and the accursed island.

As Claude had stood on the poop he was plainly visible to the watchers
on the shore. They saw him leap into the sea, and heard the report of
the arquebuse. Their hearts stood still with fear: but they strained
their eyes eagerly across the dazzling surface of the water. Could he
have escaped? Yes, there on the summit of a wave, in the wake of the
rapidly retreating vessel, they saw him struggling. He was swimming. He
was making for the shore. God help him! Holy Mother help him! Blessed
Jesu, guide him and give him strength!

Old Bastienne's sobs had given place to fervent ejaculations of prayer;
and as she prayed she held before her the cross which King Francis had
bestowed upon De Roberval--the precious relic said to have been
fashioned from a fragment of the true cross of our Lord.

Bastienne was a pious soul, and, moreover, a quick-witted one. She had
heard the legends of the island, which had passed among the sailors, and
when she grasped the fact that they were to be put ashore, she made
some excuse to return below, crept into De Roberval's cabin, and stole
the precious relic from its case, concealing it carefully in her bodice.
No evil spirit could come near the place where this blessed piece of
wood might be; with this in their possession they were safe from all the
powers of darkness. She now held the cross aloft, believing that it
would give the swimmer power to reach the shore.

Weakened by his long imprisonment, his arms almost useless through lack
of employment, his strength sapped for want of proper nourishment, De
Pontbriand was manfully struggling with the salt, green waves. His head
was sinking lower and lower, a deadly numbness was seizing his limbs,
and his heart was almost failing him when his half-closed eyes caught
the gleam of the golden cross, as the setting sun fell upon it, held
high in the air by Bastienne. He made no further effort to swim. A good
hundred yards intervened between him and the shore. He must husband his
strength. The waves, he knew, would carry him ashore; and with just
enough motion in his limbs to keep him afloat, he allowed himself to be
borne along. But the northern water was chilling him to the marrow; and
although he could plainly see the women on the beach, and could hear
their prayers and cries of encouragement, he felt himself sinking, and
De Roberval's prophecy seemed about to be realised. When within forty
feet of the shore his chilled lim