‘Father!’ said Madeleine, in a low solemn voice, ’what are you about to do?’

‘Fool! what want you here?’ replied Pierre, amazed and angry at the same time.

’I come to prevent murder!  Father, think what you are about to do?  Here are fifty fellow-creatures coming in search of life and shelter, and you will give them death!’

‘This is no place for you, Madeleine!’ cried the other in a husky voice.  ‘Go home, girl, and let me never see you out again at night!’

‘Away, Madeleine!—­away!’ said the crowd angrily.

’I will not away!—­I will stay here to see you do your foul deed—­to fix it on my mind, that day and night I may shout in your ears that ye are murderers!  Father,’ added she solemnly, ’imbrue your hands in the blood of one man to-night, and I am no child of yours.  I will beg, I will crawl through the world on my hands, but never more will I eat the bread of crime!’

‘Take her away, Pierre,’ said one more ruffianly than the rest, ’or you may repent it.’

‘Go, girl, go,’ whispered Pierre faintly, while the wreckers moved in a body to the shore, where the boats were about to strike.

‘Never!’ shrieked Madeleine, clinging franticly to her father’s clothes.

‘Let me go!’ cried Pierre, dragging her with him.

At that moment a terrible event interrupted their struggle.  A man stood upright in the foremost boat, guiding their progress.  Just as they were within two yards of the shore, this man saw the wreckers coming down in a body.

‘As I expected!’ he cried in a loud ringing voice.  ’Fire!—­shoot every one of the villains!’

A volley of small arms, within pistol-shot of the body of wreckers, was the unexpected greeting which these men received.  A loud and terrible yell shewed the way in which the discharge had told.  One-half of the pillagers fell on the stony beach, the other half fled.

Among those who remained was Madeleine.  She was kneeling by her father, who had received several shots, and lay on the ground in agony.

‘You were right, girl,’ he groaned; ’I see it now, when it is too late, and I feel I have deserved it.’

‘Better,’ sobbed Madeleine, ’better be here, than have imbrued your hands in the blood of one of those miraculously-delivered sailors.’

‘Say you so, woman?’ said a loud voice near her.  ’Then you are not one of the gang.  I knew them of old, as well as their infernal cut-throat gorge, and pulled straight for it, but quite prepared to give them a warm reception.’

Madeleine looked up.  She saw around her more than fifty men, three women, and some children.  She shuddered again at the thought of the awful massacre which would have occurred but for the sailor’s prudence.

‘My good girl,’ continued the man, ’we are cold, wet, and hungry; can you shew us to some shelter?’

’Yes; but do you bid some of your men carry my father, who, I fear, is dying.’