The dogs harried the rabbits untiringly, Punch in long lithe bounds that were a joy to behold; Scamp in panting hysterics which gave over-ample warning of his coming and precluded all possibilities of capture. Graeme led them down the face of the cliff fronting L'Etac, the great rock island that was once a part of Little Sark itself. "Once upon a time there was a Coupée across here," he said.
And all along the gaunt black rocks the great waves, which a moment before had been growling in dull agony, roared a mighty chorus of delight, and rolled it up the sloping seams of Longue Pointe, and flashed it on in thunderous bursts of foam from Bec-du-Nez to L'Etac.
"La Grune," growled one of the keen-eyed watchers, and was discounted at once by doubtful growls from the rest. Then a black ledge loomed through the mist and faded again before they had more than a glimpse of it. "Les Dents," ventured one. "Hautes Boues," so divergent were their views. A sound of waters and another dark loom of rock. "Sercul," said one. "L'Etac," said another.
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