The Isle of Unrest

The Isle of Unrest, by Henry
Seton Merriman

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Isle of Unrest, by Henry Seton
Merriman #7 in our series by Henry Seton Merriman
Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing
this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.
This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project
Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the
header without written permission.
Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the
eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is
important information about your specific rights and restrictions in how
the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a
donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.
**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since
1971**
*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of
Volunteers!*****
Title: The Isle of Unrest
Author: Henry Seton Merriman

Release Date: September, 2005 [EBook #8873] [Yes, we are more than
one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on August 18,
2003]
Edition: 10
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ISLE
OF UNREST ***

Produced by Distributed Proofreaders

THE ISLE OF UNREST
BY HENRY SETON MERRIMAN

TO LUCASTA
GOING TO THE WARS
Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste
breast, and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly.
True: a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a
stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love
thee, dear, so much Lov'd I not honour more.
RICHARD LOVELACE.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I.
THE MOVING FINGER II. CHEZ CLÉMENT III. A BY-PATH IV. A
TOSS-UP V. IN THE RUE DU CHERCHE-MIDI VI. NEIGHBOURS
VII. JOURNEY'S END VIII. AT VASSELOT IX. THE PROMISED
LAND X. THUS FAR XI. BY SURPRISE XII. A SUMMONS XIII.
WAR XIV. GOSSIP XV. WAR XVI. A MASTERFUL MAN XVII.
WITHOUT DRUM OR TRUMPET XVIII. A WOMAN OF ACTION
XIX. THE SEARCH XX. WOUNDED XXI. FOR FRANCE XXII. IN
THE MACQUIS XXIII. AN UNDERSTANDING XXIV. "CE QUE
FEMME VEUT" XXV. ON THE GREAT ROAD XXVI. THE END
OF THE JOURNEY XXVII. THE ABBÉ'S SALAD XXVIII. GOLD
XXIX. A BALANCED ACCOUNT XXX. THE BEGINNING AND
THE END

THE ISLE OF UNREST
CHAPTER I.
THE MOVING FINGER.
"The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all thy
piety nor wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a line, Nor all thy tears
wash out a word of it."
The afternoon sun was lowering towards a heavy bank of clouds
hanging still and sullen over the Mediterranean. A mistral was blowing.
The last yellow rays shone fiercely upon the towering coast of Corsica,
and the windows of the village of Olmeta glittered like gold.
There are two Olmetas in Corsica, both in the north, both on the west
coast, both perched high like an eagle's nest, both looking down upon

those lashed waters of the Mediterranean, which are not the waters that
poets sing of, for they are as often white as they are blue; they are
seldom glassy except in the height of summer and sailors tell that they
are as treacherous as any waters of the earth. Neither aneroid nor
weather-wisdom may, as a matter of fact, tell when a mistral will arise,
how it will blow, how veer, how drop and rise, and drop again. For it
will blow one day beneath a cloudless sky, lashing the whole sea white
like milk, and blow harder to-morrow under racing clouds.
The great chestnut trees in and around Olmeta groaned and strained in
the grip of their lifelong foe. The small door, the tiny windows, of
every house were rigorously closed. The whole place had a wind-swept
air despite the heavy foliage. Even the roads, and notably the broad
"Place," had been swept clean and dustless. And in the middle of the
"Place," between the fountain and the church steps, a man lay dead
upon his face.
It is as well to state here, once for all, that we are dealing with
Olmeta-di-Tuda, and not that other Olmeta--the virtuous, di Capocorso,
in fact, which would shudder at the thought of a dead man lying on its
"Place," before the windows of the very Mairie, under the shadow of
the church. For Cap Corse is the good boy of Corsica, where men think
sorrowfully of the wilder communes to the south, and raise their
eyebrows at the