my greatest benefactor; I remembered his many
kindnesses, and how basely I had requited them.

Captain Rudstone led the way to the little room at the base of the
watch-tower. We pushed through the crowd outside and when I was over the
threshold I saw a pitiable sight by the glow of a lantern. Griffith
Hawke lay partly on a blanket, with Andrew Menzies supporting his head
and shoulders. His face was ghastly pale, and there was blood on his
lips and chest. The doctor, kneeling beside him, was preparing to give
him a dose of spirits. Half a dozen sorrowing men stood about.

"His minutes are numbered," Captain Rudstone whispered in my ear. "He is
shot through the lungs. They brought him here because it was the nearest
place of shelter."

The factor looked up and saw me. He made a feeble gesture, and as I
knelt by him the tears came to my eyes and a lump rose in my throat. I
would have given anything to save his life; my sorrow was true and
sincere.

"They tell me the fort is safe--that the Indians have retreated to the
woods," he whispered faintly.

"Yes, they have been beaten off," I replied, "and with heavy loss."

"Thank God!" he murmured. "They will hardly make another attack. All
will go well now. Menzies, have you sent for Miss Hatherton?" he added.

"Yes, she will soon be here."

The dying man lifted his head a little, looking at me with a smile. The
doctor poured some strong liquor between his lips, and it instantly
brought a brightness to his eyes and a tinge of color to his cheeks.

"That will keep me up for a time," he whispered. "I have something to
say to Mr. Carew, and I wish it to be as private as possible. You and
the doctor must remain, Menzies, but the rest--"

A spasm of pain stopped him, and while he writhed with it all the men
who were in the room, save we three kneeling by him, stepped quietly
outside. He grew more comfortable in a moment, glanced wistfully at the
door, and put a cold hand in one of mine.

"Denzil, my boy, it is only a question of a few minutes," he said, in a
low voice. "I am dying at my post, and without regret. It is better so.
I nearly made a mistake, but I saw it in time. I know your secret--I
suspected it days ago. You love Miss Hatherton--"

"It is true," I interrupted hoarsely. "Forgive me, my old friend, and
believe that I would not for the world have wronged you in thought or
deed. I would have left the fort long ago, had you given consent--"

"Hush! there is