hand. Lavilette dropped on his knees beside him and felt his heart. It
was beating, but the shirt and the waistcoat were dripping with blood
where the bear had set its claws and teeth in the shoulder of its victim.

An hour later Nic Lavilette stood outside the door of Ferrol's bedroom in
the Manor Casimbault, talking to the Regimental Surgeon, as Christine,
pale and wildeyed, came running towards them.




CHAPTER IX

"Is he dead? is he dead?" she asked distractedly. "I've just come from
the village. Why didn't you send for me? Tell me, is he dead? Oh, tell
me at once!"

She caught the Regimental Surgeon's arm. He looked down at her, over his
glasses, benignly, for she had always been a favourite of his, and
answered:

"Alive, alive, my dear. Bad rip in the shoulder--worn out--weak--
shattered--but good for a while yet--yes, yes--certainement!"

With a wayward impulse, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him
on the cheek. The embrace disarranged his glasses and flushed his face
like a schoolgirl's, but his eyes were full of embarrassed delight.

"There, there," he said, "we'll take care of him--!" Then suddenly he
paused, for the real significance of her action dawned upon him.