HOW MARTEL RAISED THE CLAMEUR BUT FOUND NO RELIEF George Hamon slept heavily that night while Nature repaired damages.

In the morning he had his head in a bucket of water from the well, when he heard footsteps coming up the steep way from the shore, and as he shook the drops out of his swollen eyes he saw that it was Philip Carre come in from his fishing.
"Hello, George--!" and Carre stopped and stared at his face, and knew at once that what he had feared had come to pass.--"He's back then ?" "It feels like it." "Where did you meet ?" "He came in here in the middle of the night.

We fought on Longue Pointe." "Where is he now ?" "I left him in the grass with his wits out." "She'll have no peace till he's dead and buried," said Carre gloomily.
Then they heard heavy footsteps in the narrow way between the hedges, and both turned quickly with the same thought in their minds.

But it was only Philip Tanquerel coming down to see to his lobster pots, and at sight of Hamon's face he grinned knowingly and drawled, "Bin falling out o' bed, George ?" "Yes.

Fell on top of the Frenchman." "Fell heavy, seems to me.