with you," he said;
"I shall be close beside you, riding by your carriage-window. Don't
tremble so--Mademoiselle de Nesville."

"It is terrible," she stammered; "I never knew I was a coward."

"You are anxious for your father," he said, quietly; "you are no
coward!"

"I am--I tremble--see! I shiver."

"It was the wolf--"

"Ah, yes--the wolf that warned us of war! and the men--that one who
made maps; I never could do again what I did! Then I was afraid of
nothing; now I fear everything--the howl of that beast on the hill,
the wind in the trees, the ripple of the Lisse--C'est plus fort que
moi--I am a coward. Listen! Can you hear the carriage?"

"No."

"Listen--ah, listen!"

"It is the noise of the river."

"The river? How black it is! Hark!"

"The wind."

"Hark!"

"The wind again--"

"Look!" She seized his arm frantically. "Look! Oh, what--what was
that?"

The report of a gun, faint but clear, came to their ears.
Something flashed from the lighted windows of the Chateau de
Nesville--another flash broke out--another--then three dull
reports sounded, and the night wind spread the echoes broadcast
among the wooded hills.

For a second she stood beside him, white, rigid, speechless; then
her little hand crushed his arm and she pushed him violently
towards the horses.

"Mount!" she cried; "ride! ride!"

Scarcely conscious of what he did, he backed one of the horses,
seized the gathered bridle and mane, and flung himself astride.
The horse reared, backed again, and stood stamping. At the same
instant he swung about in his saddle and cried, "Go back to the
house!"

But she was already in the saddle, guiding the other horse, her
silken skirts crushed, her hair flying, sawing at the bridle-bit
with gloved fingers. The wind lifted the cloak on her shoulders,
her little satin slipper sought one stirrup.

"Ride!" she gasped, and lashed her horse.

He saw her pass him in a whirl of silken draperies streaming in
the wind; the swan's-down cloak hid her body like a cloud. In a
second he was galloping at her bridle-rein; and both horses, nose
to nose and neck to neck, pounded across the gravel drive,
wheeled, leaped forward, and plunged down the soft wood road,
straight into the heart of the forest. The lace from her corsage
fluttered in the air; the lilies at her breast fell one by one,
strewing the road with white blossoms. The wind loosened her
heavy hair to the neck, seized it, twisted it, and flung it