must tell them—­tell the gentlemen in black clothes that there are things no woman can bear.  She must explain how it happened. . . .  She splashed through a pool, getting wet to the waist, too preoccupied to care. . . .  She must explain.  “He came in the same way as ever and said, just so:  ’Do you think I am going to leave the land to those people from Morbihan that I do not know?  Do you?  We shall see!  Come along, you creature of mischance!’ And he put his arms out.  Then, Messieurs, I said:  ‘Before God—­never!’ And he said, striding at me with open palms:  ’There is no God to hold me!  Do you understand, you useless carcase.  I will do what I like.’  And he took me by the shoulders.  Then I, Messieurs, called to God for help, and next minute, while he was shaking me, I felt my long scissors in my hand.  His shirt was unbuttoned, and, by the candle-light, I saw the hollow of his throat.  I cried:  ‘Let go!’ He was crushing my shoulders.  He was strong, my man was!  Then I thought:  No! . . .  Must I? . . .  Then take!—­and I struck in the hollow place.  I never saw him fall. . . .  The old father never turned his head.  He is deaf and childish, gentlemen. . . .  Nobody saw him fall.  I ran out . . .  Nobody saw. . . .”

She had been scrambling amongst the boulders of the Raven and now found herself, all out of breath, standing amongst the heavy shadows of the rocky islet.  The Raven is connected with the main land by a natural pier of immense and slippery stones.  She intended to return home that way.  Was he still standing there?  At home.  Home!  Four idiots and a corpse.  She must go back and explain.  Anybody would understand. . . .

Below her the night or the sea seemed to pronounce distinctly—­

“Aha!  I see you at last!”

She started, slipped, fell; and without attempting to rise, listened, terrified.  She heard heavy breathing, a clatter of wooden clogs.  It stopped.

“Where the devil did you pass?” said an invisible man, hoarsely.

She held her breath.  She recognized the voice.  She had not seen him fall.  Was he pursuing her there dead, or perhaps . . . alive?

She lost her head.  She cried from the crevice where she lay huddled, “Never, never!”

“Ah!  You are still there.  You led me a fine dance.  Wait, my beauty, I must see how you look after all this.  You wait. . . .”

Millot was stumbling, laughing, swearing meaninglessly out of pure satisfaction, pleased with himself for having run down that fly-by-night.  “As if there were such things as ghosts!  Bah!  It took an old African soldier to show those clodhoppers. . . .  But it was curious.  Who the devil was she?”

Susan listened, crouching.  He was coming for her, this dead man.  There was no escape.  What a noise he made amongst the stones. . . .  She saw his head rise up, then the shoulders.  He was tall—­her own man!  His long arms waved about, and it was his own voice sounding a little strange . . . because of the scissors.  She scrambled out quickly, rushed to the edge of the causeway, and turned round.  The man stood still on a high stone, detaching himself in dead black on the glitter of the sky.