"This is a miserable end of it all," he said, with calm bitterness. "But that it involves you, I should not dare blame fortune for the fool I acted. I have my deserts; but it's cruel for you." The sickening whirling in my head became unendurable. I lay down, facing him, eyes closed. "It was not your fault," I said, dully. "There is no profit in discussing that," he muttered. "They took us alive instead of scalping us; while there's life there's hope, ... a little hope.... But I'd sooner they'd finish me here than rot in their stinking prison-ships.... Ormond, are you awake?" "Yes, Sir George." "If they--if the Indians get us, and--and begin their--you know--" "Yes; I know." "If they begin ... that ... insult them, taunt them, sneer at them, laugh at them!--yes, laugh at them! Do anything to enrage them, so they'll--they'll finish quickly.... Do you understand?" "Yes," I muttered; and my voice sounded miles away. He lay brooding for a while; when I opened my eyes he broke out fretfully: "How was I to dream that McCraw could be so near!--that he dared raid us within a mile of the house! Oh, I could die of shame, Ormond! die of shame!... But I won't die that way; oh no," he added, with a frightful smile that left his face distorted and white. He raised himself on one elbow. "Ormond," he said, staring at vacancy, "what trivial matters a man thinks of in the shadow of death. I can't consider it; I can't be reconciled to it; I can't even pray. One absurd idea possesses me--that Singleton will have the Legion now; and he's a slack drill-master--he is, indeed!... I've a million things to think of--an idle life to consider, a misspent career to repent, but the time is too short, Ormond.... Perhaps all that will come at the instant of--of--" "Death," I said, wearily. "Yes, yes; that's it, death. I'm no coward; I'm calm enough--but I'm stunned. I can't think for the suddenness of it!... And you just home; and Ruyven there, snuggled close to you as a house-cat--and then that sound of galloping, like a fly-stung herd of cattle in a pasture!" "I think Ruyven is safe," I said, closing my eyes. "Yes, he's safe. Nobody chased him; they'll know at the manor by this time; they knew long ago.... My men will be out.... Where are we, Ormond?" "I don't know," I murmured, drowsily. The months of fatigue, the unbroken strain, the feverish weeks spent in endless trails, the constant craving for movement to occupy my thoughts, the sleepless nights which were the more unendurable because physical exhaustion could not give me peace or rest, now told on me. I drowsed in the very presence of death; and the stupor settled heavily, bringing, for the first time since I left Varick Manor, rest and immunity from despair or even desire. I cared for nothing: hope of her was dead; hope of life might die and I was acquiescent, contented, glad of the end. I had endured too much.