HOW THE OTHERS CAME TO MAKE AN END
He woke next morning with a start. The sun was high, by the shadow of his doorway; and by that same token the tide would be at half-ebb, if not lower, and the gates of his fortress at his enemy's mercy.
He picked up his gun, listened anxiously for sound of him, and then crept cautiously out, with a quick glance along each slope.
Nothing!—nothing but the cheerful sun and the cloudless sky, and the empty blue plain of the sea, and the birds circling and diving and squabbling as usual—and Nance's little parcel lying where she had dropped it. He had had other things to think about last night.
The composure of the birds reassured him somewhat. Still, they might have landed on the other side of the rock and be lying in wait for him.
He picked up Nance's parcel with a feeling of reverence. It might have cost her her life, in spite of her bladders. Then he climbed cautiously to the ridge and peered over.
Sark lay basking in the sunshine, peaceful and placid, as if no son of hers had ever had an ill thought of his neighbour, much less sought his blood.
Not a boat was in sight, and the birds on the north slope seemed as undisturbed as their fellows on the south.
The invasion in force needed time perhaps to prepare and would be all the more conclusive when completed.
Meanwhile, he would eat and watch at the same time, for he felt as empty as a drum, and an empty man is not in the pinkest of condition for a fight.