They watched the boats circling the rock, round and round. They heard the firing, and Nance flung herself on the ground in an agony of weeping, sure that the end had come. For they could only be firing at Gard, and what could one man do against so many?
"They have killed him," she moaned.
And the Vicar could only tighten his pale lips, and smooth her hair with his thin white hand, as she writhed on the ground at his side. For he could but think she was right. They were good shots, the Sark men, and it needs but one bullet to kill a man.
If Nance had looked a moment longer she might have seen Gard slip down from the ridge to the wall, but the bombardment of the shelter, which gave him his chance, made an end of her hopes, and her face was hidden in the turf.
The Vicar's sight was not keen enough to see clearly what was passing. But when the men landed on the rock, and overran it in their search, he could not fail to see their figures on the ridge against the sky, and an exclamation of surprise roused Nance.
"What is it?" she jerked.
"They have landed over there. They seem to be searching the rock."
"Then—" and she sat up suddenly and gazed intently across at L'Etat, and then sprang to her feet, a new creature. "For, see you, Mr Cachemaille," she cried, "if they had killed him they would not be searching for him, nenni-gia!"
"That is true, child," said the Vicar hopefully, and then, less hopefully, "but where shall a man hide on L'Etat?"
"Ah now! I remember. Just as I was leaving him last night, he told me—"