urning life. Some one had called
"_Margot_" in a tone she had never heard before. Some one had said,
"_Darling_!"

Back through the fast-closing mists of unconsciousness Margot's soul
struggled to meet her mate. Her fingers tightened feebly on his, and
her cold lips breathed a reply.

"Yes--I am here! Do you want me?"

Something like a sob sounded in the Editor's throat.

"Do I want you? My little Margot! Did I ever want anything before?
Come, I will warm your little cold hands. I will lead you every step of
the way. You can't sit here any longer to perish of cold. We will walk
on, and ask God to guide our feet. Lean on me. Don't be afraid!"

Then the dream became a moving one, in which she was borne forward
encircled by protecting arms; on and on; unceasingly onward, with ever-
increasing difficulty and pain.

George Elgood never knew whether he hit, as he supposed, a straight road
forward, or wandered aimlessly over the same ground. His one care was
to support his companion, and to test each footstep before he took it;
for the rest, he had put himself in God's hands, with a simple faith
which expected a reply; and when at last the light of the cottage
windows shone feebly through the mist his thankfulness was as great as
his relief.

As for Margot, she was too completely exhausted to realise relief; she
knew only a shrinking from the light, from the strange watching face; a
deathly sensation as of falling from a towering height, before darkness
and oblivion overpowered her, and she lay stretched unconscious upon the
bed.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

PARTINGS.

It was six days later when Margot opened her eyes, and found herself
lying on the little white bed in the bedroom of the Nag's Head, with
some one by the window whose profile as outlined against the light
seemed strangely and sweetly familiar. She stared dumbly, with a
confused wonder in her brain. _Edith_? It could not possibly be Edith!
What should bring Edith up to Glenaire in this sudden and unexpected
fashion? And why was she herself so weak and languid that to speak and
ask the question seemed an almost impossible exertion?

What had happened? Was she only dreaming that her head ached, and her
hands seemed too heavy to move, and that Edith sat by the window near a
table covered with medicine bottles and glasses? Margot blinked her
eyes, and stared curiously around. No! it was no dream; she was
certainly awake, and through t