As soon as Ralph saw all was quiet, he made up his mind he would return to the boat to put on the rest of his armour and get some food.

The moon was shining brightly, and away in the north-east the faint pale light above the horizon told of the coming dawn. It was an exquisite summer night. The sea mist had gone inland to refresh the orchards and meadows of the rich valleys and uplands of fair Normandy and rocky Brittany. The long, quaint shadows of the grim boulders, and weird piles of granite, stretched across the white sand of the vast bay. Their rugged clefts and fantastic fissures, in black distinctness against the gleaming light which bathed their southern slope, lifting their hoary, weather-worn summits to the full brilliancy of the moon, and in turn throwing their twice borrowed light across the beach and prostrate forms of the sleeping men-at-arms. Away on the far edge of the bay the leaping flash of tumbling water told of the sea, whose tranquil depths seemed as far removed from that sleeping shore, and those towering piles of crumbling rock, as the fullness of summer from the barrenness of winter.

The only living thing seemed to be the solitary man-at-arms as he rested on his long spear, his shadow stretching behind him in grotesque distortion--the man a pair of compasses, the lance a scaffolding pole.

The distant crow of a cock, and the faint moan of the ceaseless sea grinding on the rocks far out in the bay were the only sounds that broke on the perfect stillness of that exquisite harmony in silver and grey.

But Ralph gave scarce a thought to the poetry of the scene, he quietly clambered down on the shady side of the rocks, and stealthily creeping over the sand under shelter of the long shadows of the pile he had left, he was able to reach the farther side of the mass of rocks which had proved fatal to their escape, without the sentry seeing him.

Pausing a moment to look round before he climbed up the steep and slippery boulders, on the apex of which the old boat was perched, some thirty feet or more above his head like a miniature Noah's ark on the sunken top of another Ararat. Ralph's attention was attracted by a white patch some ten or twelve yards away to his right. He looked at it attentively, and with a growing sense of dread. Drawn irresistibly towards it by a horrible fascination, Ralph found it was the face of Bowerman, ghastly and contorted, his body being wedged in between two huge rocks, where the sweep of the tide had washed it. Hastily leaving the place, the boy climbed up to the boat, and managed to get out the things he wanted without being observed. Armed with his sword and dagger, and protected by his helmet and body armour, he descended the rocks, edging carefully away from the livid face, which gazed out from the dark mass, and reached his former post of observation without incident.

The day had now begun to break, and objects were becoming visible. There was no stir as yet among the detachment on the beach, who were still sound asleep, their horses tethered and browsing on the scanty growth of herbage which cropped up here and there amid the sand and dry seaweed.

The pile of rocks where Ralph was ensconced was higher than any others near, and from its summit the boy obtained a fine view over the country round.

The sun had not yet risen, and a mist still hung over the land.

Not far off, however, Ralph saw a horse feeding, fully equipped, but without a rider. "It must be one broken away from the rest," he thought, and the idea came into his head that he would catch the animal and make use of him.

He was just going to climb down to carry out his plan when his attention was arrested by some moving object away to his right. He had now turned round, and was looking in the direction of St Malo. He could not mistake the objects. They were spear points, and the little pennants were fluttering in the light morning air.

"'Tis lucky I saw them before I moved. They must be the lances of another body of French men-at-arms."

So thinking, Ralph lay still, not overmuch liking his position, for he was now almost certain to be descried as this new troop came near.

The sun was just rising, and its first rays were glinting on each rock and tree and distant church spire, which stood out above the mist. Ralph watched the approaching spear points. He could not yet see the riders.

He turned round to look at the little encampment There was already a stir. Men were up and grooming their horses; others were stretching themselves; all was noise and life. Ralph could see Magdalen sitting disconsolately by her father, and glancing round from time to time to examine their captors.

The breeze blew straight from the camp to the advancing body of men, and the bustle and stir was carried down the wind.

"They have halted," thought Ralph, seeing the spears did not advance any nearer. "But here comes some one. How warily he comes. Why! No! Yes! Can it be? They must have put on the surcoats of some of our poor fellows. They've got red crosses!"

And Ralph, with renewed interest, watched the movements of the man-at-arms or mounted archer, who was riding out of the mist with great caution, putting every bush and rock between himself and the place whence the sounds came.

"Why, there's another away to the left, and here's another. They are masters in their work, anyway," muttered Ralph, as he watched the picturesque figures, fully accoutred, and well mounted, pushing their small horses over the coarse grass. The boy was so intent on the motions of these men that he did not give sufficient care to cover himself, and he was suddenly startled by the nearest horseman reining in his horse and dropping the reins, while he took deliberate aim at him with the crossbow he held ready at his hip, calling at the same time,--

"Come down, thou French jackanapes thou, or I'll--"

Ralph needed no second bidding.

"They are English; they are English," he almost screamed with delight, as he scrambled over the boulders, and at length stood by the side of the archer.

It took but few words to tell the scout who he was, and what was going on, and in another minute Ralph found himself amid a group of splendid knights and men-at-arms, with a strong force of archers on foot and horseback behind them.

"What!" said a cheery voice. "Whom have we here? As I live, 'tis my young hero of the lists at Carisbrooke. Marry, and I am right glad."

Ralph had turned to the speaker, and was rejoiced to find it was no other than Sir Richard Cornwall. After the greetings were over, he explained briefly how urgent the need was for pressing on at once, and cutting off the retreat of the Frenchmen with their prisoners, and in a few minutes more the young esquire had the delight of being mounted on a stout horse, armed with a lance, and riding in the front rank of the men-at-arms between Sir Richard Cornwall and Lord Broke, who were listening to his account of the battle of St Aubin du Cormier, and all that had happened since, and learnt in his turn of how it came about that the English troops were there.

It seemed that the news of the disaster which had occurred in Brittany was at first disbelieved in the Isle of Wight. The catastrophe was too awful for any one to believe. At last, as more certain news arrived, and there was no longer any room to doubt, the distress was terrible. Depopulated as the island had been previously, and just as it was now recovering its prosperity under the able rule of Sir Edward Woodville, assisted by the favourable treaties of peace with France and the Low Countries, this sudden calamity plunged the whole island into despair. There was scarcely a family, rich or poor, who had not lost some relative; and the total absence of any particulars made it all the more distressing. No one knew whether their relations were dead or not. At first it was reported that every man was killed, but a later account said that it was believed some few were alive, desperately wounded, and like to die, but as no names were mentioned, the anxiety and doubt were only rendered all the more acute.

As soon as Henry VII. heard of the disaster, he despatched at once Robert Lord Broke, Sir John Cheney, Sir Richard Cornwall, and many more "lusty and courageous captaynes," with eight thousand men-at-arms. But, like many other recent English expeditions, the force arrived too late, and although the troops were of the best quality, there was not enough of them.

It was a detachment of these troops that Ralph fell in with. Lord Broke having only arrived two days before at St Malo, and having taken the earliest opportunity of making a reconnaissance in force.

The knowledge of the arrival of these reinforcements had spurred Bowerman on to greater activity, for he knew if he did not discover the whereabouts of the fugitives before the English arrived, he would not be able to do so afterwards.

Acting on the knowledge of the country, and position of the French troops, which Ralph possessed from his survey that morning, Lord Broke kept his men out of sight of the French, and sent a detachment round in order to cut off all retreat.

Ralph having dismounted, had approached cautiously, and looking round a rock, saw the enemy happily engaged in preparing their breakfast. So utterly unconscious were they of any foe near, that many of them had not put on their heavier armour.

"Marry, they are not worth lance thrust," said Sir Richard Cornwall in contempt. "'Twill be but an idle slaughter. 'Tis a pity we cannot give them warning."

The knight and the esquire having made their report, Lord Broke gave orders to advance upon the enemy. The movement was executed with such precision and rapidity, that no resistance was offered by the astonished French men-at-arms. Ralph had galloped straight for Sir George Lisle and Magdalen, and stood by them until all chance of harm was over, and as soon as the prisoners were disarmed, and the column reformed, he led them to Lord Broke.

This nobleman had known Sir George Lisle in former days, and was well acquainted with his history. He would much rather not have fallen in with him, for his safety was probably greater in the French army than as a Yorkist prisoner in the hands of one of Henry the Seventh's captains. But having heard from Ralph how he had tried to save the life of the Captain of the Wight at the imminent risk of his own, Lord Broke hoped he might be able to plead this service with Henry.

He received Sir George Lisle therefore very courteously, but intimated that he must still consider himself a prisoner.

Mistress Lisle was treated with every courtesy, and the rescued English were sent under a guard to St Malo.

As Ralph Lisle was, so far as was known, the only survivor of the luckless expedition under Sir Edward Woodville, he was ordered by Lord Broke to return at once to England; and Sir George Lisle and his daughter were also sent back in the same ship.

Lord Broke forwarded very favourable reports of the young esquire, and also strong recommendations to mercy on behalf of Sir George Lisle, who, seeing how hopeless were the aims of the Yorkist party, and conscious of the treachery that was going on within their ranks,--weary of the world, and sick at heart of his conduct towards his wife, as well as of his unjust suspicions of the Captain of the Wight, determined, if his life were spared, to become a monk, like an ancestor of his who had founded, and himself became the first arch-priest of, the little Oratory of Barton. Lord Broke, knowing this resolve, mentioned it as a further inducement to obtaining the royal pardon. However, on the arrival of the ship at Southampton, Sir George Lisle was taken at once to Winchester Castle, and kept there a close prisoner of state until the royal pleasure was known.

Magdalen Lisle was not allowed to be with her father. Ralph promised he would take her to her grandfather at Briddlesford; and the same day that Sir George Lisle was carried off under a strong guard to Winchester, he and his cousin sailed for Wootton Creek.

The news of the arrival of the only survivors of the expedition caused much stir, and Ralph found himself a greater hero than he had any wish to be.

Fortunately for him it was expected he would come to Newport, and so he was enabled to reach Briddlesford unmolested.

He dreaded the meeting with his relatives, as indeed he would have avoided, had it been possible, coming to the island at all. So many painful memories would be stirred by the sight of the sorrow............