She put an arm up about Wat's neck as he bent over her and drew his head down. "Only this once," she said, smiling. "Even _she_ would not be angry, for she has all--I nothing. And it is right--right--oh! so right. For you could not love the Little Marie--wife and mother she could not be; her life had been wicked--yet her heart was not all bad. And oh! but she loved you--yes, she loved you so dear. She could not help that--nor could you, my captain. Forgive Marie for loving you. But, then, you should not have spoken so graciously to the poor girl to whom none ever spoke kindly or gently." Wat bent over the girl. "You have, indeed, been brave and good," he said; "we truly love you for what you have done. Presently we will take you to a kindly house where you shall be nursed--" "Nay, my captain," she whispered, smiling up at him gladly, "it is kind--yes, most sweet to hear you speak thus. But it is better that the Little Marie should die out here with your arm about her, and before the sun of this happy day goes quite down. Ah, if she had stayed in the fields always she might have been better, purer, perhaps--who knows? But then she had never known you, my captain. Maybe it is better as it is. At least, it is good to have known one true man." She was silent a space. Wat tried hard to remember a prayer. Scarlett whistled a marching tune under his breath to keep from angry, rebellious weeping. The dying girl spoke again. "Do not quite forget the Little Marie," she said; "her heart would not have been all bad--if only you had been there sooner to teach her how to be good." She smiled up at him with eyes over which a pale, filmy haze was gathering. She put her hand a little farther about his neck and so brought her face nearer to his. "Did I not lead them well?" she said, eagerly and gladly; "tell me--even _she_ could not have done it better! Ah! love, but this is passing sweet," she went on, more slowly and plaintively; "it is good to be held up thus, and to watch death coming to me so softly, almost sweetly. Dear, just say once that what I did was well done, and that no one at all could have done it better for you." "None has ever done so much for me, none so given all for me, as you have done, Little Marie!" murmured Wat, his tears dropping down on the pale face of the girl--who, if she had sinned greatly, had also greatly loved. "It is true, and I am glad," she said again, "even your love of loves herself could do no more than die for you!" Her smile fixed itself. Her eyes grew hazier, but their long, still look stayed intently and happily upon Wat's face. Murmuring a prayer, he bent and kissed the fair brow that was now growing cold as marble. At the touch of his lips a light, as from a paradise beyond, flamed up for a moment in the girl's eyes. Her smile grew infinitely sweeter, and the rigid lines of pain about the mouth relaxed.