“But if such men come into Jersey,” said the Bailiff, “who can say when or how they would quit, or what mischief they might not have wrought first.”

“One remedy for that,” said the soldier, grimly, “will be to storm the Castle forthwith, and let all be over before their friends can arrive.”

“For God’s sake, do not so!” cried Lempriere; “not now that they have surrendered.”

“I will be bail,” added Prynne, “that Carteret shall depart in peace, after giving up all that is in his charge.  Only let Captain Le Gallais go to him with a note of your Honour’s terms; and let us await, I pray you, his return.”

The General having at last consented, after just so much show of hesitation as to make it appear that the terms were yielded to the persuasion of his chief associates, Le Gallais returned with the drummer bearing the ultimatum of the English commander.  He found the interior of the Castle a scene of havoc; among the debris Carteret, like a modern Marius, maintained an air of resolution.

“It is not enough, Captain,” said he, after brief salutations had been exchanged, “that we have fired away all our ammunition, and eaten our last horse, while the blockade of your friend’s cruisers ever increases its rigour.  After all was done, we could die in the breach or in a general sortie.  But there is treachery abroad.  Not indeed among ourselves, but among those whom we desire to serve.”

“Your King, urged by his necessities, would sell you to the French?”

“It shall not be!” cried Carteret, with a fierce oath.  “Let me see your General’s terms.  Better an English Parliament than a Popish King.”  He called into the corridor, “Bring the best bottle of wine that is left in my cellar!”

Le Gallais handed him the note containing the heads of Haine’s terms.  “Perhaps, messire, you would consult with your council?” he asked.

“’A quoi bon?” said Carteret.  “You heard what the States carried by acclamation, in October, 1649?  All who are with me are of the same mind still.”  The wine was brought.  “What was said then in a triumph, I say now in the day of my downfall; Captain, fill your glass!  ’England for ever!  England above all!’”

* * * * *

The happy effect of this unexpected but welcome end of strife was soon made known throughout the island.  In the towns and villages tar-barrels blazed all through the winter-night, and the best cider flowed free in the farms.

At Maufant all was happiness.  The character of Marguerite de S. Martin had come out purified from the trials of the past two years, and the coquette-girl had grown into a woman, with but a lingering spice of mutinerie.  Rose, happy in the restoration of her husband to all public honour and private joy, was anxious that her sister should partake in her happiness.

“Alain Le Gallais is no Solomon; that I grant you,” so she concluded a conversation on family matters, which they held after the labours and excitement of the day; “but he can do his duty to his country; he has proved himself a serviceable friend.  Take him, tel quel, my little heart, thou canst not hope for a better.”