Michel and Angèle. Gilbert Parker

of alternate hope and despair. She knew that the Comte de Montgomery was dead, and a rumor, carried by refugees, had reached her that de la Forêt was with him to the end. The same news was presently supplemented by the word that he had been beheaded. But one day she learned that the Comtesse de Montgomery was sheltered by the Governor, Sir Hugh Pawlett, her kinsman, at Mont Orgueil Castle.

      Thither she went in fear from her refuge at Rozel, and was admitted to the Comtesse. There she learned the joyful truth that de la Forêt had not been slain, and in all likelihood was in hiding on the coast of Normandy.

      The long waiting was a time of sore trial, yet laughter was often upon her lips henceforth. The peasants, the farmers and fishermen of Jersey, at first—as they have ever been—little inclined towards strangers, learned at last to look for her in the fields and upon the shore, and laughed in response, they knew not why, to the quick smiling of her eyes. She even learned to speak their unmusical but friendly Norman-Jersey French. There were at least a half-dozen fishermen who for her would have gone at night straight to the Witches' Rock in St. Clement's Bay!

      It came to be known all along the coast that ma'm'selle was waiting for a lover to come from the French coast. This gave her fresh interest in the eyes of the serfs and sailors and their women folk, who at first were not inclined towards the Huguenot maiden, partly because she was French, and partly because she was not a Catholic. But even these, when they saw that she never talked religion to them, that she was fast learning to speak their own homely patois, and that in the sickness of their children she was untiring in her kindness, forgave the austerity of the gloomy-browed old man her father, who spoke to them distantly, or never spoke at all; and her position was secure. Then, upon the other hand, the gentry of the manors, seeing the friendship grow between her and the Comtesse de Montgomery at Mont Orgueil Castle, made courteous advances towards her father, and through him towards herself.

      She could scarce have counted the number of times she climbed the great hill like a fortress at the lift of the little bay of Rozel, and from the Nez du Guet scanned the sea for a sail, and the sky for fair weather. When her eyes were not thus busy, they were searching the lee of the hill-side round for yellow lilies, and the valley below for the campion, the daffodil, and the thousand pretty ferns growing in profusion there. Every night she looked out to see that her fire was lit upon the Nez du Guet, and she never went to bed without taking one last look over the sea, in the restless inveterate hope which at once sustained her and devoured her.

      But the longest waiting must end. It came on the evening of the very day that the Seigneur of Rozel went to Angèle's father and bluntly told him he was ready to forego all Norman-Jersey prejudice against the French and the Huguenot religion, and take Angèle to wife without penny or estate.

      In reply to the Seigneur, Monsieur Aubert said that he was conscious of an honor, and referred monsieur to his daughter, who must answer for herself; but he must tell Monsieur of Rozel that monsieur's religion would, in his own sight, be a bar to the union. To that the Seigneur said that no religion that he had could be a bar to anything at all, and so long as the young lady could manage her household, drive a good bargain with the craftsmen and hucksters, and have the handsomest face and manners in the Channel Islands, he'd ask no more; and she might pray for him and his salvation without let or hinderance.

      The Seigneur found the young lady in a little retreat among the rocks, called by the natives La Chaire, or The Pulpit. Here she sat sewing upon some coarse linen for a poor fisherwoman's babe when the Seigneur came near. She heard the scrunch of his heels upon the gravel, the clank of his sword upon the rocks, and looked up with a flush, her needle poised; for none should know of her presence in this place save her father. When she saw who it was, she rose. After greeting and compliment, none too finely put, but more generous than fitted with Jersey parsimony, the Gentleman of Rozel came at once to the point.

      "My name is none too bad," said he—"Raoul Lempriêre, of the Lempriêres that have been here since Rollo ruled in Normandy. My estate is none worse than any in the whole islands; I have more horses and dogs than any gentleman of my acres; and I am more in favor at court at this time than de Carteret of St. Ouen's. I am the King's butler, and I am the first that royal favor granted to set up three dove-cotes, one by St. Aubin's,one by St.Helier's,and one at Rozel: and—and," he added, with a lumbering attempt at humor—"and, on my oath, I'll set up another dove-cote without my sovereign's favor, with your leave alone. By our Lady, I do love that color in yon cheek! Just such a color had my mother when she snatched from the head of my cousin of Carteret's milkmaid-wife the bonnet of a lady of quality and bade her get to her heifers! God's beauty! but 'tis a color of red primroses in thy cheeks and blue campions in thine eyes. Come, I warrant I can deepen that color"—he bowed low—"Madame of Rozel, if it be not too soon!"

      The girl listened to this cheerful and loquacious proposal and courtship all in one, ending with the premature bestowal of a title, in mingled anger, amusement, disdain, and apprehension. Her heart fluttered, then stood still, then flew up in her throat, then grew terribly hot and hurt her, so that she pressed her hand to her bosom as though that might ease it. By the time he had finished, drawn himself up, and struck his foot upon the ground in burly emphasis of his devoted statements, the girl had sufficiently recovered to answer him composedly, and with a little glint of demure humor in her eyes. She loved another man: she did not care so much as a spark for this happy, swearing, swashbuckling gentleman; yet she saw he had meant to do her honor. He had treated her as courteously as was in him to do; he chose her out from all the ladies of his acquaintance to make her an honest offer of his hand—he had said nothing about his heart; he would, should she marry him, throw her scraps of good-humor, bearish tenderness, drink to her health among his fellows, and respect and admire her—even exalt her almost to the rank of a man in his own eyes, when his fellows were not by; and he had the tolerance of the open-hearted and open-handed man. All these things were as much a compliment to her as though she were not a despised Huguenot, an exiled lady of no fortune. She looked at him a moment with an almost solemn intensity, so that he shifted his ground uneasily, but at once smiled encouragingly, to relieve her embarrassment at the unexpected honor done her. She had remained standing; now, as he made a step towards her, she sank down upon the seat, and waved him back courteously.

      "A moment, Monsieur of Rozel," she said. "Did my father send you to me?"

      He inclined his head, and smiled again.

      "Did you say to him what you have said to me?" she asked, not quite without a touch of malice.

      "I left out about the color in the cheek," he answered, with a smirk at what he took to be the quickness of his wit.

      "You kept your paint-pot for me," she replied, softly.

      "And the dove-cote too," he rejoined, bowing finely, and almost carried off his feet by his own brilliance.

      She became serious at once—so quickly that he was ill prepared for it, and could do little but stare and pluck at the tassel of his sword, embarrassed before this maiden, who changed as quickly as the currents change under the brow of the Couperon Cliff, behind which lay his manor-house of Rozel.

      "I have visited at your manor, Monsieur of Rozel. I have seen the state in which you live, your retainers, your men-at-arms, your farming-folk, and your sailor-men. I know how your King receives you; how your honor is as stable as your fief." He drew himself up again proudly. He could understand this speech. "Your horses and your hounds I have seen, your men-servants and your maid-servants, your fields of corn, your orchards, and your larder. I have some times broken the Commandment and coveted them and envied you."

      "Break the Commandment again, for the last time!" he cried, delighted and boisterous. "Let us not waste words, lady. Let's kiss and have it over!"

      Her eyes flashed. "I coveted them and envied you; but then, I'm only a vain girl at times, and vanity is more easy to me than humbleness."

      "Blood of man, but I cannot understand so various a creature!" he broke in, again puzzled.

      "There is a little chapel in the dell beside your manor, monsieur. If you will go there, and get upon your knees, and pray till the candles no more burn, and the popish images crumble in their places, you will yet never understand the heart of a woman."