e moment!" panted Gerard.

"Cursed be the land I 'was born in! cursed be the race of man! and he
that made them what they are!" screamed Denys.

"Hush, Denys, hush! blaspheme not! Oh, God forgive him, he wots not what
he says. Be patient, Denys, be patient: though we meet no more on earth,
let us meet in a better world, where no blasphemer may enter. To my
heart, lost friend; for what are words now?" He held out his arms, and
they locked one another in a close embrace. They kissed one another
again and again, speechless, and the tears rained down their cheeks And
the Count Jarnac looked on amazed, but the rougher soldiers, to whom
comrade was a sacred name, looked on with some pity in their hard
faces. Then at a signal from Jarnac, with kind force and words of rude
consolation, they almost lifted Denys on to the mule; and putting him
in the middle of them, spurred after their leader. And Gerard ran wildly
after (for the lane turned), to see the very last of him; and the last
glimpse he caught, Denys was rocking to and fro on his mule, and tearing
his hair out. But at this sight something rose in Gerard's throat so
high, so high, he could run no more nor breathe, but gasped, and leaned
against the snow-clad hedge, seizing it, and choking piteously.

The thorns ran into his hand.

After a bitter struggle he got his breath again; and now began to see
his own misfortune. Yet not all at once to realize it, so sudden and
numbing was the stroke. He staggered on, but scarce feeling or caring
whither he was going; and every now and then he stopped, and his arms
fell and his head sank on his chest, and he stood motionless: then he
said to himself, "Can this thing be? this must be a dream. 'Tis scarce
five minutes since we were so happy, walking handed, faring to Rome
together, and we admired them and their gay banners and helmets oh
hearts of hell!"

All nature seemed to stare now as lonely as himself. Not a creature in
sight. No colour but white. He, the ghost of his former self, wandered
alone among the ghosts of trees, and fields, and hedges. Desolate!
desolate! desolate! All was desolate.

He knelt and gathered a little snow. "Nay, I dream not; for this is
snow: cold as the world's heart. It is bloody, too: what may that
mean? Fool! 'tis from thy hand. I mind not the wound Ay, I see: thorns.
Welcome! kindly foes: I felt ye not, ye ran not into my heart. Ye are
not cruel like men."

He had risen, and was dragging his l