aring that
something had gone wrong with Pierre, steered close to the edge of the
dancing crowd and looked inquisitively across.

He leaned and spoke to the girl, and she turned her head, smiling, to
Pierre. Then the smile went out, and even despite the mask, he saw
that her eyes had widened. The heart of Pierre grew thunderous with
music. She had stopped and slipped from the arm of Wilbur, and came
step by step slowly toward him like one walking in her sleep.

There, by the edge of the dancers, with the noise of the music and the
laughter and the shuffling feet to cover them, they met. The hands she
held to him were cold and trembling. He only knew that they were
marvelously soft, and that they faltered and closed strongly about his
own.

"Is it you?"

"It is I."

That was all; and then the shadow of Wilbur loomed above them.

"What's this? Do you know each other? It isn't possible! Pierre, are
you playing a game with me?"

But under the glance of Pierre he fell back a step, and reached for the
gun which was not there. They were alone once more.

"Mary--Mary Brown!"

"Pierre!"

"But you are dead!"

"No, no! But you--Pierre----"

"It was a miracle--the cross--that saved me."

"Where can we go?"

"Outside."

"Pierre."

"Yes."

"Hold my arm close--so I'll know it isn't just dreaming. And go
quickly!"

"They are staring at us--the fools--as if they were trying to
understand."

"We'll be followed?"

"Never."

"Do you need a wrap?"

"No."

"But it is cold outside, and your shoulders are bare."

"Then take that cloak. But quickly, Pierre, before we're followed."

He drew it about her; he led her through the door; it clicked shut;
they were alone with the sweet, frosty air about them. She tore away
the mask, and her beauty struck him like the moon when it drops
suddenly through a mist of clouds.

"And yours, Pierre?"

"Not here."

"Why?"

"Because there are people. Hurry. Now here, with just the trees
around us----"

And he tore off the mask.

The white, cold moon shone over them, slipping down between the dark
tops of the trees, and the wind stirred slowly through the branches
with a faint, hushing sound, as if once more a warning were coming to
Pierre this night. He looked up, his left hand at the cross.

"Look down. You are afraid of something, Pierre. What is it?"

"With your arms around my neck, there's nothing in the world I fear.
Mary, I loved you all