"Hurry!" she wildly cried. "I hear voices!"
He caught up his hat and opened the door. As he faced them his lips were resolute and his eyes glowing. "It's only good night," he said, and closed the door behind him.
"Hold!" shouted Ward. "You must take some food." He tore the door open. "Wait—"
Even as he spoke a pistol-shot resounded through the night. It cut through the deathly silence of the forest like a spiteful curse, and was answered by another—then, after a short pause, a swift-tearing volley followed.
"They are killing him!" cried Alice.
They brought him in and laid him at her feet. He had requested this, but when she bent to peer into his face he had gone beyond speech. Limp and bloody and motionless he lay, with eyes of unfathomable regret and longing, staring up at her, and as the men stood about with uncovered heads she stooped to him, forgetful of all else; knelt to lay her hand upon his brow.
"Poor boy! Poor boy!" she said, her eyes blinded with tears.
His hand stirred, seeking her own, and she took it and pressed it in both of hers. "Jesus be merciful!" she prayed, softly.
He smiled faintly in acknowledgment of her presence and her prayer, and in this consolation died.