aving her all to himself to comfort, predominated.

"Do not be frightened,' he said; we shall get on very well if you will
let me carry you."

"Oh! no, no," she said, trying to spring up with her accustomed energy.
"I will push on again."

But although she summoned all her courage, she was obliged to let
Gilbert put his arm round her and support her, and finally she was
lifted in his strong arms and carried whether she wished it or not.

"I shall tire you so dreadfully," Joyce whispered.

"If you do, it is the sweetest tiredness I ever knew; you know that,
Joyce."

Then they went on in silence. Gilbert was still suffering from the
treatment he had received at Bob Priday's hands, and they made slow
progress.

"Just raise your head," he said, after ten minutes' tramp through the
narrow track, which he lost at times through the thick tangle of heath
and gorse and low-growing bracken. "Raise your head and tell me if you
can see the shepherd's cottage. It is getting very dark."

Joyce did as he told her, but, after straining her eyes for a few
moments, she said:

"I can't see anything, it is so dark. I don't know where we are. Oh, I
don't know!"

"You are safe with me," Gilbert said; and then added, fervently: "I am
not afraid for God is with us."

It was so unusual for Joyce to hear that Name spoken. She did not
respond, but let her head fall upon his shoulder again.

Presently he said:

"There is a tiny light now--two lights--they must be in the shepherd's
cottage. Take heart, my darling. We shall soon be home."

The word had slipped from his lips unawares.

"I am going away early to-morrow. You will not forget me?"

Once more she raised her face, and in the dim light he saw her beautiful
eyes gazing at him with an expression which was half wonder and half
joy. But she said, simply:

"No, I will never forget you."

The light was close to them now, and there was a sound of men's feet
drawing nearer and then Duke came bounding up.

With a cry of "Father! father!" Joyce struggled to her feet, and threw
herself into her father's arms.

"Why, Joyce, my Sunshine, where have you been? We have been very
anxious, your mother on thorns, and poor Piers imagining all kinds of
disasters. Why did you not keep up with the boys? They had been at home
an hour before I started. What has happened sir?" the squire said,
turning a little sharply on Gilbert Arundel.

"It is too long a story to tell now, sir," Gilbert