His skillful hands paused in their fashioning of a snare.

"You know, of course, that he wants to take me away with him, to marry
me, to start life again."

"And--and you will, Sylvie?"

"Give me your advice," she said. She pressed her red lips together;
her face was bent upon him as though she watched.

"But," he stammered, "you tell me all the time, a dozen times a day,
that I'm badly trained. What good's my advice?"

"_Are_ you badly trained?"

"I suppose so."

"You are absurdly unselfish, Pete!" She moved a chip along the ground
with her foot, but Pete failed to notice this curious seeing gesture.

"Why? What do you mean?"

She waited, waited until, in the sickness of his vague suspense, his
hands had turned cold and the color had sucked itself in irregular
heartbeats from his lips.

At last she spoke deliberately. "You would lay down your life for
your friend?" she said. It was almost a whisper.

Pete's face went red and white and red again. Through the tumult of