Night came down, but with a clear sky and a bright moon, the wind, however, not abating. The next three hours were spent in tacking, in beating towards the Jersey coast under seas which almost swamped them. They were standing off about a mile from the island, and could see lighted fires and groups of people upon the shore, when suddenly a gale came out from the southwest, the wind having again shifted. With an oath Buonespoir put the helm hard over, the Belle Suzanne came about quickly, but as the gale struck her the mast snapped like a pencil, she heeled over, and the two adventurers were engulfed in the waves.
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.
“‘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.