She recalled the dark moment when Death, intrusive, imminent, lurked at the tent door, and in its shadow she emptied out her soul in that one kiss of fealty and farewell.
That kiss--there came to her again, suddenly, Madame Degardy's cry of warning: "Don't get his breath--it's death, idiot!" That was it: the black fever was in her veins! That one kiss had sealed her own doom.

She knew it now.
He had given her life by giving her love.

Well, he should give her death too--her lord of fife and death.

She was of the chosen few who could drink the cup of light and the cup of darkness with equally regnant soul.
But it might lay her low in the very hour of Valmond's trouble.

She must conquer it--how?
To whom could she turn for succour?
There was but one,--yet she could not seek Madame Degardy, for the old woman would drive her to her bed, and keep her there.