CONCLUSION.
Sabine had been deeply touched by the opening paragraphs of her father's
letter.
Cloarek's simple and straightforward confession, his deep remorse at the
ebullition of temper which had been the cause of his wife's death, his
resolve to expiate his faults, or, rather, to make them assist in
ensuring his daughter's future happiness, the paternal love which
dominated every word and deed, all combined to arouse a feeling of
tender commiseration for misfortunes which had been due, in a great
measure, at least, to peculiarities of temperament; and seeing the
strong impression that had been made on the young girl, the others saw a
ray of hope.
Segoffin and the housekeeper exchanged inquiring glances, but seemed to
silently agree that it would be advisable to make no comment, but leave
Sabine to the influence of her own reflections.
But after a few moments, Suzanne, leaning toward her nephew, whispered
in his ear:
"All is not lost yet. Go on, go on, my dear Onésime." So Onésime
continued as follows:
* * * * *
"'Segoffin and I went to Dieppe, where we shipped as common sailors on a
privateer, for we realised that we must both serve an apprenticeship at
our new trade. We made several voyages in that capacity. In my leisure
moments I studied mathematics and the art of navigation assiduously, so
I should be able to command a vessel myself when the necessary practical
knowledge had been acquired.
"'My apprenticeship lasted two years, during which we were engaged in a
number of bloody conflicts. At the end of that time I was offered the
position of mate aboard a well-known privateer. After eighteen months
spent in this way, I had become so well known that a ship owner offered
me the command of a vessel called the _Hell-hound_, that he was fitting
out.
"'Strange to say, I was never wounded, though I took part in so many
desperate conflicts. I received my first wound on coming to your
assistance the other night.
"'I dare not tell you the cause to which I attribute this singular
immunity from danger. I should be obliged to mention your mother's name,
and that would revive your grief, and possibly it is only a
superstitious fancy, after all.
"'Fate has not been equally kind to Segoffin, unfortunately. He has
received several wounds, and, in boarding a vessel during our last
fight, he lost an eye by a blow from a pike. No words could do justice
to this worthy man's wonderful devotion. I no longer regard him as a
servant, but as a friend.
"'One more brief explanation, my child.
"'I knew your affection for me. I knew, too, that your nervous system
had received a severe shock at the time of your poor mother's death, so
I resolved to save you from constant anxiety by concealing my real
occupation from you. So it was agreed between Segoffin and me that we
should explain our frequent absences by pretending that we were
travelling around the country selling dry goods. I also arranged that
the letters you sent to the different towns agreed upon should be
forwarded to Dieppe.
"'When I returned after a cruise, I got these letters, and dated my
replies from different towns, where I had previously arranged to have
them mailed.
"'Such were some of the many precautions that I was obliged to take to
conceal the truth from you and allay any suspicions that might be
excited in your mind.
"'Forgive these deceptions. They seemed to me necessary. That excuse
will, I am sure, avail me.
"'Two years ago the doctors assured me that the sea air would be very
beneficial to you, so I purchased our present home and established you
in it. Our home being a long way from Dieppe, the port from which I
usually sail, my secret has been carefully guarded, up to this time,
thanks to my assumed name, Captain l'Endurci, and neither you nor
Suzanne have ever suspected that the famous corsair, whose bloody
exploits so excited your horror, was your father, Yvon Cloarek.
"'And now, my darling child, you know all. I have not made this
confession with any hope of changing your resolution; I can see that my
presence will henceforth be extremely painful to you, but I could not
leave you for ever without removing the veil of mystery that has
enshrouded my conduct up to the present time.
"'And now, farewell, and for ever, my beloved daughter.
"'My only consolation is the thought that your future happiness is
well-nigh certain. You love, and you are loved in return by a generous
and noble-hearted man; Suzanne will be another mother to you, and I
leave you my good and faithful Segoffin.
"'My notary has received full instructions in relation to your marriage
contract. I wish your marriage to take place on the first of next month,
so I may be with you in thought on that happy day.
"'Once more farewell, my idolised daughter. The tears are falling so
fast, that I cannot see to write any more.
"'Your father, who loves you as he has always loved you,
YVON CLOAREK.
"'Segoffin will tell you the cause of my hasty departure for Havre, and
how I happened to return in time to rescue you from the wretches who
were dragging you away."
* * * * *
When the reading of this letter was concluded, Sabine, who was very pale
and who seemed to be deeply moved, buried her face in her hands, and
sobbed softly.
Segoffin exchanged another meaning look with Suzanne, and then,
reconquering his own emotion, said:
"Now, mademoiselle, with your permission, I will tell you how M. Yvon
got here in time to save you."
And Sabine making no reply, the head gunner continued:
"That powdered gentleman, who was here the other day, Mlle. Sabine, was
the owner of our vessel. He came to try to persuade M. Yvon to make
another voyage. He had heard of a vessel laden with two millions in
gold, that would soon be along, and offered us a chance of a stirring
fight besides; but M. Yvon had promised you he would not leave you
again, so he refused, whereupon the ship owner told your father that the
ship's crew would certainly come for him, and take him away with them,
whether or no. In order to prevent any such proceeding as that, which
would have let the cat out of the bag, so far as you were concerned, we
hurried off to Havre. Most of the crew were at a tavern there. They
greeted M. Yvon with the wildest enthusiasm and delight, for he is as
tenderly loved by these rough corsairs as he is by the members of his
own family; for though he can be severe, if need be, he is also just and
humane. There is more than one English captain, mademoiselle, whom M.
Yvon has captured and then set free with all his personal belongings.
And do you know why? Because the first question your father always
asked a prisoner was, 'Have you a daughter?'
"If he answered in the affirmative," continued Segoffin, "he was all
right, for, as M. Yvon often said to me, 'I love my little Sabine too
much to hold a man who has a daughter, a prisoner.'
"So Mlle. Sabine, you have made many a father and daughter happy in
England, without even suspecting it. But excuse me, I had almost
forgotten what I started to tell you. Well, though the sailors were so
glad to see your father again, they got very angry when they found out
that he had no intention of going to sea again, and there was no such
thing as inducing them to listen to reason. I have seen M. Yvon in a
great peril many a time, but never did I see him show such courage as he
did the other day, when he refused what would have been the crowning
glory of his maritime career, and why? 'Because I have given my daughter
my word,' he said. But this was not all. His refusal so infuriated the
crew that some of them even went so far as to hint that if your father
refused, it was because he was afraid to fight the famous English
captain. He, M. Yvon, afraid! After that, Mlle. Sabine, he said to me,
in a low tone, and with a melancholy smile that I shall never forget:
"'My affection for my daughter has been really put to the test for the
first time in my life, and now I know that there is not a father in the
world who loves his child more than I do.'"
"Go on, go on, Segoffin," pleaded Sabine, evidently deeply moved.
"When they ventured to accuse M. Yvon of cowardice, he coldly replied
that his mind was made up, and that it was useless for them to insist
further. A scene of the wildest excitement followed, and some of the men
shouted: 'Let us take the captain, whether or no. The first mate can
navigate the vessel, and when the captain sees the enemy, he'll change
his mind fast enough.'
"They were all so excited that I don't know how the affair would have
ended, had not an officer of the fort, who knew that the captain of the
_Hell-hound_ was at the tavern, come rushing in to tell M. Yvon that a
fishing-smack had just come in and reported that a suspicious-looking
schooner had been sighted from the cliffs, and that appearances seemed
to indicate her intention of making a landing, as had been done at
several other points along the coast. There being no war-ship in the
harbour the officer came to implore the captain of the _Hell-hound_ to
go out and attack the schooner if she made any attempt to land. M. Yvon
could not refuse, as it was in defence of his country that he was
requested to give his services. We were soon aboard the brig; the wind
was favourable, we weighed anchor, and were soon flying along in search
of the schooner. Right here, Mlle. Sabine, I must tell you something
that M. Yvon dared not confess in his letter. He speaks, you know, of a
superstitious idea he had in connection with his never having been
wounded. You must understand, Mlle. Sabine, that your poor father's life
has been divided as it were into two parts,--one supremely happy, the
part spent at home or in talking with me about you; the other desolation
itself, the hours spent in thinking of your poor dear mother, whom he
loved even more tenderly than he loves you, as Suzanne has told you a
hundred times. The night she died, it so happened that he had dressed
himself in Breton costume to attend a fancy dress ball. Being very young
at the time, you did not recognise him. After this calamity, when we
shipped as common sailors on a privateer where every one dressed as he
pleased, M. Yvon said to me: 'As I am here to expiate a crime I shall
regret all my life, I intend always to wear the costume of my native
province at sea. It has become sacred to me, as I wore it on the fatal
night when I held my poor dying wife in my arms for the last time.'
"M. Yvon has kept his word ever since, in spite of my entreaties, for it
having been reported in England that the famous corsair, Captain
l'Endurci, wore the Breton costume, it was at M. Yvon that every one
aimed. But though your father exposed himself so much more than any of
the rest of us, he was never wounded, and as there is a superstitious
streak in the composition of every human being, M. Yvon finally began to
think that there must be a protecting charm attached to our national
costume. The sailors, too, imagined that this costume brought the ship
good luck. At least, they would have felt much less confident of success
if M. Yvon had commanded them in any other garb, so that is why M. Yvon,
when he went aboard to go out and fight the schooner, put on the costume
of his native province exactly as he would have put on a uniform, not
supposing for an instant that there was any likelihood of his going to
his own home.
"We had been sailing around about three-quarters of an hour, when all at
once we saw a bright light stream up on the coast above the cliffs. A
careful scrutiny convinced the captain that the house where we lived was
on fire; and almost at the same moment, the first mate, with the aid of
a night telescope, discovered the schooner riding at anchor, with all
her boats at the foot of the cliff where the English had doubtless
landed. The captain ordered the long-boat lowered, and sprang into it in
company with me and twenty picked men. We reached the scene of action in
a quarter of an hour. M. Yvon received his first wound while striking
down the leader of the bandits, a Captain Russell, who figured so
prominently in the abduction of M. Yvon a short time ago. Wounded by
your father and left a prisoner at Dieppe, he had nevertheless managed
to make his escape and concoct this new conspiracy. This, Mlle. Sabine,
is the whole truth with regard to M. Yvon. He has suffered, oh, how he
has suffered these three last days! and this is nothing to what he will
suffer up to the time of your marriage; but after that, when he knows
you are happy, I fear that he can endure it no longer. No human being
could and--"
"My father, where is my father?" cried Sabine, trembling with grief,
anxiety, and long repressed tenderness.
"Really, mademoiselle, I do not know that I ought--"
"My father, is he here?" repeated the girl breathlessly.
"He is not very far off, perhaps," replied Segoffin, nearly wild with
joy; "but if he returns, it must be never to leave you again."
"Oh, can he ever forgive me for having doubted his love and his nobility
of soul for one moment? If he will, all the rest of my life shall be
devoted to him. My God! you are silent, you are all weeping--you are all
looking toward that room as if my father were there. Thank Heaven! my
father is there!" cried Sabine, her face radiant with inexpressible joy
as she ran toward the door leading into the next room.
The door suddenly opened, and in another instant father and daughter
were locked in each other's arms.
* * * * *
One month afterward, a double marriage united Suzanne and Segoffin,
Sabine and Onésime.
The famous Doctor Gasterini, equally celebrated as a gourmand and as a
physician, had restored Onésime's sight.
On returning from the church, Segoffin remarked to Suzanne with a
triumphant air:
"Ah, well, my dear, was I not right in telling you that, 'what is to be,
will be?' Haven't I always predicted that you would be Madame Segoffin
some day? Are you, or are you not?"
"Oh, well, I suppose one must make the best of it," responded Madame
Segoffin, with a pretended sigh, though she really felt as proud of her
husband as if he had been one of the heroes of the _Grande Armée_ she
was so fond of raving about. "There's no help for it, I suppose, as
'that which is done cannot be undone.'"
THE END.