each given a dose of
brandy.

Marjory thought she must still be dreaming when she opened her eyes and
saw her friend the tramp or poacher--for it was he--bending over her
anxiously.

To Mr. Forester's inquiries she replied that she felt all right now. He
wished to take Blanche home as quickly as possible, and the man assured
him that he and Herbert would see Marjory safely up to Hunters' Brae, at
the same time asking that a groom might be sent to fetch the doctor, as
he was sure one would be needed.

Mr. Forester thanked the man, promising to send for Dr. Morison, though
he thought it was hardly so serious as all that, for Marjory was such a
strong, sturdy girl, so different from his delicate little Blanche, he
thought, as he pressed his precious child closer to him. He bade Marjory
good-bye, saying that he must take Blanche home to her mother, and that
Maud had better come too. Maud would have liked to stay with Marjory,
but feeling that taking her own way had caused enough trouble already,
she reluctantly obeyed her uncle.

Although Marjory had said she felt all right, she found that when she
tried to stand up and walk she felt strangely weak, and there was a
sharp pain in her side, so that she was very glad to lean on the arm of
her mysterious friend. She was too tired to be curious, and she accepted
his help and kindness without question.

He and Herbert between them managed to get her home, and then handed her
over to Lisbeth's care. She, poor woman, was too much taken aback to ask
the stranger who he was, and he slipped away unnoticed and unthanked.

Herbert decided to wait until his father came, so that he might give him
an account of the true state of affairs; and it was well that he did
so, for, even had she been able, it is doubtful whether Marjory would
have been willing to say much about her own part in the day's
happenings.

Herbert did not spare himself to his father, but told the story as
quickly as he could, and then waited anxiously for the doctor to come
back from his patient.

"Well, my boy," he said, when at last he appeared, "I'm afraid she'll be
worse before she's better, as the saying is. Curious thing--an old
weakness of her childhood, which her uncle and I both thought she had
outgrown! That swim in her clothes, straining every nerve, then rowing
back, wind against her, four of you in the boat--too much--caused
strain. This will mean weeks of lying up, poor child; seems worried
too--w