CHAPTER XV.

"AND THE KING ENJOYS HIS OWN
AGAIN."

T was in the year 1660, and on a
Sunday morning in the brightness of
early summer, the first service after
the Restoration was held in S. Mar-

tin's Church. It had not recovered from the terrible devastation of those days when the sacred edifices had been turned into guard-houses and stables, for the soft breeze stole in through the empty mullions of the old windows, and such tombs as remained were cruelly broken and defaced. But the altar was decked with

a fair linen cloth, and upon it glittered the plate in untarnished beauty, taken triumphantly from its hiding-place by those who had laid it there. Master Ahier was in the reading-desk, his voice trem. bling with emotion, as he read the beautiful Liturgy once again, and looked down on the faces of his faithful flock, who filled the church, joining with heartfelt voices in prayer and praise. When the service was over, they poured forth, and slowly went their different ways through the lanes, except a few, who lingered in the churchyard. Among these were Madame de Rozel, whose hair had grown white in those nine years, her daughter, and a tall soldierlike-looking man, with a frank, open bearing and handsome face, who followed the ladies to a distant corner, where, beneath the green branches of an old thorntree, there was a small white marble cross, with a wreath of spotless flowers at its foot. They stood for some minutes gazing at it, and when they turned to walk to the gate, where their horses awaited them, the Seigneur de Rozel looked into his sister's face, which, pale and sad as it was, bore an expression of gentle resignation that was almost happiness.

"Would he had lived to see this day!" he said, in a low tone.

"Our Father knew best. He spared him much trouble and danger," was her reply. "See, Bernard, there are Clement Fauvel and his wife and children. I must speak with them."

She moved aside, to say a few kindly words to the group who were watching for her, and then pursued her way to the gate, leaning on her brother's arm.

Clement and Lucette left the churchyard by another way, their four merry children rushing on before.

Nicholas Jaquet had died during those nine years, and his daughter and son-inlaw had come to live with the mother at Maison Jaquet, Clement giving up his carpenter's work, and his cottage at Gouray, to his cousin, Robert Le Breton, and devoting himself to the farm, which throve and prospered well in his hands, as soon as it had recovered from the effects of the heavy composition exacted by General Haines for all states. Helier Noel's father and brother had been killed in the siege of Elizabeth Castle, before Sir George de Carteret and his garrison had marched out, on most favourable and honourable terms, after a defence of many weeks; and as the young man did not wish to give up his profession, he sold La Tourelle, and left the island. He had never been seen or heard of since, and many people thought that he was dead, but Clement, knowing the great value of Jersey sailors, men who had been accustomed from their infancy to the sea, did not join in the general belief, and still hoped that increasing occupation had prevented his re

turn, and that they would see him again some day. But who would have expected that as they passed up their avenue, the mother would come running out to meet them with joyful cries, followed by a stout, bronzed, handsome fellow in a sailor's dress, who, changed by weather and time, was nevertheless Helier's own self? There were plenty of questions to ask, and stories to tell, as they sat on the stone bench outside the door, but he refused to talk of any of his own adventures till he had heard all the Jersey news of those nine years.

"And Mademoiselle? how fares she?" was almost his first question.

"She is an angel," answered Lucette, emphatically.

"So sweet, and good, and gentle," added her mother; "they who are in trouble have but to go to her to be helped and com. forted. She will never marry now; Madame told me as much herself; but she moves on earth as one who belongs to heaven. They have often been sad enough, I fancy, alone in that old house, but the Seigneur is with them now, and he is a right noble gentleman, and comforts his sister wondrously. Truly, Helier, she brings back to my mind our good granddame. They are much of the same sort, I tell ye; too good for this sinful world, and ready at any moment for a better."

She paused, and wiped her eyes, then began to talk of her husband, and the good end he had made. In the midst of these sad remembrances, the eldest boy ran into the house, and came out carrying a large book, which he rested on Helier's knee.

"Thou naughty lad!" cried his blooming mother, "have I not told thee never to lay a finger on the book ?"

"But what is it?" asked Helier, slowly undoing the great silver clasps. "A Bible! and such a goodly one! Where got you this, cousin Lucette?"

"Ah! that you should ask Clement; he earned it by his own good deeds, as he did my gold cross. Madame de Rozel sent for him to the manor, not long after you left us, and gave him this, from herself and Mademoiselle, as a token of thanks, she said. We were indeed joyful when he carried it home, and read to us that very evening from its grand large pages. Thou canst read it, Helier?"

"Why, ay," he answered, turning over the leaves with a careful hand, "I could have read it once, even as clerkly as Clement himself, but methinks all my learning has dropped to the bottom of the sea, in the rough life I've been leading."

"Tell us something of yourself, lad," said Clement. "You must have seen some service in all these years. Have you been on the right side all through ?"

"I scarce know what you would call the right side," answered the sailor, returning the great Bible to the boy, who stood waiting for it, and leaning back against the wall. "'Tis clear enough now, of course, -long live King Charles! but during this past time 'twas sometimes hard to make out what was right and what was wrong. You know I left Jersey in Captain Hérault's ship, with a share in her and her cargo; well, that didn't last long, for he met with an accident, poor fellow! and died, so I was in a manner cast adrift, and had much ado to get my own property, such as it was, and come off clear, for it had been but a losing concern. Then I entered the Dutch navy, and fought in Admiral de Ruyter's own ship against the English."

"The Roundheads," said Clement. "Well, that was right enough."

"Ay; all went well with me for a time, till we were defeated. Then there were hardships enough to bear. I cared not much for that, but still I had been with the Dutch three years, and thought I could do better for myself. So I left them, and went in a fishing-boat to France. We were wrecked in a storm on the Picardy coast, and had sore work to get ashore. I begged my way-'twas little better-first to Paris, and then to Brest, and there I had the good fortune to get aboard a ship bound for Lisbon, with an honest captain, who was a good friend to me, and with him I stayed three years more, and sailed to the Indies, and many a wondrous place; one day fighting with pirates, the next putting into some landlocked harbour, and spreading ourselves

over the islands as we listed. I shall have many tales to tell you of that time; those were merry days. But at last, as we were sailing in the open sea, a strong vessel swooped down upon us, and boarded us, almost ere we could think of defence. I thought some of the faces had a turn I knew, and what should she be but a Jerseyman, privateering for King Charles; her captain one Peter Nicolle, a fellow my father knew well in former days. When he found I was a countryman, he welcomed me right heartily, and favoured the ship's crew for my sakė, sending them aboard the first French vessel that hailed us, and keeping me in his own hands. This was some two or three years back, and with him I have been since that time. It was not many days ago, as we were cruising in the channel, that we heard the joyful news of King Charles's return; so we made all sail, and came to anchor in S. Aubin's Bay last night; and here I am."

"And right welcome too," said Clement, laying his hand on his shoulder.

"I thought you would rejoice to see me back, and I had no scruple in coming here, for there is no other place that I can call. home. Did you know that Sir Philip de Carteret returns next week to be our Bailiff?"

"No! When did you hear it? Is it true?"

"I heard it in the town this morning, and our captain means to set sail to-morrow for S. Malo, that he may offer Sir Philip and his people a passage in the 'Reine de la Manche. Lady de Carteret is with her husband in Normandy, they say."

"We shall be right glad to have them back," said Clement. "These have been sore times, and, as the Rector says, we have found the little finger of these tyrants heavier than the loins of our rightful kings. But their day is over now."

"For ever, I trust. What befel that double-dyed rascal, Joseph Le Gros? Hashe been flourishing all these years?"

"Nay, he has met with the punishment of all his treason. He was employed to collect fines, and took a large share of them to himself: which being discovered,.. he was tried for the robbery, and executed on the Mont de la Ville some seven years back."

So they went on talking of the fate of every one in whom Helier was interested, till the neighbours, hearing of his arrival, came flocking in to welcome him home. They were invited to spend the evening at Maison Jaquet, and listen to the stories he had to tell of his adventures by land and sea. So the company gathered, and sat in the quadrangle, on that lovely summer evening, the men in their homespun clothes and clattering sabots, and the "women in their tall white Norman caps, silently drinking in all that Helier had to say, while Lucette's youngest baby lay on her lap, and played with the gold cross which she always wore on Sundays and holydays hanging round her neck.

When the narrator paused, almost out of breath with his long story, it was growing dusk, and the moon, a silver crescent, was rising above the trees. Clement Fauvel rose, and taking off his cap said to the assembled people,

"Let us thank the Lord that He hath brought our friend back, and restored our Tightful King to his throne."

Then a chorus of deep musical voices breathed forth in measured chant the 147th Psalm, which rose in melody to the clear sky above, and died away softly down the avenue.

"O praise the Lord, for it is a good thing to sing praises unto our God: yea, a joyful and pleasant thing it is to be thankful."

CHAPTER XVI.

THE AVENUE.

"Ah! c'est la maison!" exclaimed an old Jerseywoman, as she looked over my shoulder at the sketch I was making of her dwelling-place, one of the prettiest farm-houses in her native island.

I hastened to improve the occasion, and paid ber compliments on its venerable beauty, to which she replied in intelligible French, being an educated woman.

It certainly was a picture of an old

Jersey farm-house. One side of its ancient quadrangle had been pulled down, but the other three remained entire, being built of stone, and festooned, both roof and wal's, with graceful creepers. Its front approach was through a long straight avenue, formed chiefly of pine-trees, which interlaced their boughs above a well-kept walk of red gravel, that looked as if the sun was always shining upon it. Near the entrance were several camellia-trees covered with blossom, and two or three clumps of fine rhododendrons, while from a shady corner peeped out the roof of a lovely old well, all overgrown with ferns and moss.

In the course of conversation, the old woman told me that her ancestors had lived for centuries in this house, and that they had seen many changes and chances in all that time.

"My grandfather has told me many a story," said she, "that he heard from his great-grandfather, who was alive when he was a boy. Why he, -the great-grandfather, was born in those wicked days, when Mont Orgueil was taken by the Roundheads, and when they made such havoc of the churches."

"In Sir George de Carteret's days?" said I.

"Yes! he was a noble gentleman, and held out against them till he could do no more. Ah! terrible days! thousands of soldiers ran loose about the island; some were quartered in this very house. They broke the church windows, christened horses in the fonts, hewed down the monuments, and disturbed the very dead in their graves. Ah! my grandfather had many stories to tell of that time.".

"His great-grandfather lived in this house, then?" said I.

"Yes, madame. They call it 'Maison Jaquet, because before those days the family were Jaquet; now we are Fauvel."

When I had finished my sketch, this excellent dame invited me into the house, and hospitably offered me a cup of tea. As I sat in the large, low, whitewashed room, looking round with some curiosity on the primitive furniture, she tetched from a shelf a venerable black-letter Bible,

in French, bound in old worm-eaten leather, and adorned with massive silver clasps.

"This book," she said, "was given to my ancestor, Clement Fauvel, by the old Madame de Rozel, who lived in those days. He did her and her family much service, wherefore she gave him this, as a testimony of gratitude."

"You must value it very much. How well you have kept it," said J, slowly turning over the yellow leaves.

"It is an heirloom in the family," she answered. "Clement Fauvel was the first of the name who lived in this house, and a good man he was, too. He married Lucette, the only child of the old Jaquets, and we, his descendants, have lived here ever since. With me, the old house will go out of the name, alas!"

"You are not married, then?" said I. "No, madame. I had but one sister, who married Helier Quenault, and cied some years ago. Her son Philip is my heir; he lives with me, and manages the farm." "But this Bible," said I; "do you know any particulars of the history of that time? Could you tell me any stories of it?"

The old woman smiled, took her seat by the table, poured out two more cups of tea, and then wandered off into a wonderful labyrinth of legends and stories, to which I listened with great interest till it grew dusk, and I was obliged to think of going home. She would not let me go without a promise to visit her again, which was most willingly made, and kept; and from

that day till I left Jersey, much of my spare time was spent with old Catherine Fauvel, listening to her stories of the olden time, and then setting off to visit such of their scenes as were within reach, and to wonder over the changes that had taken place in two hundred years. On the last day of my stay in that lovely island, I went to wish her good-bye.

"Well," she said, taking hold of my hand, "you have been very good to listen to an old woman's tales, and yet it was but time thrown away, for they can never be of any use to you."

"On the contrary," I answered, "I am thinking of writing a book about your ancestors, when I return to England, and of having it printed, that all the world may read what has given me so much pleasure to hear."

She smiled, half incredulously.

"Well, if you do that, our name will be remembered: but, above all, pray do not forget to speak of that poor young Englishman."

"No, indeed, I will forget nothing," I replied.

As I looked back from the end of the avenue, and saw old Catherine standing by her camellia bush, I resolved that she, as well as her ancestors, must be mentioned in my projected book.

I have not been in Jersey since, and do not know whether she is alive or dead. At any rate, I shall never forget her, and her legends. And this was how I came to write the history of Clement Fauvel.