FOUR years passed away
Deruchette was approaching her twenty-first year, and was still unmarried. Some writer has said that a fixed idea is a sort of gimlet; every year gives it another turn. To pull it out the first year is like plucking out the hair by the roots; in the second year, like tearing the skin; in the third, like breaking the bones; and in the fourth, like removing the very brain itself.
Gilliatt had arrived at this fourth stage.
He had never yet spoken a word to Deruchette. He lived and dreamed near that delightful vision. This was all.
It happened one day that, finding himself by chance at St. Sampson, he had seen Deruchette talking with Mess Lethierry at the door of the Bravees, which opens upon the roadway of the port. Gilliatt ventured to approach very near. He fancied that at the very moment of his passing she had smiled. There was nothing impossible in that.
Deruchette still heard, from time to time, the sound of the bagpipe.
Mess Lethierry had also heard this bagpipe. By degrees he had come to remark this persevering musician under Deruchette's window. A tender strain, too; all the more suspicious. A nocturnal gallant was a thing not to his taste. His wish was to marry Deruchette in his own time when she was willing and he was willing, purely and simply, without any romance or music or anything of that sort. Irritated at it, he had at last kept a watch, and he fancied that he had detected Gilliatt. He passed his fingers through his beard-a sign of anger-and grumbled out, "What has that fellow got to pipe about? He is in love with Deruchette, that is clear. You waste your time, young man Any one who wants Deruchette must come to me, and not loiter about playing the flute."
An event of importance, long foreseen, occurred soon afterwards. It was announced that the Reverend Jaquemin Herode was appointed surrogate of the Bishop of Winchester, dean of the island, and rector of St. Peter's Port, and that he would leave St. Sampson for St. Peter's immediately after his successor should be installed.
It could not be long to the arrival of the new rector. He was a gentleman of Norman extraction, Monsieur Ebenezer Caudray.
Some facts were known about the new rector, which the benevolent and malevolent interpreted in a contrary sense. He was known to be young and poor, but his youth was tempered with much learning, and his poverty by good expectations. In the dialect specially invented for the subject of riches and inheritances, death goes by the name of "expectations." He was the nephew and heir of the aged and opulent Dean of St. Asaph. At the death of this old gentleman he would be a rich man. M. Caudray had distinguished relations. He was almost entitled to the quality of "Honourable". As regarded his doctrine, people judged differently. He was an Anglican, but, according to the expression of Bishop Tillotson, a "libertine"-that is, in reality, one who was very severe. He repudiated all Pharisaism. He was a friend rather of the Presbytery than the Episcopacy. He dreamed of the Primitive Church of the days when even Adam had the right to choose his Eve, and when Frumentinus, Bishop of Hierapolis, carried off a young maiden to make her his wife, and said to her parents, "Her will is such, and such is mine. You are no longer her mother, and you are no longer her father. I am the Bishop of Hierapolis, and this is my wife. Her father is in heaven." If the common belief could be trusted, M. Caudray subordinated the text, "Honour thy father and thy mother," to that other text, in his eyes of higher significance. "The woman is the flesh of the man. She shall leave her father and mother to follow her husband". This tendency, however, to circumscribe the parental authority and to favour religiously every mode of forming the conjugal tie is peculiar to all Protestantism, particularly in England and singularly so in America.