for refuge was the garish Turk, Rullecour's
ally. Suddenly the now frightened, crying child got into his path and
tripped him up. Wild with rage he made a stroke at her, but at that
instant his scimitar was struck aside by a youth covered with the smoke
and grime of battle. He caught up the child to his arms, and hurried
with her through the melee to the watchmaker's doorway. There stood a
terror-stricken woman--Madame Landresse, who had just made her way into
the square. Placing the child, in her arms, Philip d'Avranche staggered
inside the house, faint and bleeding from a wound in the shoulder. The
battle of Jersey was over.

"Ah bah!" said Dormy Jamais from the roof of the Cohue Royale; "now
I'll toll the bell for that achocre of a Frenchman. Then I'll finish my
supper."

Poising a half-loaf of bread on the ledge of the roof, he began to
slowly toll the cracked bell at his hand for Rullecour the filibuster.

The bell clanged out: Chicane-chicane! Chicane-chicane!

Another bell answered from the church by the square, a deep, mournful
note. It was tolling for Peirson and his dead comrades.

Against the statue in the Vier Marchi leaned Ranulph Delagarde. An
officer came up and held out a hand to him. "Your shot ended the
business," said he. "You're a brave fellow. What is your name?"

"Ranulph Delagarde, sir."

"Delagarde--eh? Then well done, Delagardes! They say your father was the
first man killed. We won't forget that, my lad."

Sinking down upon the base of the statue, Ranulph did not stir or reply,
and the officer, thinking he was grieving for his father, left him
alone.

ELEVEN YEARS AFTER

CHAPTER V

The King of France was no longer sending adventurers to capture the
outposts of England. He was rather, in despair, beginning to wind in
again the coil of disaster which had spun out through the helpless
fingers of Neckar, Calonne, Brienne and the rest, and was in the end to
bind his own hands for the guillotine.

The Isle of Jersey, like a scout upon the borders of a foeman's country,
looked out over St. Michael's Basin to those provinces where the war
of the Vendee was soon to strike France from within, while England, and
presently all Europe, should strike her from without.

War, or the apprehension of war, was in the air. The people of the
little isle, living always within the influence of natural wonder and
the power of the elements, were deeply superstitious; and as news of
dark dee