the first time he saw that the mask had fallen from the half-
breed's face, and that it was filled with that same mysterious
hopelessness and despair. Almost roughly he caught him by the
shoulder.

"See here, Jean Croisset," he cried impatiently, "you're a man.
What are you afraid of?"

"God," replied Jean so quietly that Philip dropped his hand from
his shoulder in astonishment. "Nothing else in the world am I
afraid of, M'sieur!"

"Then why--why in the name of that God do you look like this?"
demanded Philip. "You saw her go into the tent. She is
disheartened, hopeless because of something that I can't guess at,
cold and shivering and white because of a FEAR of something. She
is a woman. You are a man. Are YOU afraid?"

"No, not afraid, M'sieur. It is her grief that hurts me, not fear.
If it would help her I would let you take this knife at my side
and cut me into pieces so small that the birds could carry them
away. I know what you mean. You think I am not a fighter. Our Lady
in Heaven, if fighting could only save her!"

"And it cannot?"

"No, M'sieur. Nothing can save her. You can help, but you cannot
save her. I believe that nothing like this terrible thing that has
come to her has happened before since the world began. It is a
mistake that it has come once. The Great God would not let it