If the page was to be blamed for his disrespectful demeanour in abruptly leaving his helpless but indulgent Sovereign, his next step was still less worthy of commendation.  But he had the perfervid temper of his race, and he was not twenty-two.  Having attended his royal Master in a former visit to Jersey, he had made friends with some of the island gentry, and among others with the family of St. Martin (then resident at Rozel), in which he found a maiden of his own age with whom he soon imagined himself to have fallen in love.  Mdlle. de St. Martin was the sister of Michael Lempriere’s wife; with her she had since taken up her abode; and the first thing that Elliot had done after the return of the Court to Jersey had been to acquaint himself with this fact.  In the present excitement of his feelings he resolved to seek an interview with the girl whose charms he so well remembered.  A boat was moored at the foot of the castle rock; and the impetuous young cavalier sprang on board, loosened the painter, and with the aid of a pair of sculls that had been left in the boat rapidly propelled himself to the shore of the bay aided by the flowing tide.  While he is engaged in making his way to the northern extremity of the parish of S. Saviour, where the manor of the Lemprieres was situated, we will anticipate his progress and describe the scene.

The manor-house stood in its own walled grounds, admission being obtained through a round Norman archway, over which was carved the scutcheon of the family—­gules, three eagles displayed, proper—­with the date 1580.  This opened on a long narrow avenue of tall elms, at the end of which two enormous juniper trees made a second arch, of perennial verdure.  Such was the entrance, passing under which the visitor found himself in a flower-garden in which summer roses still bloomed, and the bees were still busy.  On one side stood the house, a two-storeyed building of stone, pierced with many small latticed windows, and thatched with straw.  The main-door bore another scutcheon, of newer stone than the rest of the house, quartering the arms of St. Martin (azure, nine billets or) over a device of two hearts tied together with a cipher formed by the letters L. and M. This doorway opened into a small hall, in front of which was a stair-case of polished oak.  On either side of the hall were low-ceiled parlours wainscotted with dark wood, beams of which supported the ceilings.  The floor of the room to the right was paved with stone and carpeted with fresh rushes, a yawning chimney of carved granite, on which a fire of drift-wood was burning with parti-coloured flames, occupied one end of the room, which was occupied by the ladies of the house.  At the back were the kitchen and offices, looking out upon a paved court-yard containing a well, and backed by farm buildings.

Madame Lempriere (or “de Maufant”) and her sister sate by the fire knitting in the autumn twilight.  Both were lovely; beautiful women in the typical style of island beauty, which not even the primness of their somewhat old-fashioned costume could wholly disguise.  For their eyes were dark and sparkling, and their cheeks glowed with the rosy bloom of a healthy and innocent womanhood.  They were talking in low tones of the troubles of the time and of their absent friends; their language was in the island French.