then began that rocking and pitching
and swaying and creaking, which was to last the whole night long, save
for the brief stops at the post-houses.

After an hour of it, I was holding my breath against the lurches, like
a sea-sick man against that bottomless fall of the ship's bows on the
ocean. I had no pain,--only an over whelming exhaustion,--but the joy
of her touch and her presence kept me from failing. And though Aunt Lucy
dozed, not a wink of sleep did my lady get through all of those weary
twelve hours. Always alert was she, solicitous beyond belief, scanning
ever the dial of her watch to know when to give me brandy and physic;
or reaching across to feel my temples for the fever. The womanliness of
that last motion was a thing for a man to wonder at. But most
marvellous of all was the instinct which told her of my chief sickening
discomfort,--of the leathery, travelled smell of the carriage. As a
relief for this she charged her pocket-napkin with a most delicate
perfume, and held it to my face.

When we drew up to shift horses, Jack would come to the door to inquire
if there was aught she wanted, and to know how I was bearing up. And
often Mrs. Manners likewise. At first I was for talking with them, but
this Dorothy would not allow. Presently, indeed, it was beyond my power,
and I could only smile feebly at my Lord when I heard Dolly asking him
that the hostlers might be more quiet. Toward morning a lethargy fell
upon me. Once I awoke when the lamp had burned low, to perceive the
curtains drawn back, a black blotch of trees without, and the moonlight
streaming in on my lady's features. With the crack of a whip I was off
again.

When next consciousness came, the tarry, salt smell of a ship was in my
nostrils, and I knew that we were embarked. I lay in a clean bunk in a
fair-sized and sun-washed cabin, and I heard the scraping of ropes
and the tramp of feet on the deck above my head. Framed against the
irregular glass of the cabin window, which was greened by the water
beyond, Dorothy and my Lord stood talking in whispers.

"Jack!" I said.

At the sound they turned and ran toward me, asking how I felt.

"I feel that words are very empty, Jack, to express such a gratitude as
mine," I answered. "Twice you have saved me from death, you have paid
my debts, and have been stanch to us both in our troubles. And--" The
effort was beyond me, and I glanced appealingly at Dolly.

"And it is to you, dear Jack," she fi