Open the door,
Gabriel--or, though it should be the death of me, I will get up
and open it myself!"
Gabriel's face whitened even to his lips, but he made a sign that
he would obey. It required the exertion of his whole strength to
keep the door open against the wind while he looked out.
"Do you see them, grandson Gabriel? Speak the truth, and tell me
if you see them," cried the old man.
"I see nothing but darkness--pitch darkness," answered Gabriel,
letting the door close again.
"Ah! woe! woe!" groaned his grandfather, sinking back exhausted
on the pillow. "Darkness to _you;_ but bright as lightning to the
eyes that are allowed to see them. Drowned! drowned! Pray for
their souls, Gabriel--_I_ see the White Women even where I lie,
and dare not pray for them. Son and grandson drowned! both
drowned!"
The young man went back to Perrine and the children.
"Grandfather is very ill to-night," he whispered. "You had better
all go into the bedroom, and leave me alone to watch by him."
They rose as he spoke, crossed themselves before the image of the
Virgin, kissed him one by one, and, without uttering a word,
softly entered the little room on the other side of the
partition. Gabriel looked at his grandfather, and saw that he lay
quiet now, with his eyes closed as if he were already dropping
asleep. The young man then heaped some fresh logs on the fire,
and sat down by it to watch till morning.
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