Krok nodded, and he was probably thinking of my mother, for his fist clenched and he shook it bitterly at the unconscious man.

Then he knelt again, and looked at his wound, and shook his head.

“It was I shot him, not knowing who he was.  And so I must save his life, or have his blood on my hands.”

From Krok’s grim face I judged that the latter would have been most to his mind.

“I thought of trying the Ecrehous.  We could build a shelter with some of the old stones, and he will be safer there than in Jersey.  But I must get a doctor to him, or he’ll slip through our hands.”

Krok pondered all this, and then, pointing ahead to the bristle of rocks in front and to himself, and then to me and the wounded man and to Jersey, I understood that he would land on the Ecrehous and build the shelter, while I took the wounded man on to Jersey to find a doctor.  And that chimed well with my ideas.

The sun had been up about three hours when we ran past the Dirouilles, with sharp eyes and a wide berth for outlying fragments, and edged cautiously in towards the Ecrehous.  The sea was set so thick with rocks, some above and some below water, that we dropped our sail and felt our way in with the oars, and so came slowly past the Nipple to the islet, where once a chapel stood.

It was as lonely and likely a shelter for a shipwrecked soul as could be found, at once a hiding-place and a sanctuary.  Sparse grass grew among the rocks, but no tree or shrub of any kind at that time.  The ruins of the holy place alone spoke of man and his handiwork.

All around was the free breath of life,—­which, at times, indeed, might sound more akin to rushing death,—­and the sea and the voice of it; and the stark rocks sticking up through it like the fragments of a broken world.  And above was the great dome of the sky—­peaceful, pitiless, according to that which was within a man.

Krok scrambled ashore, and I handed him all that was left of our provisioning, then with a wave of the hand I turned and pulled clear of the traps and ran for Rozel Bay.

There was a little inn at the head of the bay, which had seen many a stranger sight than a wounded man.  I had no difficulty in securing accommodation there, and the display of my money ensured me fullest service, such as it was.  I told them plainly that the unconscious man was related to me, and that he had received his wound at my hands.  I let them believe it was an accident, and that we came from the coast of France.  They were full of rough sympathy, and when I had seen him put into a comfortable bed, and had dropped some more cognac into him, I started at once for St. Heliers to find a doctor.

There was no difficulty in that.  I went to the first I was told of, and fell fortunately.  I described the nature of the wound, so far as I knew it, and told him the bullet was still there.  He got the necessary instruments and we drove back to Rozel in his two-wheeled gig.  Dr. Le Gros wore a great blue cloak, and his manner was brusque, but cloak and manner covered a very kind heart.  Moreover, he had had a very large experience in gun-shot wounds, and he was a man of much discretion.