that I am tired. There are
many of your people, too," he said, turning to the Protestant
clergyman. "I wish I were able to go back and show--"

He was tired. They carried him into the relief train, unconscious.
The young priest and the Protestant clergyman came frequently to look
at him as the train sped on toward Baltimore. But there was no cause
for alarm; Father Murray was only overcome by his efforts and the blow.
In half an hour he was helping again, Mark and Saunders watching
closely, in fear that he might lift the blanket that covered the face
of Ruth Atheson.

When Father Murray came to where she had been placed in the train, Mark
put his hand on the priest's arm.

"Don't, please, Father. She is dead--one of the two you saw lying on
the other side when you came over."

"Yes, I know. But I should like to see." Father Murray started to
raise the cloth, but again Mark stopped him.

"Please do not look, Father."

The deep sadness in Mark's voice caused the priest to stare at him with
widely opened eyes. A look of fear came into them as he glanced at the
covered body. For the first time he seemed afraid, and Saunders drew
near to catch him. But he did not fall.

"I think--Mark--that I will look. I can drink of the chalice--if it
must be--I am sure I can. Don't be afraid for me, my friend. Draw the
blanket back."

But Mark could not.

Father Murray pushed him gently aside and lifted the covering
reverently and slowly. He dropped it with a faint gasp as the face
stood revealed. Then he leaned over the dead girl and searched the
features for a full half minute, that seemed an age to Mark. The
priest's lips moved, but Mark caught only a few words: "I thank Thee
for sparing me, Lord."

He caught the end of the blanket and once more covered the dead face.
Then he turned and faced Mark and Saunders.

"God rest her. It is not Ruth."

[Illustration: "God rest her," Father Murray said after what seemed an
age to Mark; "it is not Ruth!"]

Mark stared bewildered. Had the priest's, mind been affected by the
blow, and the subsequent excitement? Father Murray sensed what was
going on in Mark's mind.

"Can't you trust me, Mark? I know that the likeness is marvelous--"

"Likeness?" gasped Mark. But there was a whole world of hope in his
voice.

"Yes, my friend--likeness. I--" the priest hesitated--"I knew her
well. It is not Ruth."

CHAPTER XV

"I AM NOT THE DUCHESS!"

A long,