The invaders left Delagarde lying where he fell. What followed this
oblique retribution could satisfy no ordinary logic, nor did it meet the
demands of poetic justice. For, as a company of soldiers from Grouville,
alarmed out of sleep by a distracted youth, hurried towards St. Heliers,
they found Delagarde lying by the roadside, and they misunderstood what
had happened. Stooping over him an officer said pityingly:

"See--he got this wound fighting the French!" With the soldiers was the
youth who had warned them. He ran forward with a cry, and knelt beside
the wounded man. He had no tears, he had no sorrow. He was only sick
and dumb, and he trembled with misery as he lifted up his father's head.
The eyes of Olivier Delagarde opened.

"Ranulph--they've killed--me," gasped the stricken man feebly, and his
head fell back.

An officer touched the youth's arm. "He is gone," said he. "Don't fret,
lad, he died fighting for his country."

The lad made no reply, and the soldiers hurried on towards the town.

He died fighting for his country! So that was to be the legend, Ranulph
meditated: his father was to have a glorious memory, while he himself
knew how vile the man was. One thing however: he was glad that Olivier
Delagarde was dead. How strangely had things happened! He had come to
stay a traitor in his crime, and here he found a martyr. But was not he
himself likewise a traitor? Ought not he to have alarmed the town first
before he tried to find his father? Had Dormy Jamais warned the
Governor? Clearly not, or the town bells would be ringing and the
islanders giving battle. What would the world think of him!