In the midst of the storm, tossed about by the waves, and vainly striving to cling to the rocks, the soldier had only seen Gabriel very imperfectly, at the moment when, having snatched the sisters from certain death, the young priest had fruitlessly endeavored to come to his aid.  And when, after the shipwreck, Dagobert had found the orphans in safety beneath the roof of the Manor House, he fell, as we have already stated, into a swoon, caused by fatigue, emotion, and the effects of his wound—­so that he had again no opportunity of observing the features of the missionary.

The veteran began to frown from beneath his black bandage and thick, gray brows, at beholding a stranger so familiar with Rose and Blanche; but the sisters ran to throw themselves into his arms, and to cover him with filial caresses.  His anger was soon dissipated by these marks of affection, though he continued, from time to time, to cast a suspicious glance at the missionary, who had risen from his seat, but whose countenance he could not well distinguish.

“How is your wound?” asked Rose, anxiously.  “They told us it was not dangerous.”

“Does it still pain?” added Blanche.

“No, children; the surgeon of the village would bandage me up in this manner.  If my head was carbonadoes with sabre cuts, I could not have more wrappings.  They will take me for an old milksop; it is only a blank wound, and I have a good mind to—­” And therewith the soldier raised one of his hands to the bandage.

“Will you leave that alone?” cried Rose catching his arm.  “How can you be so unreasonable—­at your age?”

“Well, well! don’t scold!  I will do what you wish, and keep it on.”  Then, drawing the sisters to one end of the room, he said to them in a low voice, whilst he looked at the young priest from the corner of his eye:  “Who is that gentleman who was holding your hands when I came in?  He has very much the look of a curate.  You see, my children, you must be on your guard; because—­”

“He?” cried both sisters at once, turning towards Gabriel.  “Without him, we should not now be here to kiss you.”

“What’s that?” cried the soldier, suddenly drawing up his tall figure, and gazing full at the missionary.

“It is our guardian angel,” resumed Blanche.

“Without him,” said Rose, “we must have perished this morning in the shipwreck.”

“Ah! it is he, who—­” Dagobert could say no more.  With swelling heart, and tears in his eyes, he ran to the missionary, offered him both his hands, and exclaimed in a tone of gratitude impossible to describe:  “Sir, I owe you the lives of these two children.  I feel what a debt that service lays upon me.  I will not say more—­because it includes everything!”

Then, as if struck with a sudden recollection, he cried:  “Stop! when I was trying to cling to a rock, so as not to be carried away by the waves, was it not you that held out your hand to me?  Yes—­that light hair—­that youthful countenance—­yes—­it was certainly you—­now I am sure of it!”