"Ma'amselle," he whispered, "fare thee well!"
She caught his hand swiftly, pulling him forward. "Eh?" she said. "What
mean you?"
There was startled anxiety in her voice and the heart of Dupre leaped
exultantly.
"Naught," he lied bravely, "save that I must hang behind for a moment
or so to cover any sound with my sentry's step, but I cannot part from
you even so small a space without,--God-speed. Hurry now, Ma'amselle!
They pass from sight!"
He pushed her gently after, but she turned against his hand.
"Come!" she commanded; "I will not leave you!"
"Nay,--how long, think you, before utter silence awakes that mob? You
must be at the water's edge before I follow. Go now,--quick, for love
of Heaven!"
He pushed her away and turned back toward the camp, pacing slowly by
the huddled heap that attested Ridgar's hand, past the empty lodge, and
on to the northern turn, where lay that other figure prone upon the
earth, yet still quivering in every muscle. He died hardly, this strong
North warrior, and Dupre almost regretted the need, though the trapper
of the Pays d'en Haut took without thought whatever of life menaced his
own and considered the deed accomplishment.
Pages:
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258