On the deck of the little craft which had entered the harbour when the vesper bell was ringing stood a man who waved a hand up towards her, then gave a peculiar call.

She stared with amazement: it was Buonespoir the pirate.

What did this mean?
Had God sent this man to her, by his presence to suggest what she should do in this crisis in her life?
For even as she ran down the shore towards him, it came to her mind that Buonespoir should take her in his craft to England.
What to do in England?
Who could tell?
She only knew that a voice called her to England, to follow the footsteps of Michel de la Foret, who even this night would be setting forth in the Governor's brigantine for London.
Buonespoir met her upon the shore, grinning like a boy.
"God save you, lady!" he said.
"What brings you hither, friend ?" she asked.
If he had said that a voice had called him hither as one called her to England, it had not sounded strange; for she was not thinking that this was one who superstitiously swore by the little finger of St.Peter, but only that he was the man who had brought her Michel from France, who had been a faithful friend to her and to her father.
"What brings me hither ?" Buonespoir laughed low in his chest.

"Even to fetch to the Seigneur of Rozel, a friend of mine by every token of remembrance, a dozen flagons of golden muscadella." To Angele no suggestion flashed that these flagons of muscadella had come from the cellar of the Seigneur of St.Ouen's, where they had been reserved for a certain royal visit.

Nothing was in her mind save the one thought-that she must follow Michel.
"Will you take me to England ?" she asked, putting a hand quickly on his arm.
He had been laughing hard, picturing to himself what Lempriere of Rozel would say when he sniffed the flagon of St.Ouen's best wine, and for an instant he did not take in the question; but he stared at her now as the laugh slowly subsided through notes of abstraction and her words worked their way into his brain.
"Will you take me, Buonespoir ?" she urged.