"History!" he cried aloud, and his voice was half-hysterical. "Damn history! I'll beat it yet! Those devils shan't have Elaine—"
"Jacques!"
It was Elaine. Wanly she looked up from the pallet where she lay. Tried to force a smile.
Mark dropped to his knees beside her.
"Elaine! My darling!"
The girl raised a hand that trembled. Caressed his forehead.
"Poor Jacques!" she whispered. "He looks so worried; so frightened—"
"And good cause he has, too!"
Mark whirled, every muscle taut, at that harsh voice.