Then he took his range steadily, quietly. There was a brisk wind blowing
from the south--he must allow for that; but the wind was stopped somewhat
in its course by the Perch Rock--he must allow for that.

All was ready. Suddenly a girl came running round the corner of the
building.

It was Carterette. She was making for the right-hand gun. Ranulph
started, the hand that held the match trembled.

"Fire, you fool, or you'll kill the girl!" cried Richambeau.

Ranulph laid a hand on himself as it were. Every nerve in his body
tingled, his legs trembled, but his eye was steady. He took the sight
once more coolly, then blew on the match. Now the girl was within thirty
feet of the gun.

He quickly blew on the match again, and fired. When the smoke cleared
away he saw that the gun was dismounted, and not ten feet from it stood
Carterette looking at it dazedly.

He heard a laugh behind him. There was Richambeau walking away,
telescope under arm, even as the other 12-pounder on shore replied
impudently to the gun he had fired.

"A good aim," he heard Richambeau say, jerking a finger backward towards
him.

Was it then? said Ranulph to himself; was it indeed? Ba su, it was the
last shot he would ever fire against aught English, here or elsewhere.