here, planning, devising, eager to
begin their predestined work. They spoke of the dead, too, and
Lorraine wept at last for her father.

"There was a Sister of Mercy here," she said; "I saw her. I could
not speak to her. Later I knew it was Alixe. You called her?"

"Yes."

"Where is she?"

"Shall I speak to her?"

He went out into the hall and tapped at the door of the next
room.

"Alixe?"

"Yes--Jack."

He entered.

Sir Thorald lay very still under the sheets, the crucifix on his
breast. At first Jack thought he was dead, but the slight motion
of the chest under the sheets reassured him. He turned to Alixe:

"Go for a minute and comfort Lorraine," he whispered. "Go, my
child."

"I--I cannot--"

"Go," said Sir Thorald, in a distinct voice.

When she had gone, Jack bent over Sir Thorald. A great pity
filled him, and he touched the half-opened hand with his own.

Sir Thorald looked up at him wistfully.

"I am not worth it," he said.

"Yes, we all are worth it."

"I am not," gasped Sir Thorald. "Jack, you are good. Do you
believe, at least, that I loved her?"

"Yes, if you say so."

"I do--in the shadow of death."

Jack was silent.

"I never loved--before," said Sir Thorald.

In the stillness that followed Jack tried to comprehend the good
or evil in this stricken man. He could not; he only knew that a
great love that a man might bear a woman made necessary a great
sacrifice if that love were unlawful. The greater the love the
more certain the sacrifice--self-sacrifice on the altar of
unselfish love, for there is no other kind of love that man may
bear for woman.

It wearied Jack to try to think it out. He could not; he only
knew that it was not his to judge or to condemn.

"Will you give me your hand?" asked Sir Thorald.

Jack laid his hand in the other's feverish one.

"Don't call her," he said, distinctly; "I am dying."

Presently he withdrew his hand and turned his face to the wall.

For a long time Jack sat there, waiting. At last he spoke: "Sir
Thorald?"

But Sir Thorald had been dead for an hour.

When Alixe entered Jack took her slim, childish hands and looked
into her eyes. She understood and went to her dead, laying down
her tired little head on the sheeted breast.

XXII

A DOOR IS LOCKED

Lorraine stood on the terrace beside the brass gatling-gun, both
hands holding to Jack's arm, watching the soldiers stuffing the
windows of the Chateau with mattresses,