r the little astrachan cap that she wore, at the white face with its
brave smile.

I knew well that she was all but dead-beat, and that she only laughed
lest she might weep, or faint again.

"It goes well indeed, _capitaine_," I answered, with a military salute.

Pavloff, still on foot, came forward and stood beside her, speaking in a
low growl; he was an elder edition of his son Mishka.

She listened, looking down at him gravely and kindly. I could not take
my eyes from her face, so dear and familiar, and yet in one way so
changed. I guessed wherein the change lay. When I had known her before
she had only been playing a part, posing as a lovely, light-hearted,
capriciously coquettish girl, without a real care in the world. But now
I saw her without the mask, knew her for what she was, the woman who was
devoting her youth, her beauty, her brilliant talents, to a great
cause,--a well-nigh hopeless one,--and I loved her more than ever, with
a passionate fervor that, I honestly declare, had no taint of
selfishness in it. From that moment I told myself that it was enough for
me merely to be near her, to serve her, shield her perhaps, and count,
as a rich reward, every chance word or thought or smile she might bestow
on me.

"Yes, it is well; your duty lies there," I heard her say. "God be with
you, old friend; and farewell!"

She slipped her right hand out of its loose leather glove, and held it
out to him.

When I first saw her at Chelsea, I had decided that hers were the most
beautiful hands in the world, not small, but exquisitely shaped,--hands
that, in their graceful movements, somehow seemed to convey a subtle
idea of power and versatility. She never wore rings. I remembered how
Mary once remarked on this peculiarity, and Anne had answered that she
did not care for them.

"But you've quite a lot in your jewel case, lovely old ones; you ought
to wear them, Anne," Mary protested, and Anne's eyes had darkened as
they always did in moments of emotion.

"They were my mother's. Father gave them me years ago, and I always
carry them about with me; but I never wear them," she said quietly.

The remembrance of this little episode flashed through my mind as I saw
her hold out her ringless hand,--begrimed now with dirt and smoke, with
a purple mark like a bruise between the thumb and first finger, that
showed me she had been one of the firing party.

Pavloff bared his shaggy head, and bent over the hand as if it had