"The young Torode came with a party of his men and searched every corner of the place. And in reply to his questionings all I said was that you were gone. Then George and your grandfather came up and would have turned them out, and the young man and George fell out—"
"He drew a pistol on me and gave me this, and I knocked him down," said Uncle George. "And then the men dragged him away."
"It's well it was no worse," said my mother. "I do not like that young man;" and little she knew how small cause indeed she had to like him.
We went on along the cliffs to Beaumanoir to show ourselves to Aunt Jeanne, and ever and again the sound of the guns came to us on the wind, and more than once Uncle George stopped with his face turned that way, as though his thoughts were more there than here.
"Ah v'là! So here you are, my little ones. I hope you had a pleasant time in Jersey," cried Aunt Jeanne, as soon as she caught sight of us. "I have been risking my salvation by swearing through thick and thin that you went to Jersey on Tuesday. But that young Torode only scoffed at me. Bad manners to say the least of it, after eating one's gâche and drinking one's cider, and nearly dancing holes in one's floor. I believe you're hungry, you two;" and she made for her cupboards.
"No truly, auntie," said Carette, "we have done nothing but eat and sleep since ever Uncle George shut us up in his hole. But, mon Dieu, you cannot imagine how dark and still it is in there. Each time we slept was a night, and each time we woke was a day, and we were there about three weeks."
"Ma fé, you look it," nodded Aunt Jeanne.
"And the father and Martin?" asked Carette.
"So so. Give them time. They have kept asking for you."
Uncle George was standing looking over at Herm again, and something of what was in his face was in Aunt Jeanne's, as she said to him—