Michel and Angele | Page 9

a
sudden squall of wind came out of the north. "There's no better head in
the isle than mine for measurement and thinking, and I swore no man
under eighteen stone could carry me, and I am twenty-five--I take you
to be nineteen stone, eh?"
"Nineteen, less two ounces," grinned Buonespoir.
"I'll laugh De Carteret of St. Ouen's out of his stockings over this,"
answered Lempriere. "Trust me for knowing weights and measures!
Look you, varlet, thy sins be forgiven thee. I care not about the fleeces,
if there be no more stealing. St. Ouen's has no head--I said no one man
in Jersey could have done it--I'm heavier by three stone than any man
in the island." Thereafter there was little speaking among them, for the
danger was greater as they neared the shore. The wind and the sea were
against them; the tide, however, was in their favour. Others besides M.
Aubert offered up prayers for the safe-landing of the rescued and
rescuers. Presently an ancient fisherman broke out into a rude sailor's
chanty, and every voice, even those of the two Huguenots, took it up:

"When the Four Winds, the Wrestlers, strive with the Sun, When the
Sun is slain in the dark; When the stars burn out, and the night cries To
the blind sea-reapers, and they rise, And the water-ways are stark-- God
save us when the reapers reap! When the ships sweep in with the tide to
the shore, And the little white boats return no more; When the reapers
reap, Lord give Thy sailors sleep, If Thou cast us not upon the shore,
To bless Thee evermore: To walk in Thy sight as heretofore Though
the way of the Lord be steep! By Thy grace, Show Thy face, Lord of
the land and the deep!"
The song stilled at last. It died away in the roar of the surf, in the happy
cries of foolish women, and the laughter of men back from 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 my prayers too, if ye will
have them."
"'Tis a man's duty to save his fellow an'