Through the window he saw
a glow in the sky--the glow of a fire, leaping up in a crimson
flood from the top of the mountain!
Again that terrible, moaning cry fell from Pierre's lips, and he
reached out his arms toward the signal that was blazing forth its
warning in the night.
"Jeanne--Jeanne--" he sobbed. "My Jeanne--"
He swayed, and fell back. His words came in choking gasps.
"The signal!" he struggled, fighting to make Philip understand
him. "Jeanne--saw--Thorpe--to-night. He--must--changed--plans.
Attack--to-night. Jeanne--Jeanne--my Jeanne--has lighted--the
signal--fire!"
A tremor ran through his body, and he lay still. MacDougall ran
across from the half-open door, and put his head to Pierre's
breast.
"Is he dead?" asked Philip.
"Not yet."
"Will he become conscious again?"
"Possibly."
Philip gripped MacDougall by the arm.
"The attack is to be made to-night, Mac," he exclaimed. "Warn the
men. Have them ready. But you--YOU, MacDougall, attend to this
man, AND KEEP HIM ALIVE!"
Without another word he ran to the door and out into the night.
The signal-fire was leaping to the sky. It lighted up the black
cap of the mountain, and sent a thousand aurora fires flashing
across the lake.
Pages:
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291