As he dropped on his knee beside her, she smiled and raised her hand as if to touch him, but the hand dropped and the head fell forward on his breast.

She was gone into a greater peace.
Once more Michel made a journey-alone--to the Ecrehos, and there, under the ruins of the old Abbey of Val Richer, he buried the twain he had loved.

Not once in all the terrible hours had he shed a tear; not once had his hand trembled; his face was like stone, and his eyes burned with an unearthly light.
He did not pray beside the graves; but he knelt and kissed the earth again and again.

He had doffed his robes of peace, and now wore the garb of a soldier, armed at all points fully.

Rising from his knees, he turned his face towards Jersey.
"Only mine! Only mine!" he said aloud in a dry, bitter voice.
In the whole island, only his loved ones had died of the plague.