lder.

"Give him to me; I will carry him down," he said.

She clung to Jack and turned a blank gaze on the soldier.

"Give him to me," he repeated; "the house is burning." But she
would not move nor relinquish her hold. Then the soldier seized
Jack and threw him over his shoulder, running swiftly down the
stairs, that rocked under his feet. Lorraine cried out and
followed him into the darkness, where the crashing of tiles and
thunder of the exploding shells dazed and stunned her; but the
soldier ran on across the garden, calling to her, and she
followed, stumbling to his side.

"To the trees--yonder--the forest--" he gasped.

They were already among the trees. Then Lorraine seized the man
by the arm, her eyes wide with despair.

"Give me my dead!" she panted. "He is mine! mine! mine!"

"He is not dead," faltered the soldier, laying Jack down against
a tree. But she only crouched and took him in her arms, eyes
closed, and lips for the first time crushed to his.

XXV

PRINCESS IMPERIAL

The glare from the Chateau Morteyn, now wrapped in torrents of
curling flame, threw long crimson shafts of light far into the
forest. The sombre trees glimmered like live cinders; the wet
moss crisped and bronzed as the red radiance played through the
thickets. The bright, wavering fire-glow fell full on Jack's
body; his face was hidden in the shadow of Lorraine's hair.

Twice the timid young soldier drew her away, but she crept back,
murmuring Jack's name; and at last the soldier seized the body in
both arms and stumbled on again, calling Lorraine to follow.

Little by little the illumination faded out among the trees; the
black woods crowded in on every side; the noise of the crackling
flames, the shouting, the brazen rattle of drums grew fainter and
fainter, and finally died out in the soft, thick blackness of the
forest.

When they halted the young soldier placed Jack on the moss, then
held out his hands. Lorraine touched them. He guided her to the
prostrate figure; she flung herself face down beside it.

After a moment the soldier touched her again timidly on the
shoulder:

"Have I done well?"

She sobbed her thanks, rising to her knees. The soldier, a boy of
eighteen, straightened up; he noiselessly laid his knapsack and
haversack on the ground, trembled, swayed, and sat down,
muttering vaguely of God and the honour of France. Presently he
went away, lurching in the darkness like a drunken man--on, on,