Behind her the signal flags were fluttering wildly once more; a priest, standing near her, turned nodding: "Our boys will be going in before sundown," he said quietly. "Are you Father Corby, chaplain of the Excelsiors?" "Yes, madam." He lifted his hat and went away knee-deep through the windy hill-grasses; white butterflies whirled around him as he strode, head on his breast; the swift hill swallows soared and skimmed along the edges of the smoke as though inviting him. From her rocky height she saw the priest enter the drifting clouds. A man going to his consecrated duty. And she? Where lay her duty? And why was she not about it? "Captain West!" she called in a clear, hard voice. Seated on his perch above the abyss, the officer lowered his field glasses and turned his face. Then he rose and moved over to where she was sitting. She stood up at once. "Will you walk as far as those trees with me?" she asked. There was a strained ring to her voice. He wheeled, spoke briefly to a sergeant, then, with that subtle and pleasant deference which characterized him, he turned and fell into step beside her. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked softly. "No.... God help us both." He halted. At a nod from her, two troopers standing beside their quietly browsing horses, cocked carbines. The sharp, steel click of the locks was perfectly audible through the din of the cannon. [Illustration: "Then, like a flash his hand fell to his holster, and it was empty."] The signal officer looked at her; and her face was whiter than his. "You are Warren Moray--I think," she said. His eyes glimmered like a bayonet in sunlight; then the old half-gay, half-defiant smile flickered over his face. "Special Messenger," he said, "you come as a dark envoy for me. Now I understand your beauty--Angel of Death." "Are you Major Moray?" She could scarcely speak. He smiled, glanced at the two troopers, and shrugged his shoulders. Then, like a flash his hand fell to his holster, and it was empty; and his pistol glimmered in her hand. "For God's sake don't touch your sabre-hilt!" she said.... "Unclasp your belt! Let it fall!" "Can't you give me a chance with those cavalrymen?" "I can't. You know it." "Yes; I know." There was a silence; the loosened belt fell to the grass, the sabre clashing. He looked coolly at the troopers, at her, and then out across the smoke. "_This_ way?" he said, as though to himself. "I never thought it." His voice was quiet and pleasant, with a slight touch of curiosity in it. "How did you know?" he asked simply, turning to her again. She stood leaning back against a tree, trying to keep her eyes fixed on him through the swimming weakness invading mind and body. "I suppose this ends it all," he added absently; and touched the sabre lying in the grass with the tip of his spurred boot. "Did you look for any other ending, Mr. Moray?" "Yes--I did."