"Yes, Nell. From the first time I saw her. But I'd cut my hand off
first. I'd think of you; of our people that have been here for two
hundred years; of the rooms in the old house where mother used to be."

Fabian laughed nervously. "Holy heaven, and you've got her in your
blood, too!"

"Yes, but I'd never marry her. Fabian, at Montreal I found out all about
her. She was as bad--"

"That's nothing to me, Henri," said Fabian, "but something else is. Here
you are now. I'll make a bargain." His face showed pale in the
moonlight. "If you'll drink with me, do as I do, go where I go, play the
devil when I play it, and never squeal, never hang back, I'll give her
up. But I've got to have you--got to have you all the time, everywhere,
hunting, drinking, or letting alone. You'll see me out, for you're
stronger, had less of it. I'm soon for the little low house in the
grass. Stop the horses."

Henri stopped them and they got out. They were just opposite the lime-
kiln, and they had to go a few hundred yards before they came to the
bridge to cross the river to their home. The light of the fire shone in
their faces as Fabian handed the flask to Henri, and said: "Let's drink
to it, Henri. You half, and me half." He was deadly pale.

Henri drank to the finger-mark set, and then Fabian lifted the flask to
his lips.

"Good-bye, Nell!" he said. "Here's to the good times we've had!" He
emptied the flask, and threw it over the bank into the burning lime, and