"Mademoiselle!" he said, but he could get no further. His heart had risen in his throat, and was choking him. She, too, stood like one stunned, her knees trembling, her brain swimming. She would have fallen, but that she took his extended hand to support herself.
The bear had been growling uneasily at her side, and when he saw La Pommeraye's hand touch his mistress, he gave a savage growl, and was about to spring upon the intruder. Marguerite bade him down, and the obedient creature crouched at her feet.
"Mademoiselle has a strange guardian," said La Pommeraye, who had risen at the animal's approach.
"He has kept me alive, Monsieur. But for him I should have gone mad, or cast myself into the sea."
La Pommeraye shuddered as he asked the question, but he could keep it back no longer.
"It is well with them," she answered calmly; "they sleep behind yonder hill."
"Dead?" exclaimed La Pommeraye, beneath his breath.
"And yet you live! How long have you endured the loneliness of this dreary spot?"
"Claude died before the snows fell, and since then François and I have lived I know not how. I have tried to die, but Heaven has been too kind."
La Pommeraye turned away his head, and the sobs he could no longer restrain shook him from head to foot. He struggled for self-control. At last he turned to her, and took her hand to lead her to the boat.
"Your old servant, Etienne Brulé, is with me," he said. "He waits in the boat for you. He will look after you while I collect whatever may be in your hut."
"Monsieur, I cannot----" and for the first time her voice faltered. "I cannot leave my dead!"
Even at that moment Charles was conscious of a fierce throb at his heart, as he realised that the woman he loved had irrevocably, for life and for death, given her life to his friend.
As she spoke she turned, and led him past the hut, and up the hill to the little group of graves. The hour of utter separation had come, and she could say nothing. La Pommeraye felt that a word from him would be sacrilege. Silent she stood there, torn between the fearful pang of parting, and the realisation that she must go. At last her will conquered, and she turned to La Pommeraye, saying simply: "I am ready, Monsieur."