All at once to a certain goal--Chance, immense and universal, loves to

bring such coincidences about--the flask of Hardquanonne came, driven

from wave to wave, into Barkilphedro's hands. There is in the unknown an

indescribable fealty which seems to be at the beck and call of evil.

Barkilphedro, assisted by two chance witnesses, disinterested jurors of

the Admiralty, uncorked the flask, found the parchment, unfolded, read

it. What words could express his devilish delight!

It is strange to think that the sea, the wind, space, the ebb and flow

of the tide, storms, calms, breezes, should have given themselves so

much trouble to bestow happiness on a scoundrel. That co-operation had

continued for fifteen years. Mysterious efforts! During fifteen years

the ocean had never for an instant ceased from its labours. The waves

transmitted from one to another the floating bottle. The shelving rocks

had shunned the brittle glass; no crack had yawned in the flask; no

friction had displaced the cork; the sea-weeds had not rotted the osier;

the shells had not eaten out the word "Hardquanonne;" the water had not

penetrated into the waif; the mould had not rotted the parchment; the

wet had hot effaced the writing. What trouble the abyss must have taken!

Thus that which Gernardus had flung into darkness, darkness had handed

back to Barkilphedro. The message sent to God had reached the devil.

Space had committed an abuse of confidence, and a lurking sarcasm which

mingles with events had so arranged that it had complicated the loyal

triumph of the lost child's becoming Lord Clancharlie with a venomous

victory: in doing a good action, it had mischievously placed justice at

the service of iniquity. To save the victim of James II. was to give a

prey to Barkilphedro. To reinstate Gwynplaine was to crush Josiana.

648

The Man Who Laughs