he cave; Jack entered and sat
down on the blankets beside her.

"The franc-tireurs captured a mail-sack just now," he said. "In
it were two letters for me; one from my sister Dorothy, and the
other from Lady Hesketh. Dorothy writes in alarm, because my
uncle and aunt arrived without me. They also are frightened
because they have heard that Morteyn was again threatened. The
Uhlans have been seen in neighbouring departments, and the city
is preparing for a siege. My uncle will not allow his wife or
Dorothy or Betty Castlemaine to stay in Paris, so they are all
going to Brussels, and expect me to join them there. They know
nothing of what has happened at your home or at Morteyn; they
need not know it until we meet them. Listen, Lorraine: it is my
duty to find the Emperor and deliver this box to him; but you
must not go--it is not necessary. So I am going to get you to
Brussels somehow, and from there I can pass on about my duty with
a free heart."

She placed both hands and then her lips over his mouth.

"Hush," she said; "I am going with you; it is useless, Jack, to
try to persuade me. Hush, my darling; there, be sensible; our
path is very hard and cruel, but it does not separate us; we
tread it together, always together, Jack." He struggled to speak;
she held him close, and laid her head against his breast,
contented, thoughtful, her eyes dreaming in the half-light of
France reconquered, of noble deeds and sacrifices, of the great
bells of churches thundering God's praise to a humble, thankful
nation, proud in its faith, generous in its victory. As she lay
dreaming close to the man she loved, a sudden tumult startled the
sleeping echoes of the cave--the scuffling and thrashing of a
shod horse among dead leaves and branches. There came a groan, a
crash, the sound of a blow; then silence.

Outside, the franc-tireurs, rifles slanting, were moving swiftly
out into the hollow, stooping low among the trees. As they
hurried from the cave another franc-tireur came up, leading a
riderless cavalry horse by one hand; in the other he held his
rifle, the butt dripping with blood.

"Silence," he motioned to them, pointing to the wooded ridge
beyond. Jack looked intently at the cavalry horse. The schabraque
was blue, edged with yellow; the saddle-cloth bore the number
"11."

"Uhlan?" He formed the word with his lips.

The franc-tireur nodded with a ghastly smile and glanced down at
his dripping gunstock.

Lorraine's hand