is now?"

"It was fixed," said Talbot, in a gentle voice, "unalterably. But it
was not their rifles that I saw; it seemed then as though I saw the
other world."

A short silence followed, and then Brooke spoke again, in a voice
which was very weak and tremulous.

"And you, Talbot, stood before their bullets, offering your life for
mine!"

The accents of his voice seemed to quiver with suppressed passion and
infinite tenderness.

"It was only a fair exchange," said Talbot, slowly; and her voice
thrilled, as she spoke, through the heart of Brooke as he went over
to her to listen; "for you were giving up your own life for me."

There was silence now for some time, during which their eyes were
fastened upon one another. At length Brooke drew a long breath and
turned away. Then he began abruptly to sing one of his droll songs.
His voice was faint at first, but grew stronger as he went on:

"Billy Taylor was a gay young rover,
Full of mirth and full of glee;
And his mind he did discover
To a maid of low degree.
Rite follalol-lol-lol-lol-lido,
Rite follalol-lol-lol-lol-lay."

"You see," continued he, "my way is to sing while I can. There are
too many times in life when you can't sing 'Billy Taylor.' Then you
may retire to your corner, and wear sackcloth and ashes. Such a time
is coming, Talbot, lad, when the strain of 'Billy Taylor' shall be
heard no more. But so long as I can I'll sing:

"'But this maiden had a parient,
Who was very stern to she.
"Fly, oh, fly, my dearest darter,
From the wiles of your Billee!"
Rite follalol-lol-lol-lol-lido,
Rite follalol-lol-lol-lol-lay.'"

During this little diversion of Brooke's Talbot said nothing. It was,
as he said, his way, and Talbot had grown accustomed to it. A long
silence followed, after which Brooke once more addressed her.

"Talbot," said he, "we have been acquainted only two or three days,
and we have told one another all that is in our hearts. So it seems
as if we had been friends for a long time. Yes, Talbot; if I were to
count over all the friends of all my life, I could not find one like
you--no, not one. And now, if we both escape and you go back to your
people, how strange it will be never to meet again."

"Never to meet again!" repeated Talbot; and an expression as of sharp
and sudden pain flashed over her face. "You do not mean to say that
you will never come to me?"

"Come to you!