If he had said that a voice had called him hither as one called her to England, it had not sounded strange; for she was not thinking that this was one who superstitiously swore by the little finger of St. Peter, but only that he was the man who had brought her Michel from France, who had been a faithful friend to her and to her father. “What brings me hither?” Buonespoir laughed low in his chest. “Even to fetch to the Seigneur of Rozel, a friend of mine by every token of remembrance, a dozen flagons of golden muscadella.” To Angèle no suggestion flashed that these flagons of muscadella had come from the cellar of the Seigneur of St. Ouen’s, where they had been reserved for a certain royal visit. Nothing was in her mind save the one thought--that she must follow Michel. “Will you take me to England?” she asked, putting a hand quickly on his arm. He had been laughing hard, picturing to himself what Lemprière of Rozel would say when he sniffed the flagon of St. Ouen’s best wine, and for an instant he did not take in the question; but he stared at her now as the laugh slowly subsided through notes of abstraction, and her words worked their way into his brain. “Will you take me, Buonespoir?” she urged. “Take you--?” he questioned. “To England.” “And myself to Tyburn?” “Nay, to the Queen.” “’Tis the same thing. Head of Abel! Elizabeth hath heard of me. The Seigneur of St. Ouen’s and others have writ me down a pirate to her. She would not pardon the muscadella,” he added, with another laugh, looking down where the flagons lay. “She must pardon more than that,” exclaimed Angèle, and hastily she told him of what had happened to Michel de la Forêt and why she would go. “Thy father, then?” he asked, scowling hard in his attempt to think it out. “He must go with me--I will seek him now.” “It must be at once, i’ faith, for how long, think you, can I stay here unharmed? I was sighted off St. Ouen’s shore a few hours agone.” “To-night?” she asked. “By twelve, when we shall have the moon and the tide,” he answered. “But hold!” he hastily added. “What, think you, could you and your father do alone in England? And with me it were worse than alone. These be dark times, when strangers have spies at their heels and all travellers be suspect.” “We will trust in God,” she answered. “Have you money?” he questioned--“for London, not for me,” he added, hastily. “Enough,” she replied. “The trust with the money is a weighty matter,” he added; “but they suffice not. You must have ’fending.” “There is no one,” she answered, sadly, “no one save--” “Save the Seigneur of Rozel!” Buonespoir finished the sentence. “Good. You to your father and I to the seigneur. If you can fetch your father by your pot-of-honey tongue, I’ll fetch the great Lemprière with muscadella. Is’t a bargain?” “In which I gain all,” she answered, and again touched his arm with her finger-tips.