A cry of dismay went up from the watchers on the shore. They turned with a half-conscious sympathy towards Angèle, for her story was known by all, and in her face they read her mortal fear, though she made no cry, but only clasped her hands in agony. Her heart told her that yonder Michel de la Forêt was fighting for his life. For an instant only she stood, the terror of death in her eyes, then she turned to the excited fishermen near. “Men, oh men!” she cried, “will you not save them? Will no one come with me?” Some shook their heads sullenly, others appeared uncertain, but their wives and children clung to them, and none stirred. Looking round helplessly, Angèle saw the tall figure of the Seigneur of Rozel. He had been watching the scene for some time. Now he came quickly to her. “Is it the very man?” he asked her, jerking a finger towards the struggling figures in the sea. “Yes, oh yes,” she replied, nodding her head, piteously. “God tells my heart it is.” Her father drew near and interposed. [Illustration: “‘LET US KNEEL AND PRAY FOR TWO DYING MEN’”] “Let us kneel and pray for two dying men,” said he, and straightway knelt upon the sand. “By St. Martin, we’ve better medicine than that, apothecary!” said Lemprière of Rozel, loudly, and, turning round, summoned two serving-men. “Launch my strong boat,” he added. “We will pick these gentlemen from the brine or know the end of it all.” The men hurried gloomily to the long boat, ran her down to the shore and into the surf. “You are going--you are going to save him, dear seigneur?” asked the girl, tremulously. “To save him--that’s to be seen, mistress,” answered Lemprière, and advanced to the fishermen. By dint of hard words and as hearty encouragement and promises, he got a half-dozen strong sailors to man the boat. A moment after, they were all in. At a motion from the seigneur the boat was shot out into the surf, and a cheer from the shore gave heart to De la Forêt and Buonespoir, who were being driven upon the rocks. The Jerseymen rowed gallantly, and the seigneur, to give them heart, promised a shilling, a capon, and a gallon of beer to each if the rescue was made. Again and again the two men seemed to sink beneath the sea, and again and again they came to the surface and battled further, torn, battered, and bloody, but not beaten. Cries of, “We’re coming, gentles, we’re coming!” from the Seigneur of Rozel came ringing through the surf to the dulled ears of the drowning men, and they struggled on. There never was a more gallant rescue. Almost at their last gasp the two were rescued. “Mistress Aubert sends you welcome, sir, if you be Michel de la Forêt,” said Lemprière of Rozel, and offered the fugitive his horn of liquor as he lay blown and beaten in the boat. “I am he,” De la Forêt answered. “I owe you my life, monsieur,” he added.