skulking rebels. His heart turned toward Jean, and he longed to go in
search of her. But now, as when standing near that line drawn in the
sand, duty came first. He felt that Jean was safe, but the lives of
the King's men were at stake, so there must be no hesitation on his
part. But what was he to do with the injured man? That he was in a
critical condition, he was well aware, but how bad he did not know. It
was getting dark now, and he could not delay much longer.

"When did the slashers leave here?" he asked.

"When?" Botreau repeated in a dazed manner. "I don't know when. But
it seems an age."

"Then, I must get ahead of them, and warn the mast-cutters."

But the stricken man gave a pitiful cry, and reaching out, caught Dane
feebly by the hand.

"Don't leave me," he pleaded. "I'm dyin', an' I'm afraid to die alone.
Oh, it's terrible here, an' I'm gettin' so weak. I wonder what makes
this room so dark. An' it's cold, too. Fix the fire, won't ye, an'
lay me near it."

Dane stooped and held the candle close to the man's face. He knew that
he was dying, bleeding to death, for the floor was wet with blood.
There was nothing that he could do, and of no use would it be to attend
to the fire. No earthly heat could now warm the body of the wretched
man before him. All he could do was to watch and wait while the life
slowly ebbed away.