before, with the singular coldness about her heart and the feeling
of loss, of infinite loss.

What had she lost? She began to search her mind for an answer. Then
she smiled uncertainly, a wan, small smile. It was very clear; what
she had lost was all interest in life and all hope for the brave
to-morrow. Nothing remained of all those lovely dreams which she had
built up by day and night about the figure of Pierre le Rouge. He was
gone, and the bright-colored bubble she had blown vanished at once.

She felt a slight pain at her forehead and then remembered the cross
which Pierre had thrown into her face. Casting that away he had thrown
his faintest chance of victory with it; it would be a slaughter, not a
battle, and red-handed McGurk would leave one more foe behind him.

But looking down she found the cross and picked up the shining bit of
metal; it seemed as if she held the greater part of Pierre le Rouge in
her hands. She raised the cross to her lips.

When she fastened the cross about her throat it was with no exultation,
but like one who places over his heart a last memorial of the dead; a
consecration, like the red sign or the white which the crusaders wore
on the covers of their shields.

Then she took from her breast the spray of autumn leaves. He had not
noticed them, yet perhaps they had helped to make him gay when he came
into the cabin that night, so she placed the spray on the table. Next
she unpinned the great rubies from her throat and let her eye linger
over them for a moment. They were chosen stones, each as deeply
lighted as an eye, if there ever were eyes of this blood-red, and they
looked up at her with a lure and a challenge at once.

The first thought of what she must do came to Jacqueline then, but not
in an overwhelming tide--it was rather a small voice that whispered in
her heart.

Last, she took from her bosom the glove of the yellow-haired girl.
Compared with her stanch riding gloves, how small was this! Yet, when
she tried it, it slipped easily on her hand. This she laid in that
little pile, for these were the things which Pierre would wish to find
if by some miracle he came back from the battle. The spray, perhaps,
he would not understand; and yet he might. She pressed both hands to
her breast and drew a long breath, for her heart was breaking. Through
her misted eyes she could barely see the shimmer of the cross.

That sight made her look up, searching for a superhuma