"I shall watch over you," said Madeleine's fearless young voice. "See, I will move your palliasse. Now this thin wall of wattles shall alone divide us. We shall be so near that I can listen to your breathing, and shall hear your faintest whisper. I pray you trust in me." "In the morning I shall see you," he urged. "I shall not depart without thanking you?" "Oh, talk not of the morning," she cried. He seized her fingers, and when he kissed the hand it fluttered like a bird. "I shall have my dreams," cried Madeleine, her face uplifted, and her eyes moistened. "And they may be so happy that I shall not wake. See! Yonder is my resting-place. The wattle-wall shall separate us. There my head will lie. Give me your sword." She grasped the hilt, and thrust the blade through the trifling wall. Then she spoke with averted face: "When you are lying down to rest I shall tell you why I have done this." They separated after a few tender words of commendation. The fire burnt down, and the north wind played roughly among the trees until the cabin hummed like a cave. Madame entered, as noiseless as a cat, and passed into her room. The rattling of her beads sounded at intervals, before sleep deadened the enmity of her mind. "My hair is long," whispered Madeleine's sweet voice. "I am passing a coil through the hole in the wattles. Hold it, and if you hear disquieting sounds do not speak, but pull." "I have it," he whispered, seizing the warm silk enviously. "The holy angels watch over you," she murmured. "And you. As for me, I am already protected by an angel." "Angel?" she wondered. "Sainte Madeleine is her name." "Ah!" she said. The sound of uneasy breathing arose between the groans of the wind. After a long pause Geoffrey spoke: "In sleep I may lose what I am holding." "Twist it about your fingers," said a whisper. "Still, I may lose it. You will draw it away from me when you turn." "Lie upon it." "My hair is also long. I am tying yours to mine." "I had thought of that," she murmured. Another period of silence. Then, in turning, Geoffrey's lips pressed upon the rich coil, and left it with a kiss. There came a little movement and an almost soundless whisper: "Did you call?" "You are not yet asleep," he reproved. "I am watching and listening." "I would rather you slept while I watched." "Then I should be the guardian no longer." "But always the angel." The glow from without was still over the cabin where Madeleine lay wide-eyed. A spider let itself suddenly from the roof, and swung spinning in wild glee at the end of a silver streak. "Friend," Madeleine murmured. "I am listening," he said. "There is a spider spinning from the cross-beam." "Would you have me destroy it?" "No. Oh, no! It is so happy in its life. I do not remember why I called you. I had something more to say." "I shall not sleep until you think of it." "Shall you go away in the morning?" she whispered suddenly. There was no reply.