"Don't Let 'im Carry Your Sweet Face to the Grave With 'im Unless Your Love Goes With It"
"Yes, Meg, Hi loves you. There hisn't a king, girl, has Hi would change plyces with for you.... Posies for yer winder. Let 'em grow, till we've other posies in our 'ome. Yer blushin', Meg. Ha! Ha!... Oh, Gawd, me 'eart's broke.... Forget?... Hit's you, Doc Judson, as will look arter Captain Carter now. Good-bye, Doc.... Why, there's 'er face again. Damn you, Meg. Hi hates you, but Hi loves you.... Captain Carter.... Ah-h-h."
His struggle with Love, with Life, and with Death was over. With a long-drawn sigh of relief his spirit had passed. His head was turned to the man who had befriended him.
Hand in hand, Trusia and Carter arose and stood over the pulseless form. Trusia was the first to speak.
"We cannot leave him here, dear. Poor, poor Carrick," and she threatened to sob. Carter slipped his arm about her comfortingly. As though returning, birdlike, to its nest, her head cradled itself against his shoulder, her arm timidly sought his neck and for one brief second she was content.
"Come," he said almost brutally to dissipate the apathy which death had thrown upon them both. "I'll carry him." He assisted her to mount, then, Carrick in his arms, he scrambled into the saddle. As they swung at a gallop out of the woods, a shot whistled past his head.
"Are you hurt, dear?" she cried.
"No; these woods seem Russianized, though. Pray heaven the road is not," and with strained eyes to the front, with word and spur, they raced for the lane to the castle.