'I am in pain,' he said. His hand was on his heart. 'I am in deadly pain.'
'And I—I too,' she whispered, and her head drooped towards her lap, like one of her broken snowdrops.
Herring walked through the hall to the main door. There he turned.
'Mirelle!' His face was almost as white as hers.
'Yes, John.'
'God be with you. Good-bye!'
He opened the door. The wind tore in, and brought snow with it, and the thunder of the mad sea—mad that it had found a barrier which it could not demolish nor overleap, and in its madness tearing itself to spray.
Then the door shut, and Mirelle was alone.
CHAPTER XLIII.
HUNTING THE DEVIL.