some new proof of its own
strength. The old man raised himself, and laid his hand on the telephone
which connected his room with that of Faversham.

How, in Dixon's custody, Felicia reached the station, and stumbled into
the train, and how, at the other end, she groped her way into the gates
of Duddon and began the long woodland ascent to the castle, Felicia never
afterward knew. But when she had gone a few steps along the winding drive
Where the intermittent and stormy moonlight was barely enough to guide
her, she felt her strength suddenly fail her. She could never climb the
long hill to the house--she could never fight the wind that was rising
in her face. She must sit down, till some one came--to help.

She sank down upon a couch of moss, at the foot of a great oak-tree which
was still thick with withered leaf. The mental agitation, and the sheer
physical fatigue of her mad attempt had utterly worn out her barely
recovered strength. "I shall faint," she thought, "and no one will know
where I am!" She tried to concentrate her will on the resolution not to
faint. Straightening her back and head against the tree, she clasped her
hands rigidly on her knee. From time to time a wave of passionate
recollection would rush through her; and her heart would beat so fast,
that again the terror of sinking into some unknown infinite would string
up her will to resistance. In this alternate yielding and recoil, this
physical and mental struggle, she passed minutes which seemed to her
interminable. At last resistance was all but overwhelmed.

"Come to me!--oh, do come to me!"

She seemed to be pouring her very life into the cry. But, probably, the
words were only spoken in the mind.

* * * * *

A little later she woke up in bewilderment. She was no longer on the
moss. She was being carried--carried firmly and speedily--in some one's
arms. She tried to open her eyes.

"Where am I?"

A voice said:

"That's better! Don't be afraid. You'd fainted I think. I can carry you
quite safely."

Infinite bliss rushed in upon the girl's fluttering sense. She was too
feeble, too weak, to struggle. Instead she let her head sink on Tatham's
shoulder. Her right hand clung to his coat.

The young man mounted the hill, marvelling at the lightness of the burden
he held; touched, embarrassed, yet sometimes inclined to laugh or scold.
What had she been about? He had come in from hunting to find her absence
ju