Who is it?
Who is it ?" Two were coming out of the gloom, travelling slowly and painfully along the causeway.

One was La Tribe, limping; the other a rider, slashed across the forehead, and sobbing curses.
"No more!" she muttered.

"Are there no more ?" The minister shook his head.

The rider wiped the blood from his eyes, and turned up his face that he might see the better.

But he seemed to be dazed, and only babbled strange words in a strange _patois_.
She stamped her foot in passion.