xpressly for--I wanted to tell
you--"

He paused so long, that Agatha leaned over, trying to see his face.
The violence of the chill had passed. His eyes were wide open, his
face alarmingly pale. She felt a sudden qualm of pain, lest illness
and exhaustion had wrought havoc in his frame deeper than she knew.
But as she bent over him, his features lighted up with his rare
smile--an expression full of happiness and peace. He lifted a hand,
feebly, and she took it in both her own. She felt that thus, hand in
hand, they were nearer; that thus she could better be of help to him.

"I wanted to tell you," he began again, "that whatever happens, I'm
glad I did it."

"Did what, dear friend?" questioned Agatha, thinking in her heart that
the fever had set his wits to wandering.

"Glad I followed the Face and the Voice," he answered feebly. Agatha
watched him closely, torn with anxiety. She couldn't bear to see him
suffer--this man who had so suddenly become a friend, who had been so
brave and unselfish for her sake, who had been so cheerful throughout
their night of trouble.

"I told old Aleck," James went on, "that I'd have to jump the fence;
but that was ages ago. I've been harnessed down so long, that I
thought I'd gone to sleep, sure enough." Agatha thought certainly that
now he was delirious, but she had no heart to stop his gentle
earnestness. He went on: "But you woke me up. And I wouldn't have
missed this last run, not for anything. 'Twas a great night, that
night on the water, with you; and whatever happens, I shall always
think _that_ worth living for; yes, well worth living for."

James's voice died away into incoherence and at last into silence.
Agatha, holding his hands in hers, watched him as he sank away from her
into some realm whither she could not follow. Either his hour of
sanity and calmness had passed, and fever had taken hold upon his
system; or fatigue, mental and physical, had overpowered him once more.
Presently she dropped his hand gently, looked to the coverings of his
couch, and settled herself down again to rest.

But no more sleep came to her eyes that night. She thought over all
that James had said, remembering his words vividly. Then her thoughts
went back over the years, recalling she knew not what irrelevant
matters from the past. Perhaps by some underlying law of association,
there came to her mind, also, the words of the song she had sung on the
Sunday which James had re