A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, February 1950 — page 119: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

e é JHE SEAL MAIDEN 119 died thus and said that he had been fore- destined, but most thought that it was the spell of the sea witch. That same night, too, Achille Racabout fell from the cottage roof. It was a little fall, but the boy went limping all his life because of it. The good curé was skeptical of the fisher- wives’ tales; but he knew that evil ever stalks abroad, and there is no place so remote but the father of lies is there. He baptized the child, and before night- fall the strange woman had passed out of Miquelon and all conscious life as placidly as she had drifted in. A little before she died she motioned to the curé to take from her throat a locket ,upon a chain and place it about the child’s, Inside it was the miniature of a young man, handsome and distinguished look- ing. This done, she closed her eyes peace- fully. No news was ever learned concerning her. The babe was taken into Pierre Drouin’s family. Pierre died that winter suddenly,. about the time when the seals gather upon the pairing grounds. Marthe tended the little Marie as her own child, for she had none by Pierre, but she could not love her—she could not forget the glamour that her mother had cast over her husband. Still, she cared for her during the first ten years of Marie’s life, and then she joined her husband. At ten, Marie Drouin, as she was called, was taken into service by old Mére Faguy, the mother of Jean, Pierre’s partner, now a middle-aged man, Jean had never married, Some said that Marthe Drouin had been his sweetheart before she married Pierre; it was certain that Jean had seemed to care for no woman since her marriage. But as Marie increased,in years, and the dark beauty of her mother began to show in her, Jean often took the child’s part against the harsh old Mére Faguy. She hated and feared Marie and worked her as no Christian should have done; still, all knew that Marie had no soul, despite the curé’s arguments, for was she not the offspring of seals? The women whispered this and pulled their children out of the way when Marie passed. Her manner, too, did not win pity for her. She was wild and sullen, quite unlike the other children of Miquelon, and at an age when the island girls would have been beginning to dream of their future hus- bands she would be met wandering along the shore alone or romping into the sea to swim. None dream of swimming, even in July, in those icy waters, but she would plunge boldly into the breakers and emerge, shaking the spray from her glistening skin. Folks said it was heathenish and a sign of her seal origin, but Pére Legoufire had confirmed her and knew that her soul was whiter than many in his flock. Still, he would sigh when he thought of her homeless lot upon Miquelon, and think of some possible husband for her. S she grew older she became more stub- born and rebellious. Once, when the old woman beat her, she © would not cry, and Mére Faguy, goaded by her contempt, tried to snatch the locket from her neck. Then Marie turned on Mére Faguy so fiercely that the old woman shrank back in terror. “Take care!” she sneered. “Give back that devil’s charm of thine to the sea or thou wilt never gain a lover—or a soul, either—in spite of the curé,” It was the ancient superstition of sacri- fice to the ocean, current upon Miquelon, as in many seafaring regions of the world. After that incident Mére Faguy never laid hand on Marie again. She drove her less hard. She was growing old and her passions and interests were slipping away. Marie began to assume charge of the cottage, while the old woman sat in her chair and dozed. As for Jean, since that scene in the cottage a light had come into his eyes whenever he looked at the girl. Old Mére Faguy noticed it. “Take care, Jean,” she croaked, after his eyes had followed Marie to the door. “She will not make a wife for thee, my son. She will have thy soul, as her mother had that of Pierre Frouin.” Jean Faguy, forty-four and prematurely old, bowed his head on his hands. He had never lovéd but once, but now his passion for Marie, -with her slim body and thin face, her flashing eyes and sullen mouth, was overpowering, He had tried to control it. He had always been self-controlled. But his madness was intolerable. He began to drink. His mother was in her dotage now; when she was dead the girl should be his; till then he must guard himself. : But this madness mastered him one