"St. Peter-Port," he answered. "Mam'zelle, then, does not know our
islands?"

"No," I said. "Where is St. Peter-Port?"

"In Guernsey," he replied. "Is mam'zelle going to Guernsey or Jersey?
Jersey is about two hours' sail from Guernsey. If you were going to land
at St. Peter-Port, I might be of some service to you."

I turned round then, and looked at him steadily. His voice was a very
pleasant one, full of tones that went straight to my heart and filled me
with confidence. His face did not give the lie to it, or cause me any
disappointment. He was no gentleman, that was plain; his face was
bronzed and weather-beaten, as if he often encountered rough weather.
But his deep-set eyes had a steadfast, quiet power in them, and his
mouth, although it was almost hidden by hair, had a pleasant curve about
it. I could not guess how old he was; he looked a middle-aged man to me.
His great, rough hands, which had never worn gloves, were stained and
hard with labor; and he had evidently been taking a share in the toil of
the night, for his close-fitting, woven blue jacket was wet through, and
his hair was damp and rough with the wind and rain. He raised his cap as
my eyes looked straight into his, and a faint smile flitted across his
grave face.

"I want," I said, suddenly, "to find a place where I can live very
cheaply. I have not much money, and I must make it last a long time. I
do not mind how quiet the place, or how poor; the quieter the better for
me. Can you tell me of such a place?"