That was all; and then the shadow of Wilbur loomed above them. "What's this? Do you know each other? It isn't possible! Pierre, are you playing a game with me?" But under the glance of Pierre he fell back a step, and reached for the gun which was not there. They were alone once more. "Mary--Mary Brown!" "Pierre!" "But you are dead!" "No, no! But you--Pierre, where can we go?" "Outside." "Let us go quickly!" "Do you need a wrap?" "No." "But it is cold outside, and your shoulders are bare." "Then take that cloak. But quickly, Pierre, before we're followed." He drew it about her; he led her through the door; it clicked shut; they were alone with the sweet, frosty air before them. She tore away the mask. "And yours, Pierre?" "Not here." "Why?" "Because there are people. Hurry. Now here, with just the trees around us--" And he tore off his mask. The white, cold moon shone over them, slipping down between the dark tops of the trees, and the wind stirred slowly through the branches with a faint, hushing sound, as if once more a warning were coming to Pierre this night. He looked up, his left hand at the cross. "Look down. You are afraid of something, Pierre. What is it?" "With your arms around my neck, there's nothing in the world I fear. I never dreamed I could love anything more than the little girl who lay in the snow, and died there that night." "And I never dreamed I could smile at any man except the boy who lay by me that night. And he died." "What miracle saved you?" She said: "It was wonderful, and yet very simple. You remember how the tree crushed me down into the snow? Well, when the landslide moved, it carried the tree before it; the weight of the trunk was lifted from me. Perhaps it was a rock that struck me over the head then, for I lost consciousness. The slide didn't bury me, but the rush carried me before it like a stick before a wave, you see. "When I woke I was almost completely covered with a blanket of debris, but I could move my arms, and managed to prop myself up in a sitting posture. It was there that my father and his searching party found me; he had been combing that district all night. They carried me back, terribly bruised, but without even a bone broken. It was a miracle that I escaped, and the miracle must have been worked by your cross; do you remember?" He shuddered. "The cross--for every good fortune it has brought me, it has brought bad luck to others. I'll throw it away, now--and then--no, it makes no difference. We are done for." "Pierre!" "Don't you see, Mary, or are you still blind as I was ever since I saw you tonight? It's all in that name--Pierre." "There's nothing in it, Pierre, that I don't love." His head was bowed as if with the weight of the words which he foresaw. "You have heard of the wild men of the mountains, and the long-riders?" He knew that she nodded, though she could not speak. "I am Red Pierre." "_You_!" "Yes."