descended on them; no longer only patient, she was fain for action.
Tears rained from her eyes. Her heart burst itself in entreaty and
confession.

"Thy light shall be my light, and Thy will my will, O Lord," she cried at
the last. "Teach me Thy way, create a right spirit within me. Give me
boldness without rashness, and hope without vain thinking. Bear up my
arms, O Lord, and save me when falling. A poor Samaritan am I. Give me
the water that shall be a well of water springing up to everlasting life,
that I thirst not in the fever of doing. Give me the manna of life to
eat that I faint not nor cry out in plague, pestilence, or famine. Give
me Thy grace, O God, as Thou hast given it to Michel de la Foret, and
guide my feet as I follow him in life and in death, for Christ's sake.
Amen."

As she rose from her knees she heard the evening gun from the castle of
Mont Orgueil, whither Michel was being borne by the Queen's men. The
vesper bell had stopped. Through the wood came the salt savour of the
sea on the cool sunset air. She threw back her head and walked swiftly
towards it, her heart beating hard, her eyes shining with the light of
purpose, her step elastic with the vigour of youth and health. A
quarter-hour's walking brought her to the cliff of the Couperon.

As she gazed out over the sea, however, a voice in the bay below caught
her ear. She looked down. On the deck of the little craft which had
entered the harbour when the vesper bell was ringing stood a man who
waved a hand up towards her, then gave a peculiar call. She stared with
amazement: it was Buonespoir the pirate. What did this mean? Had God
sent this man to her, by his presence to suggest what she should do in
this crisis in her life? For even as she ran down the shore towards him,