in his tone. "The
horror of it--I'll never get over it as long as I live."

"Forget it," said Phil. "It was just a lark. But now that it's over,
I'll confess that I thought for about half a second--just before you
began edging up a little--that I'd have to let go. But don't you ever
tell anybody I said so; that's marked confidential."

The note was obviously forced. Her heart still pounded hard and
weariness was written plainly in her face. Now that the stress of the
half-hour had passed, she was not without regret for what she had done.
Her father would not be pleased; her uncle would rebuke her sharply; her
aunts would shudder as much at the publicity her wild adventure was sure
to bring her as at the hazard itself. She was conscious of the
admiration in Holton's eyes; conscious, indeed, of something more than
that.

"I want to know that you did that for me: I must think so!" he said
hoarsely.

His lips trembled and his hands shook. Her foolhardiness had placed both
their lives in jeopardy. It pleased him to think that she had saved his
life--whereas in strictest truth she had only added to his peril.

"I didn't do it for you: I did it for fun," she replied shortly; and yet
deep down in her heart she did not dislike his words or the intense
manner in which he spoke them. Her dallyings with boys of her own age,
with only now and then a discreet flirtation with one of the college
seniors, comprised her personal experiences of romance.

"You are beautiful--wonderful! Yours is the bravest soul in the world. I
loved you the day I first saw you in your father's office. Phil--"

For a moment his hand lay upon hers that was trembling still from its
grip of the tree.

"We must climb to the top; the joke will be spoiled if we let them help
us," she cried, springing to her feet. "Come! The way will be easier
along the old path."

Across the vale some one hallooed to them. Her white sweater was clearly
printed against the cliff and a man on the edge of the farther side
stood with the light of the declining sun playing round him. The ravine
narrowed here and the distance across was not more than a hundred
yards.

Phil fluttered her handkerchief.

"It's Fred!" she said. "See! There by the big sycamore."

Fred waved his cap, then dropped his arm to his side and stood, a
sentinel-like figure, at the edge of his acres, etched in heroic outline
against the winter sky. His trousers were thrust into his boots; the
collar