In a spasm of sudden fear at
the dizziness which was turning the night black for him he
clutched at Philip's arm.
"If you save her, M'sieur, do not bring her back," he whispered,
hoarsely. "Take her to Fort o' God. Lose not an hour--not a
minute. Trust no one. Hide yourselves. Fight--kill--but take her
to Fort o' God! You will do this--M'sieur--you promise--"
He fell back limp. Philip lowered him gently, holding his head so
that he could look into the staring eyes that were still open and
understanding.
"I will go, Pierre," he said. "I will take her to Fort o' God. And
you--"
A shadow was creeping over Pierre's eyes. He was still fighting to
understand, fighting to hold for another breath or two the
consciousness that was fast slipping from him.
"Listen," cried Philip, striving to rouse him. "You will not die.
The bullet grazed your head, and the wound has already stopped
bleeding. To-morrow you must go to Churchill and hunt up a man
named Gregson--the man I was with when you and Jeanne came to see
the ship. Tell him that an important thing has happened, and that
he must tell the others I have gone to the camps. He will
understand. Tell him--tell him--"
He struggled to find some final word for Gregson.
Pages:
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121