m
a dangerous adventure. As the Seigneur's boat was drawn up the shore,
Angele threw herself into the arms of Michel de la Foret, the soldier
dressed as a priest.

Lempriere of Rozel stood abashed before this rich display of feeling.
In his hottest youth he could not have made such passionate motions of
affection. His feelings ran neither high nor broad, but neither did they
run low and muddy. His nature was a straight level of sensibility--a
rough stream between high banks of prejudice, topped with the foam of
vanity, now brawling in season, and now going steady and strong to the
sea. Angele had come to feel what he was beneath the surface. She
felt how unimaginative he was, and how his humour, which was but the
horse-play of vanity, helped him little to understand the world or
himself. His vanity was ridiculous, his self-importance was against
knowledge or wisdom; and Heaven had given him a small brain, a big and
noble heart, a pedigree back to Rollo, and the absurd pride of a little
lord in a little land. Angele knew all this; but realised also that he
had offered her all he was able to offer to any woman.

She went now and put out both hands to him. "I shall ever pray God's
blessing on the lord of Rozel," she said, in a low voice.

"'Twould fit me no better than St. Ouen's sword fits his fingers. I'll
take thine own benison, lady--but on my cheek, not on my hand as this
day before at four of the clock." His big voice lowered. "Come, come,
the hand thou kissed, it hath been the hand of a friend to thee, as
Raoul Lempriere of Rozel said he'd be. Thy lips upon his cheek, though
it be but a rough fellow's fancy, and I warrant, come good, come
ill, Rozel's face will never be turned from thee. Pooh, pooh! let yon
soldier-priest shut his eyes a minute; this is 'tween me and thee; and
what's done before the world's without shame."

He stopped short, his black eyes blazing with honest mirth and kindness,
his breath short, having spoken in such haste.

Her eyes could scarce see him, so full of tears were they; and, standing
on tiptoe, she kissed him upon each cheek.

"'Tis much to get for so little given," she said, with a quiver in her
voice; "yet this price for friendship would be too high to pay to any
save the Seigneur of Rozel."

She hastily turned to the men who had rescued Michel and Buonespoir.
"If I had riches, riches ye should have, brave men of Jersey," she said;
"but I have naught save love and thanks, and