ad been put to rest in St.
Martin's churchyard, and there his tombstone might be seen so late as
a hundred years ago. So things went softly by for seven years, and then
Madame de Montgomery journeyed to England, on invitation of the Queen
and to better fortune, and Angele and De la Foret were left to their
quiet life in Jersey. Sometimes this quiet was broken by bitter news
from France, of fresh persecution, and fresh struggle on the part of the
Huguenots. Thereafter for hours, sometimes for days, De la Foret would
be lost in sorrowful and restless meditation; and then he fretted
against his peaceful calling and his uneventful life. But the gracious
hand of his wife and the eyes of his child led him back to cheerful ways
again.

Suddenly one day came the fearful news from England that the plague had
broken out, and that thousands were dying. The flight from London
was like the flight of the children of Israel into the desert. The
dead-carts filled with decaying bodies rattled through the foul streets,
to drop their horrid burdens into the great pit at Aldgate; the bells
of London tolled all day and all night for the passing of human souls.
Hundreds of homes, isolated because of a victim of the plague found
therein, became ghastly breeding-places of the disease, and then
silent, disgusting graves. If a man shivered in fear, or staggered from
weakness, or for very hunger turned sick, he was marked as a victim, and
despite his protests was huddled away with the real victims to die the
awful death. From every church, where clergy were left to pray, went up
the cry for salvation from "plague, pestilence, and famine." Scores of
ships from Holland and from France lay in the Channel, not allowed to
touch the shores of England, nor permitted to return whence they came.
On the very day that news of this reached Jersey, came a messenger from
the Queen of England for Michel de la Foret to hasten to her Court
for that she had need of him, and it was a need which would bring him
honour. Even as the young officer who brought the letter handed it to
De la Foret in the little house on the hill-side above Rozel Bay, he was
taken suddenly ill, and fell at the Camisard's feet.

De la Foret straightway raised him in his arms. He called to his wife,
but, bidding her not come near, he bore the doomed man away to the
lonely Ecrehos Rocks lying within sight of their own doorway. Suffering
no one to accompany him, he carried the sick man to the