Left to himself, Gabriel wandered hither and thither over the open heath, neither knowing nor caring in what direction he turned his steps.  The doubts about his father’s innocence which had been dissipated by his visit to the Merchant’s Table, that father’s own language and manner had now revived—­had even confirmed, though he dared not yet acknowledge so much to himself.  It was terrible enough to be obliged to admit that the result of his morning’s search was, after all, not conclusive—­that the mystery was, in very truth, not yet cleared up.  The violence of his father’s last words of distrust; the extraordinary and indescribable changes in his father’s manner while uttering them—­what did these things mean?  Guilt or innocence?  Again, was it any longer reasonable to doubt the death-bed confession made by his grandfather?  Was it not, on the contrary, far more probable that the old man’s denial in the morning of his own words at night had been made under the influence of a panic terror, when his moral consciousness was bewildered, and his intellectual faculties were sinking?  The longer Gabriel thought of these questions, the less competent—­possibly also the less willing—­he felt to answer them.  Should he seek advice from others wiser than he?  No; not while the thousandth part of a chance remained that his father was innocent.

This thought was still in his mind, when he found himself once more in sight of his home.  He was still hesitating near the door, when he saw it opened cautiously.  His brother Pierre looked out, and then came running toward him.  “Come in, Gabriel; oh, do come in!” said the boy, earnestly.  “We are afraid to be alone with father.  He’s been beating us for talking of you.”

Gabriel went in.  His father looked up from the hearth where he was sitting, muttered the word “Spy!” and made a gesture of contempt but did not address a word directly to his son.  The hours passed on in silence; afternoon waned into evening, and evening into night; and still he never spoke to any of his children.  Soon after it was dark, he went out, and took his net with him, saying that it was better to be alone on the sea than in the house with a spy.

When he returned the next morning there was no change in him.  Days passed—­weeks, months, even elapsed, and still, though his manner insensibly became what it used to be toward his other children, it never altered toward his eldest son At the rare periods when they now met, except when absolutely obliged to speak, he preserved total silence in his intercourse with Gabriel.  He would never take Gabriel out with him in the boat; he would never sit alone with Gabriel in the house; he would never eat a meal with Gabriel; he would never let the other children talk to him about Gabriel; and he would never hear a word in expostulation, a word in reference to anything his dead father had said or done on the night of the storm, from Gabriel himself.