eing chiefly occupied with the rebuilding of the
cloister and the planning of that great church that took so many years
to build, which at last is so magnifical, that the old church wherein we
used to sing with our boyish trebles seems in our memories but a poor
place.

To the laying of these noble stones much of the stores of treasure found
in the caverns at the chateau was justly devoted, and the holy things of
many a plundered House of God are to be found in the stately church of
the cloister.

And in my time, at least, no pirates ever landed on that island. Like a
rock of doom they shun the place, for indeed many hundred of them
perished there, as I have told, and they lost in one day the gathered
treasure of years of crime.

And their captain being destroyed, their spirit seemed fled out of
them, to the joy of all good and honest men.

But I must close up this chronicle of his fall with an event that
concerned myself, which, as it were, flowed straight out of it. For if I
had not journeyed to Normandy, and been caught on my way first by Le
Grand Sarrasin, I suppose I should never have been made known unto my
father.

And it is of my father, Ralf de Bessin, that I must therefore tell.

Now, the next day after, when we had rested ourselves of our great toils
in the battle and pursuit, I and Brother Hugo purposed to go to the
Chapel of St Apolline to offer our thanks to the priest and him that had
saved me from all the unknown horrors of the prison in which I was pent.
Or at least we would hear whether yet they had appeared again.

The fall of the Moor had brought them back to earth, and they sat
together in the small hut beside the fishers' chapel, whence I had set
out on my second journey. All the time they had lived in a cave hard by,
fed daily by some fisher folk that knew their hiding-place; and indeed
they looked as men that had fared exceeding roughly, and all the
plumpness of the good Father had fled away.

I told them my story as I have told it to you in these leaves, and he
whom I knew as Des Bois inquired again and again of all my dealings with
the vicomte. Then, when I had finished, he said--

"Full bravely done. I regret not that I saved thee as I did, for thou
hast some great deeds yet to do. And now, wouldst thou know, Nigel de
Bessin, why I was led to save thee?"

I looked straight at him tenderly, for I guessed the truth.

"It was because thou wast indeed my son." He clasped both my hands