where the nails should be driven in. There was a painful humour in the
association. He smiled, then turned his head away, for old memories
flashed through his brain--he had been an acolyte once; he had served at
the altar.

Suddenly Dubarre rose, took the glasses from the shelf and placed them in
the middle of the table--the death's head for the feast.

As they sat down to eat, the eyes of both men unconsciously wandered to
the crucifix, attracted by the red sparkle of the rubies. They drank
water with the well-cooked meat of the wapiti, though red wine faced them
on the table. Each ate heartily; as though a long day were before them
and not the shadow of the Long Night. There was no speech save that of
the usual courtesies of the table. The fire, and the wind, and the watch
seemed the only living things besides themselves, perched there between
heaven and earth.

At length the meal was finished, and the two turned in their chairs
towards the fire. There was no other light in the room, and on the faces
of the two, still and cold, the flame played idly.

"When?" said Dubarre at last. "Not yet," was the quiet reply.

"I was thinking of my first theft--an apple from my brother's plate,"
said Dubarre, with a dry smile. "You?"

"I, of my first lie."

"That apple was the sweetest fruit I ever tasted."