boat which had
brought the Queen's messenger to Rozel Bay. The sailors of the vessel
fled, and alone De la Foret set sail for the Ecrehos.

There upon the black rocks the young man died, and Michel buried him in
the shore-bed of the Maitre Ile. Then, after two days--for he could bear
suspense no longer--he set sail for Jersey. Upon that journey there
is no need to dwell. Any that hath ever loved a woman and a child must
understand. A deep fear held him all the way, and when he stepped on
shore at Rozel Bay he was as one who had come from the grave, haggard
and old.

Hurrying up the hillside to his doorway, he called aloud to his wife, to
his child. Throwing open the door, he burst in. His dead child lay upon
a couch, and near by, sitting in a chair, with the sweat of the dying on
her brow, was Angele. As he dropped on his knee beside her, she smiled
and raised her hand as if to touch him, but the hand dropped and the
head fell forward on his breast. She was gone into a greater peace.

Once more Michel made a journey-alone--to the Ecrehos, and there, under
the ruins of the old Abbey of Val Richer, he buried the twain he had
loved. Not once in all the terrible hours had he shed a tear; not once
had his hand trembled; his face was like stone, and his eyes burned with
an unearthly light.

He did not pray beside the graves; but he knelt and kissed the earth
again and again. He had doffed his robes of peace, and now wore the
garb of a soldier, armed at all points fully. Rising from his knees, he
turned his face towards Jersey.

"Only mine! Only mine!" he said aloud in a dry, bitter voice.

In the whole island, only his loved ones had died of the plague. The
holiness and charity and love of Michel and Angele had ended so!

When once more he set forth upon the Channel, he turned his back on
Jersey and shaped his course towards France, having sent Elizabeth his
last excuses for declining a service which would have given him honour,
fame and regard. He was bent upon a higher duty.

Not long did he wait for the death he craved. Next year, in a Huguenot
sortie from Anvers, he was slain. He died with these words on his lips:

"Maintenant, Angele!"

In due time the island people forgot them both, but the Seigneur of
Rozel caused a stone to be set up on the highest point of land that
faces France, and on the stone were carved the names of Michel and
Angele. Having done much hard service for his country and for England's
Q