"There is no need, Elise," he answered gently, and he sat on the edge of
the couch, and drew her to his side. "Let us say good-night."

She grew very still, and he felt her move towards him, as she divined
his purpose, and knew that this room of hers would have no shadow in it
to-morrow, and her soul no unpardonable sin. A warm peace passed through
her veins, and she drew nearer still. She did not know that this
new ardent confidence came near to wrecking her. For Valmond had an
instant's madness, and only saved himself from the tumult in his blood
by getting to his feet, with strenuous resolution. Taking both her
hands, he kissed her on the cheeks, and said:

"Adieu, Elise. May your sorrow never be more, and my happiness never
less. I am going now."

He felt her hand grasp his arm, as if with a desire that he should
not leave her. Then she rose quickly, and came with him to the window.
Raising the sash, she held it, and he looked out. There seemed to be no
one in the road, no one in the yard. So, half turning, he swung himself
down by his hands, and dropped to the ground. From the window above a
sob came to him, and Elise's face, all tears, showed for an instant in
the moonlight.

He did not seek the road directly, but, climbing a fence near by,
crossed a hay-field, going unseen, as he thought, to the village.

But a lady, walking in the road with an old gentleman, had seen and
recognised him. Her fingers clinched with anger at the sight, and her
spirit filled with disgust.

"What are you looking at?" said her companion, who was short-sighted.

"At the tricks moonlight plays. Shadows frighten me sometimes, my dear
avocat." She shuddered. "My dear madame!" he said in warm sympathy.

CHAPTER XII

The sun was going down behind the hills, like a drowsy boy to his
bed, radiant and weary from his day's sport. The villagers were up at
Dalgrothe Mountain, soldiering for Valmond. Every evening, when the
haymakers put up their scythes, the mill-wheel stopped turning, and the
Angelus ceased, the men marched away into the hills, where the ardent
soldier of fortune had pitched his camp.

Tents, muskets, ammunition came out of dark places, as they are ever
sure to come when the war-trumpet sounds. All seems peace, but suddenly,
at the wild call, the latent barbarian in human nature springs up and is
ready; and the cruder the arms, the fiercer the temper that wields.

Recruits now arrived from other parishes, and