the regular pumping motion, till he could do no more, and he again made
way for Gilmore.

He was turning to Vane, but felt a touch on his shoulder, and, looking
round, it was to gaze in the lad's grave face.

"How is he?"

"Oh, bad as bad can be. Do, pray, try and save him, Vane. We mustn't
let him die."

Vane breathed hard, and went to Distin's side, kneeling down to feel his
throat, and looking more serious as he rose.

"Let me try now," he whispered, but Gilmore shook his head.

"You're too weak," he said. "Wait a bit."

Vane waited, and at last they were glad to let him take his turn, when
the toil drove off the terrible chill from which he was suffering, and
he worked at the artificial respiration plan, growing stronger every
minute.

Again he resumed the task in his turn, and then again, after quite an
hour of incessant effort had been persisted in; while now the feeling
was becoming stronger in all their breasts that they had tried in vain,
for there was no more chance.

"If we could have had him in a bed, we might have done some good," said
Gilmore, sadly. "Vane, old fellow, I'm afraid you must give it up."

But, instead of ceasing his efforts, the lad tried the harder, and, in a
tone of intense excitement, he panted:--

"Look!"

"At what?" cried Macey, eagerly; and then, going down on his knees, he
thrust in his hand beneath the lad's shirt.

"Yes! you can feel it. Keep on, Vane, keep on."

"What!" shouted Gilmore; and then he gave a joyful cry, for there was a
trembling about one of Distin's eyelids, and a quarter of an hour later
they saw him open his eyes, and begin to stare wonderingly round.

It was only for a few moments, and then they closed again, as if the
spark of the fire of life that had been trembling had died out because
there had been a slight cessation of the efforts to produce it.

But there was no farther relaxation. All, in turn, worked hard, full of
excitement at the fruit borne by their efforts; and, at last, while Vane
was striving his best, the patient's eyes were opened, gazed round once
more, blankly and wonderingly, till they rested upon Vane's face, when
memory reasserted itself, and an unpleasant frown darkened the Creole's
countenance.

"Don't," he cried, angrily, in a curiously weak, harsh voice, quite
different from his usual tones; and he dragged himself away, and tried
to rise, but sank back.

Vane quitted his place, and made way for Macey, whose tur