work is cut out for you this
night. Are you good for it?"

"Yes."

"For her sake, and your grandfather's and your own, we must get him away at
once--now. Tomorrow will be too late. We don't want him swinging in chains
at Peter Port and all the old story raked up. I wish to God you had killed
him!--Mon Dieu! I forgot--you're you and he's your father. All the same, it
would have saved much trouble."

"What's to be done with him?"

"He may be dead--Mon Dieu! I keep forgetting. If he's alive you will take
him away in my boat--"

"Where to?"

"You want him to live?"

"I don't want to have killed him."

"Then you must get him to a doctor. You can't go to Guernsey, so that means
Jersey--And afterwards--I don't know--you'll have to see what is best. Wait
a moment,"--as we came to his house at La Vauroque. "You'll need money, and
take what you can find to eat. I've got a bottle or two of wine somewhere.
Before daylight you must be out of sight of Sercq."

"Where will you say I've gone?"

"Bidemme! I don't know ... You can trust old Krok?"

"Absolutely."

"Then, as soon as you have had the other patched up and settled somewhere
in safety, you'd better leave him in Krok's care and get back here. And the
sooner the better. The people in Guernsey will want your story from your
own lips in this matter."

"How soon can we get into the cave?"

"Nom-de-Dieu, yes!... Voyons donc!--About two o'clock with a wet shirt.
This wind will pile the water up, and the Race will be against us in the
Gouliot. The sooner we're off the better."

He handed me a sum of money, packed into a basket all the eatables he could
find and two bottles of wine, and lit a lantern, and we set off through the
gusty night, past the deserted houses, past Beaumanoir all dark and dead,
and so down into Havre Gosselin, where the waves were roaring white.

We drew in Uncle George's small boat by its ropes and got aboard his larger
one, and tied the smaller to drag astern.

The west wind was still blowing strong, but it had slackened somewhat with
the turn of the tide. But when we tried to breast the Gouliot passage with
that heavy boat, we found it impossible. Three times we nosed inch by inch
into the swirling black waters, which leaped and spat and bit at us with
fierce white fangs, and three times we were swept away down past Pierre au
Norman, drooping over our oars like broken men.

"Guyabble! This is no good!" gasped Uncle George, as we came whi