y herself. "It was
the first time anybody had seen Uncle Peter smile; he was wretched all
day. He loves you very dearly, Mr. Breen."

Jack's hand dropped so suddenly to his side that the pain made him
tighten his lips. For a moment he did not answer.

"Then it was only Uncle Peter who was anxious, was it? I am glad he
loves me. I love him, too," he said at last in a perfunctory tone--"he's
been everything to me."

"And you have been everything to him." She determined to change the
subject now. "He told me only--well,--two days ago--that you had made him
ten years younger."

"Me?--Miss Ruth!" Still the same monotonous cadence.

"Yes."

"How?"

"Well,--maybe because he is old and you are young." As she spoke her
eyes measured the width of his shoulders and his broad chest--she saw
now to what her father owed his life--"and another thing; he said that
he would always thank you for getting out alive. And I owe you a debt of
gratitude, too, Mr. Breen;--you gave me back my dear daddy," she added
in a more assured tone. Here at last was something she could talk
unreservedly about. Something that she had wanted to say ever since he
came.

Jack straightened and threw back his shoulders: that word again! Was
that all that Ruth had to say?

"No, Miss Ruth, you don't." There was a slight ring of defiance
now. "You do not owe me anything, and please don't think so, and
please--please--do not say so!"

"I don't owe you anything! Not for saving my father's life?" This came
with genuine surprise.

"No! What would you have thought of me, what would I have thought
of myself had I left him to suffocate when I could just as well have
brought him out? Do you think I could ever have looked you in the face
again? You might not have ever known I could have saved him--but I
should have hated myself every hour of my life. Men are not to be
thanked for these things; they are to be despised if they don't do them.
Can't you see the difference?"

"But you might have been killed, too!" she exclaimed. Her own voice was
rising, irritation and disappointment swaying it. "Everybody says it was
a miracle you were not."

"Not a miracle at all. All I was afraid of was stumbling over something
in the dark--and it was nearly dark--only a few of the rock lights
burning--and not be able to get on my feet again. But don't let us talk
about it any more."

"Yes--but I will, I MUST. I must feel right about it all, and I cannot
unless you listen