You're the last of seven--he's a devil--no man--" "And you let her go out into the night--to him." She clung to a last thread of hope: "If you met him and killed him with the luck of the cross it would bring equal bad luck on someone you love--on the girl, Pierre!" He was merely repeating stupidly: "You let her go out--to him--in the night! She's in his arms now--you devil--you tiger--" She threw herself down and clung about his knees with hysterical strength.
He tore the little cross from his neck and flung it into her upturned face.
"Don't make me put my hands on you, Jack.

Let me go!" There was no need to tear her grasp away.

She crumpled and slipped sidewise to the floor.

He leaned over and shook her violently by the shoulder.
"Which way did she ride?
Which way did they ride ?" She whispered: "Down the valley, Pierre; down the valley; I swear they rode that way." And as she lay in a half swoon she heard the faint clatter of galloping hoofs over the rocks and a wild voice yelling, fainter and fainter with distance: "McGurk!".