Perrot crossed himself and tried to speak, but could not. With a shuffling step, Frontin came to the verge of the cliff and swayed a little, the musket escaping from his grip. The man was dying where he stood, and Sieur Perrot was frozen by the sight. “Well, M. Crawford was right!” Faint as was the voice, it was Frontin’s old cool, sardonic tone. “He followed the Star of Dreams--and it led him across the horizon to which all men must attain. Yes, he was right; he alone has won this game! If you will regard the smile on his lips, my dear Perrot, you will see that he is happy. I think you are Sieur Perrot? Of course.” An inarticulate word escaped the older man, then he checked himself. Frontin held up the Star of Dreams, so that the level morning sunlight striking across the far forest leagues below drew from it a shimmer of flame. He swayed suddenly, then caught himself. “Ah, my captain, my captain!” he said mournfully. “What was it--an agent of unseen destiny? _Eh, bien!_ You played the game, you won your fight. Fall, my star, fall! When a star falls, they say, a soul has passed----” Frontin jerked his hand. The jewel flew out into the air, blazed for an instant with a swift sheen of green and gold, then was gone with a long flash to the lake below. Frontin staggered for the second time, and looked sideways at Perrot. “My dear Sieur Perrot,” and his words were little more than a whisper, “when you go to court, and they ask whether you have encountered M. le Marquis de Sazerac in the New World, you may say to them that--he followed--the Star of--Dreams----” His knees were loosened, and he suddenly pitched forward and was gone from sight. The echo of his wild laugh floated up from the depth, and that was all. Sieur Nicholas Perrot clutched the crucifix at his breast, and closed his eyes, trembling. His lips moved silently.--then he suddenly lifted his head and looked up. A sound came to his ears. He started violently. “Metaminens!” Now, suddenly seeing what he had failed to see, Perrot threw himself forward and a cry broke from his lips. He hurled the brush aside, and met the gaze of the Star Woman. Eyes distended, he caught her hand, stared at her, babbled frightened words. “You--you--ah, it is not you at all!” he exclaimed incoherently. The Star Woman sat up. With one arm she held the body of Crawford, which lay across her knees, the other hand she extended to Perrot. “Metaminens!” A glory was in her eyes. “It is you! Here, look to him quickly--he is not dead--I can feel his heart beating----” Perrot awoke to action. He turned Crawford over and swiftly examined the hurt body. “No--he is not dead. He will not die if----” His eyes fell upon the star of silver and turquoise that hung across the bandaged breast of the Star Woman. A deathly pallor came into his face. He reached out and touched the star. “You--yes, it is you after all----” “Look to him, quickly!” cried the girl, and then fell back, her eyes closed.