Then to the Vicar and the Senechal, and these set off at once for the
harbour, but found themselves powerless in the face of public opinion.
Argument and remonstrance alike fell on deaf ears. The Vicar appealed to
their sense of right; the Senechal forbade their going. But their minds
were doggedly set on it, and they went.
"I shall hold you to account," stormed Philip Guille.
"B'en, M. le Senechal, we'll pay it all among us," and away they went;
and back to her look-out by Breniere went Nance, and the Vicar with her
for comfort in this dark hour.
They watched the boats circling the rock, round and round. They heard
the firing, and Nance flung herself on the ground in an agony of
weeping, sure that the end had come. For they could only be firing at
Gard, and what could one man do against so many?
"They have killed him," she moaned.
And the Vicar could only tighten his pale lips, and smooth her hair with
his thin white hand, as she writhed on the ground at his side. For he
could but think she was right. They were good shots, the Sark men, and
it needs but one bullet to kill a man.
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