uch as
she could in the penumbra of her thoughts. She did not want to pity or
to help him, she convinced herself; but she did not want his death
laid to a Morgan plot--for none of his friends would ever believe de
Spain had found his way alive and alone to where he lay.

All of this Nan was casting up in her mind as she walked home. She had
already decided, but without realizing it, what to do, and was willing
to assume that her mind was still open.

Toward daylight of the morning, de Spain dreamed he was not
alone--that a figure moved silently in the faintness of the dawn--a
figure he struggled to believe a reality, but one that tricked his
wandering senses and left him, at the coming of another day, weaker,
with failing courage, and alone.

But when he opened his eyes later, and with a clearer head, he found
food and drink near. Unable to believe his sight, he fancied his
wavering senses deceiving him, until he put out his hand and felt
actually the substance of what he saw. He took up a bottle of milk
incredulously, and sipped at it with the caution of a man not unused
to periods of starvation. He broke eggs and swallowed them, at
intervals, hungrily from the shell; and meat he cached, animal-like,
in near-by crannies and, manlike, in his pockets.

He was determined, if she should come again, to intercept his visitor.
For forty-eight hours he tried cat-naps with an occasional sandwich
to keep up his strength. Nan returned unseen, and disappeared despite
his watchfulness. A new supply of food proved she had been near, but
that it would be hard to time her coming.

When she did come, the third time, an innocent snare discovered her
presence. It was just before day, and de Spain had so scattered small
obstacles--handfuls of gravel and little chips of rock--that should
she cross the ledge in the dark she could hardly escape rousing him.

The device betrayed her. "I'm awake," announced de Spain at once from
his retreat. When she stopped at the words he could not see her; she
had flattened herself, standing, against a wall of the ledge. He
waited patiently. "You give me no chance to thank you," he went on
after a pause. Nan, drawing nearer, put down a small parcel. "I don't
need any thanks," she replied with calculated coolness. "I am hoping
when you are well enough you will go away, quietly, in the night. That
will be the only way you can thank me."

"I shall be as glad to go as you can be to have me," rejoined de