in her voice, and he could imagine that the
prospect brought horror to her face. By this time it was almost
pitch dark.

"Have I not found food, water and shelter within an hour's time? Can
good fortune end with this? Let us sleep peacefully to-night and hope
for the best with to-morrow's developments."

"Sleep? Where are we to sleep?"

"In this cave and upon the sand. There is no other place. It is safe,
Lady Tennys, and you are to have my coat as a pillow for that tired
little head of yours." With this he arose and threw off his coat
despite her protests, rolling it into a compact little bundle. Placing
this improvised pillow on the sand near the rear of the cave, he said:

"There is your bed, my Lady. It is the very best in the hotel."

"You are so good to me, Hugh,--much better than I thought you could be
after--after--"

"Please don't say what you started to say," he interrupted, his voice
breaking suddenly. He stood with his shoulder against one of the outer
corners of the cave, she sitting quietly behind him. At last he went on,
as if the thought came slowly, "Lady Huntingford, forgive my
selfishness. I have been bewailing my own misfortune in a most unmanly
way, while you have borne your loss bravely, thinking only to comfort
me. Forgive me."

"My loss?" she asked in wonder.

"Lord Huntingford," he said gently.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, starting sharply. "Lord--Lord Huntingford! Oh,
Hugh, I had forgotten--I had not thought--," but she did not complete
the bewildered speech. He could have believed that she did not breathe
during the next few moments as she stood there, straight and rigid,
clasping his arm convulsively. Then she turned away and walked quickly
to the bed on the sand, lying down without a word. He could distinguish
nothing of her person save certain outlines in the darkness, and
although he listened intently, he heard no sob, no sigh.

Soon his eyes grew heavy and he felt the overpowering force of sleep
upon him. Removing his waistcoat, he went to the other side of the cave
and prepared to stretch himself out for rest. He paused and listened for
a sound from her. None came, so in some trepidation he stepped nearer.
Soft, regular breathing, deep and full, told him that she was asleep. In
considerable wonder he went back to his hard bed. Out of the confusion
of thoughts and impressions that followed her surprising admission, came
at last the dim, sleepy understanding of the situation.

She