He tore the little cross from his neck and flung it into her upturned face.
"Don't make me put my hands on you, Jack. Let me go!"
There was no need to tear her grasp away. She crumpled and slipped sidewise to the floor. He leaned over and shook her violently by the shoulder.
"Which way did she ride? Which way did they ride?"
She whispered: "Down the valley, Pierre; down the valley; I swear they rode that way."
And as she lay in a half swoon she heard the faint clatter of galloping hoofs over the rooks and a wild voice yelling, fainter and fainter with distance:
"McGurk!"