et sail--whither? To Sark--there was no safety there. To
Guernsey--that was no better. To France--yes, that was it, to the war of
the Vendee, to join Detricand. No need to find the scrap of paper once
given him in the Vier Marchi. Wherever Detricand might be, his fame
was the highway to him. All France knew of the companion of de la
Rochejaquelein, the fearless Comte de Tournay. Ranulph made his
decision. Shamed and dishonoured in Jersey, in that holy war of the
Vendee he would find something to kill memory, to take him out of life
without disgrace. His father must go with him to France, and bide his
fate there also.

By the time his mind was thus made up, they had reached the lonely
headland dividing Portelet Bay from St. Brelade's. Dark things were said
of this spot, and the country folk of the island were wont to avoid it.
Beneath the cliffs in the sea was a rocky islet called Janvrin's Tomb.
One Janvrin, ill of a fell disease, and with his fellows forbidden
by the Royal Court to land, had taken refuge here, and died wholly
neglected and without burial. Afterwards his body lay exposed till the
ravens and vultures devoured it, and at last a great storm swept his
bones off into the sea. Strange lights were to be seen about this rock,
and though wise men guessed them mortal glimmerings, easily explained,
they sufficed to give the headland immunity from invasion.

To a cave at this point Dormy Jamais had brought the trembling Olivier
Delagarde, unrepenting and peevish, but with a craven fear of the Royal
Court and a furious populace quickening his footsteps. This hiding-place
was entered at low tide by a passage from a larger cave. It was like a
little vaulted chapel floored with sand and shingle. A crevice through
rock and earth to the world above let in the light and out the smoke.

Here Olivier Delagarde sat crouched over a tiny fire, with some bread
and a jar of water at his hand, gesticulating and talking to himself.
The long white hair and beard, with the benevolent forehead, gave
him the look of some latter-day St. Helier, grieving for the sins and
praying for the sorrows of mankind; but from the hateful mouth came
profanity fit only for the dreadful communion of a Witches' Sabbath.

Hearing the footsteps of Ranulph and Dormy, he crouched and shivered in
terror, but Ranulph, who knew too well his revolting cowardice, called
to him reassuringly. On their approach he stretched out his talon-like
fingers in a gest