in their affairs by what was, after all, a conquered people.  For the privileges of the Islands were granted them originally by the sovereigns of their own race who captured England from the Saxon kings.  We of the Islands never have been conquered.  At Hastings we were on the winning side, and we have been a race to ourselves ever since, though loyal always to that great nation which sprang like a giant out of the loins of the struggle.

Foremost among the free-traders were Carette’s father and brothers on Brecqhou, whereby, as I have said, Carette spent much of her time on Sercq with her aunt Jeanne Falla, which was all for her good, and much to her and my enjoyment.

When, by rights of flotsam and jetsam and gift and trover, she became the proud possessor of her little yellow boat, the day rarely passed without her flitting across to spend part of it at Beaumanoir or Belfontaine, unless the weather bottled her up on Brecqhou.

One time, however, is very clear in my memory, when two whole days passed, and fine days too, without any sign of her, and Aunt Jeanne Falla knew nothing more of her than I did.

My grandfather was out fishing in our smaller boat, and Krok was bringing home vraic in the larger, but it was not lack of a boat that could keep me from news of Carette.  I scrambled down the rocks by Saut de Juan, strapped my guernsey and trousers on to my head with my belt, and swam across through the slack of the tide without much difficulty.

As I drew in to the Gale de Jacob I saw the yellow cockleshell hanging from its beam, and, between fear and wonder as to what could have taken Carette, I scrambled in among the boulders and clambered quickly up the back stairs into Brecqhou.

The Le Marchants discouraged visitors, and I had never been ashore there except on the outer rocks after vraic.  Carette never talked much about her home affairs, and except that the house was built of wood I knew very little about it.  When I reached the top and stood on Beleme cliff, the sight of Sercq as I had never seen it before filled me with a very great delight.  From Bec du Nez at one end to Moie de Bretagne at the other, every cleft and chasm in the long line of cliffs was bared to my sight.  Some stood naked, shoulder high; and some were clothed with softest green to their knees.  Here were long green slides almost to the water’s edge; and here grim heaps of black rock flung together and awry in wildest confusion.

Up above was the work of man, the greenery of fields and trees, soft and beautiful in the sunshine, but these reached only to the cliff edge.  Wherever the land had fallen away, the wind and the sea had worked their will, and the scarred and bitten rocks bore witness to it.  The black tumbled masses of the Gouliot were right before me, and in the gloomy channel between, the tide, through which I had come, writhed and rolled like a wounded snake, even at the slack.