“This way,” she whispered; “straight ahead.”
One more step,--two,--the youth took beside her. It seemed that the heart within him was breaking in his agony. The shadows of the wood were drawing very near, the chances of escape multiplying with every step.
Another sweet moment of nearness and the misty white figure beside him would fade into the darkness forever, pass forever out of his sight.
Dearer than all the joys of Paradise was that black head, that wondrous face with its strength and its tenderness so adoringly mingled. The one supreme thing in all the universe was this woman,--and she was passing. With an involuntary motion he touched her softly and she stopped instantly, even at that great moment. It thrilled through him, that quick perception of his desire.
“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.
Back and forth, back and forth he walked the beat of the watcher and a holy joy played over his soul like a light from the beyond. He turned his mind to that hour in the woods, to the memory of the lips of Maren Le Moyne, the warm sweetness of her beaded breast, the tender affection of her embrace, and the present faded into that land of dreams wherein walk those who love greatly.