand that it would be folly in any woman to marry a half-blind man who cannot see ten feet in front of him?

don't you understand that in such a case the roles would be entirely reversed, and that, instead of protecting his wife, as every man ought to do, M. Onesime will have to be protected by the woman who would be foolish enough to marry him?"

"It seems to me only right that the person who is able to protect the other should do so."