“Voila, madame, where the City of Ys stood long before the Bretons came. It was a foolish ride.” “I do not know the story. Tell me.” “There are two or three, but mine is the oldest. A flood came--sent by the gods, for the woman was impious. The king must ride with her into the sea and leave her there, himself to come back, and so save the city.” The sailor paused to scan the sea--something had struck him. He shook his head. Gaston was watching Andree from behind his book. “Well, well,” she said, impatiently, “what then? What did he do?” “The king took up the woman, and rode into the water as far as where you see the great white stone--it has been there ever since. There he had a fight--not with the woman, but in his heart. He turned to the people, and cried: ‘Dry be your streets, and as ashes your eyes for your king!’ And then he rode on with the woman till they saw him no more--never!” Andree said instantly: “That was long ago. Now the king would ride back alone.” She did not look at Gaston, but she knew that his eyes were on her. He closed the book, got up, came forward to the sailor, who was again looking out to sea, and said carelessly over his shoulder: “Men who lived centuries ago would act the same now, if they were here.” Her response seemed quite as careless as his: “How do you know?” “Perhaps I had an innings then,” he answered, smiling whimsically. She was about to speak again, but the guide suddenly said: “You must get away. There’ll be a change of wind and a bad cross-current soon.” In a few minutes the two were bearing out--none too soon, for those pumas crowded up once or twice within a fathom of their deck, devilish and devouring. But they wore away with a capricious current, and down a tossing sea made for Audierne. CHAPTER XVII. THE MAN AND THE WOMAN FACE THE INTOLERABLE In a couple of hours they rounded Point de Leroily, and ran for the harbour. By hugging the quay in the channel to the left of the bar, they were sure of getting in, though the tide was low. The boat was docile to the lug-sail and the helm. As they were beating in they saw a large yacht running straight across a corner of the bar for the channel. It was Warren Gasgoyne’s Kismet. The Kismet had put into Audierne rather than try to pass Point du Raz at night. At Gibraltar a telegram had come telling of the painful sensation, and the yacht was instantly headed for England; Mrs. Gasgoyne crossing the Continent, Delia preferring to go back with her father--his sympathy was more tender. They had seen no newspapers, and they did not know that Gaston was at Audierne. Gasgoyne knowing, as all the world knew, that there was a bar at the mouth of the harbour, allowed himself, as he thought, sufficient room, but the wind had suddenly drawn ahead, and he was obliged to keep away. Presently the yacht took the ground with great force.