e ready to lead the hosts
of France."

"'Tis good to see the old spirit return. We shall indeed get home; and
it will be sufficient for me to know that my hero is the first in the
field, with my glove borne honourably into the thick of the fight."

But though she spoke thus cheerfully her heart was heavy within her; and
when, in the night, she woke to hear Claude coughing as he had done on
the beach, she knew that the end must be near. In the morning, a greater
sorrow awaited her. She found him weak, worn, and feverish, having spent
a sleepless night. When he attempted to build the fire, which had gone
out during the night, as he was placing a heavy log upon the dry
branches, he fell forward on his face, and would have been burnt by the
fire he had just kindled but that Marguerite, springing to his side,
bore him bodily to the hut. As she laid him down, she saw that her arm
was dyed with blood.

Could the end have come already? He was bleeding at the mouth, and she
knew that his lungs were affected. She had little experience or
knowledge about sickness of any kind, and at first she thought he was
dead. But she bravely did what she could to restore him, and was soon
rewarded by seeing the languid eyes open with a half-dreamy stare. The
minutes seemed like hours before he showed any further signs of
regaining consciousness, and it was to her as the voice of God when his
lips parted, and he murmured her name. His hand pressed hers tenderly,
lovingly, despairingly. He had had a glimpse of death, and, as he awoke
from his swoon, his first thought was of the horrors she would endure
till she should follow him. His strength slowly returned, and by noon he
was able to sit propped up in the door of the hut, through which the
warm sunshine streamed brightly.

"How cold it has become," he said suddenly, with a shiver.

"Let me wrap this blanket about you, dearest. You are weak still, but a
little rest will make you strong."

"Your words would drive away any chill breath," he said tenderly, as she
arranged the covering about him. "But surely it is strange, with that
warm sun streaming down, that the gentle wind should so soon have cooled
the air. A moment ago it was as warm as the summer breezes of France.
But what means that shouting?"

"I can hear naught," said Marguerite, her heart sinking within her as
she became convinced that Claude's attack had left him delirious.

But suddenly she, too, held up her warm hand in the