He acted so like a crazed man, grovelling face downward in the grass, that I had to hold him, fearful lest his noise might attract attention from our enemies.

“Be quiet, De Croix!” I commanded sternly, my hand hard upon him, my eyes peering through the darkness to determine if possible the cause for his mysterious fright.  “What is it that has so driven you out of your senses?”

He half rose, staring back at the black shadow of the dim doorway, his face white as chalk in the starlight and faint glare of the distant fires.

“’T was the face of a dead woman,” he gasped, pointing forward, “there, just within the door!  I saw her buried three years ago, I swear; yet, God be merciful! she awaited me yonder in the gloom.”

“Pish!” I exclaimed, thoroughly disgusted at his weakness, and rising to my feet.  “Your nerves are unstrung by what we have been through, and you dream of the dead.”

“It is not so!” he protested, his voice faltering pitifully; “I saw her, Monsieur,—­nor was she once this day in my thought until that moment.”

“Well, I shall soon know if there is a ghost within,” I answered shortly, determined to make quick end of it.  “Remain here, while I go into the house and see what I can find.”

For a moment he clung to me like a frightened child; but I shook off his hands a bit roughly, and stepped boldly across the threshold.  That was an age when faith in ghostly visitations yet lingered to harass the souls of men.  I confess my heart beat more rapidly than usual, as I paused an instant to peer through the shadowy gloom within.  It was a small, low room, with a litter of broken furniture strewing the earthen floor; but the log walls were quite bare.  The flicker of the still blazing Fort illuminated the interior sufficiently to enable me to make out these simple details, and to see that the place was without living occupant.

There was only one other apartment in the building, and I walked back until I came upon the door which separated the two, and flung it open.  As I did so I thought I saw a shadow, the dim flitting of a woman’s form between me and the farther wall; but as I sprang hastily forward, grasping after the spectral vision, I touched nothing save the rough logs.  Twice I made the circuit of that restricted space, so confident was I of my own eye-witness; but I found nothing, and could only pause perplexed, staring about in wonder.

It occurred to me that my own overtaxed nerves were at fault, and that if I was to accomplish anything before daylight I must say nothing likely to alarm De Croix further.

“Come, Monsieur!” I said, as I came out and shook him into attention, “there is naught within more dangerous than shadows, or perchance a rat.  Nor have I any time longer to dally over such boyishness.  I had supposed you a soldier and a brave man, not a nerveless girl to be frightened in the dark.  Come, there is ample hiding-space behind the walls, and I purpose leaving you here to regain some measure of your lost courage while I try a new venture of my own.”