r a short time that afternoon she had risen
from out of the thing that oppressed her, and once or twice there had
been almost happiness in her smile and laughter. Now she seemed to have
sunk again under its smothering grip. It was as if the chill and dismal
gloom of approaching night had robbed her cheeks of colour, and had
given a tired droop to her shoulders as she sat silently, and waited
for them to make her tent comfortable. When it was up, and the blankets
spread, she went in and left them alone, and the last glimpse that he
had of her face left with Philip a cameo-like impression of
hopelessness that made him want to call out her name, yet held him
speechless. He looked closely at Jean as they put up their own tent,
and for the first time he saw that the mask had fallen from the
half-breed's face, and that it was filled with that same mysterious
hopelessness and despair. Almost roughly he caught him by the shoulder.

"See here, Jean Croisset," he cried impatiently, "you're a man. What
are you afraid of?"

"God," replied Jean so quietly that Philip dropped his hand from his
shoulder in astonishment. "Nothing else in the world am I afraid of,
M'sieur!"

"Then why--why in the name of that God do you look like this?" demanded
Philip. "You saw her go into the tent. She is disheartened, hopeless
because of something that I can't guess at, cold and shivering and
white because of a FEAR of something. She is a woman. You are a man.
Are YOU afraid?"

"No, not afraid, M'sieur. It is her grief that hurts me, not fear. If
it would help her I would let you take this knife at my side and cut me
into pieces so small that the birds could carry them away. I know what
you mean. You think I am not a fighter. Our Lady in Heaven, if fighting
could only save her!"

"And it cannot?"

"No, M'sieur. Nothing can save her. You can help, but you cannot save
her. I believe that nothing like this terrible thing that has come to
her has happened before since the world began. It is a mistake that it
has come once. The Great God would not let it happen twice."

He spoke calmly. Philip could find no words with which to reply. His
hand slipped from Jean's arm to his hand, and their fingers gripped.
Thus for a space they stood. Philip broke the silence.

"I love her, Jean," he spoke softly.

"Every one loves her, M'sieur. All our forest people call her 'L'Ange.'"

"And still you say there is no hope?"

"None."

"Not even--if we fight