The Serpents of Harbledown

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The search began at dawn. It was led by Alwin, the distraught father of the missing girl, a big, brawny man with a dark beard fringing his weathered face. No sleep had relieved his anxiety that night. He simply stood at the open shutters and gazed up at the heavens in mute supplication. Alwin was an experienced sailor.

He had endured hostile elements a hundred times in his small vessel and shown the routine bravery of his occupation. But he also had the strange fatalism of the seafaring man.

“She is gone, Brother Martin. I know it.”

“Do not believe that,” said the monk with a consoling hand on his arm. “Have faith, Alwin. We will find her.”

“Alive or dead?”

“Alive-God willing!”

“Why did she not come home last night?”

“We will chide her with that very question.”

“It can only be that she was prevented by force.”

“No, my son.”

“Bertha met with some terrible accident. I sense it.”

“Be calm. There may yet be another explanation for her disappearance. The girl is young and sometimes headstrong.

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