News had come to her about
her Yann. In the midst of her confusion of ideas, she sought rapidly
in her mind what it could be; but there was nothing save Fantec's
interruption.
For the second time she fell back into her terrible abyss, nothing
changed in her morbid, hopeless waiting.
Yet in that short, hopeful moment, she had felt him so near to her that
it was as if his spirit had floated over the sea unto her,--what is
called a foretoken (_pressigne_) in Breton land; and she listened still
more attentively to the steps outside, trusting that some one might
come to her to speak of him.
Just as the day broke, Yann's father entered. He took off his cap, and
pushed back his splendid white locks, which were in curls like Yann's,
sat down by Gaud's bedside.
His heart ached heavily too; for Yann, his tall, handsome Yann, was his
first-born, his favorite and his pride: but he did not despair yet. He
comforted Gaud in his own blunt, affectionate way. To begin with,
those who had last returned from Iceland spoke of the increasing dense
fogs, which might well have delayed the vessel; and then too an idea
struck him,--they might possibly have stopped at the distant Faroe
Islands on their homeward course, whence letters were so long in
traveling.
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