The Forest of Vazon | Page 6

me! We will pray apart, where no
profane words can reach us. Perchance our prayers may be granted!"
Not a few of the hearers followed him; sufficient indeed to make an
imposing procession: the triumph of the Evil One was at least dimmed.
But his adversary did not appear to notice their departure. She gave a
sharp glance in the direction of the oak, and the now discrowned girl
was quickly at her side. Receiving some rapid instructions, the latter
disappeared into the wood, and shortly returned with some herbs,
which she passed to her companion; she then resumed her position by

the stone. The old woman placed some leaves, which she selected, on
the wound: the bleeding at once ceased; squeezing juice from the herbs,
she applied an ointment made from it; then, opening a phial attached to
her waist-belt, she poured some drops of liquid into the girl's mouth,
gently parting her lips. This done, she stood erect and began an
incantation, or rather a supplication, in an unknown tongue. As she
proceeded her form became rigid, her eye gleamed, her arms, the hands
clenched, were raised above her head. The sun flashed on the circlet,
glittered on the embossed girdle: on the right arm was a heavy bracelet,
composed of a golden serpent winding in weird folds round a human
bone; the head was towards the wearer's wrist, and the jewelled eyes
which, being of large size, must have been formed of rare stones,
glowed and shot fire as the red beams struck on them through the
branches. It seemed that a forked tongue darted in and out, but this may
have been imagined by the heated fancies of the bystanders. The prayer
ended; the stillness of death rested a moment on man and nature; then a
wild gust of wind, striking the oak without any preliminary warning,
bent and snapped the upper branches, and crashed inland through the
swaying forest. The watchers saw the colour return to the cheeks of the
wounded girl, who opened her eyes and sate up. "Take her home," said
the sorceress, now quite composed, to the mother; "she is yours
again!--till Marie calls her!" she added in a low voice to herself. The
happy mother, shedding tears of joy, but in vain attempting to get her
thanks accepted, obeyed the injunction.
As she and her friends disappeared, the old woman, turning to the awed
people who seemed more than ever disposed to look on her as a
supernatural being, said sternly--"Why linger you here? Are you
unmindful of your duties? See you not how the shadows lengthen?"
These words produced a magical effect: the deep emotions by which
the mass had been recently swayed were swiftly replaced by equally
profound feelings of a different nature, as cloud succeeds cloud in a
storm-swept sky.
And now a singular scene was enacted. A procession was formed,
headed by the old men, bare-headed; the musicians followed, behind
whom walked with solemn step the younger members of the

community. This procession, emerging from the western border of the
forest, slowly climbed the slopes of the Rocque du Guet, and arriving at
the summit bent its way seaward, halting at the edge of the precipitous
cliff.
The sun was nearing the horizon. The scene was one of unsurpassed
loveliness. Behind lay the central and southern portions of the island,
hushed as if their primaeval rocks were still tenantless. The outlines of
the isles of Herm and Jethou were visible, but already sinking into the
shades of evening. On the left the bold bluffs of L'Erée and Lihou, on
the right the rugged masses of the Grandes and the Grosses Rocques,
the Gros Commet, the Grande and Petite Fourque, lay in sharpened
outline, the lapping waves already assuming a grey tint. These masses
formed the framework of a picture which embraced a boundless wealth
of colour, an infinite depth of softness. Straight from the sun shot out
across Cobo Bay a joyous river of gold, so bright that eye could ill bear
to face its glow; here and there in its course stood out quaintly-shaped
rocks, some drenched with the fulness of the glorious bath, others
catching now and again a sprinkling shower. On each side of the river
the sea, clear to its depths where alternate sand and rock made a tangle
of capriciously mingled light and shade; its surface, here blue as the
still waters of the Grotta Azzurra, there green as the olive, here again
red-brown as Carthaginian marble, lay waveless, as with a sense that
the beauty was too perfect to be disturbed. Suddenly the scene was
changed; the lustrous outflow was swiftly drawn in and absorbed; a
grey hue swept over the darkening surface; in the distance the round,
blood-coloured, orb hung above the