who
chattered shrilly at his entrance. Preparations for a meal were
in progress, and he scarcely paused before he lighted upon what he
sought. A small earthen pitcher stood on the mud floor. He swooped
upon it, caught it up, splashing milk in all directions, clapped his
hand yellow and claw-like upon the mouth, and was gone.

There arose a certain hue and cry behind him, but he was swiftly
beyond detection, a fleeing shadow up the hillside. And the baffled
villagers, returning, found comfort in the reflection that he was
doubtless a holy man and that his brief visit would surely entail a
blessing.

By the time they arrived at this conclusion, Nick was kneeling by the
girl's side, supporting her while she drank. The nourishment revived
her. She came to herself, and thanked him.

"You will have some too," said she anxiously.

And Nick drank also with a laugh and a joke to cloak his eagerness.
That draught of milk was more to him at that moment than the choicest
wine of the gods.

He sat down beside her again when he had thus refreshed himself. He
thought that she was drowsy, and was surprised when presently she laid
a trembling hand upon his arm.

He bent over her quickly. "What is it? Anything I can do?"

She did not shrink from him any longer. He could but dimly see her
face in the strong shadow cast by the moonlight behind the trees.

"I want just to tell you, Nick," she said faintly, "that you will have
to go on without me when the moon sets. You needn't mind about leaving
me any more. I shall be dead before the morning comes. I'm not afraid.
I think I'm rather glad. I am so very, very tired."

Her weak voice failed.

Nick was stooping low over her. He did not speak at once. He only took
the nerveless hand that lay upon his arm and carried it to his lips,
breathing for many seconds upon the cold fingers.

When at length he spoke, his tone was infinitely gentle, but it
possessed, notwithstanding, a certain quality of arresting force.

"My dear," he said, "you belong to me now, you know. You have been
given into my charge, and I am not going to part with you."

She did not resist him or attempt to withdraw her hand, but her
silence was scarcely the silence of acquiescence. When she spoke again
after a long pause, there was a piteous break in her voice.

"Why don't you let me die? I want to die. Why do you hold me back?"

"Why?" said Nick swiftly. "Do you really want me to tell you why?"

But there he