rrying along the
high cliff just above where she stood. He was advancing toward her with
hasty strides that broke almost into a run.

Dorothy noticed that he carried a large black bundle in his arms, and
that he was heading directly toward the boat house.

She saw him lean forward, raise the bundle quickly and dash it into the
river, turn rapidly, and break into a quick run in the opposite
direction.

The bundle did not quite reach the water's edge, she saw; he had missed
his aim.

Dorothy stopped short and peered over the rails at it, wondering what it
could contain.

As she did so she observed that there was motion within the small, dark
bundle. It contained some living thing, she felt quite sure.

Dare she go and examine it? she asked herself. Perhaps it was some poor
animal doomed to death that was bound up in that unsightly bundle.

Her heart stirred with pity at the thought, and at that moment a cry,
faint and muffled, broke the stillness of the night.

It emanated from the dark bundle. Quick as a flash Dorothy retraced her
steps until she reached the bank, and down this she clambered with
alacrity.

But when she was almost within reach of the bundle it rolled down into
the water with a splash, and the mad waves covered it.

With a cry Dorothy sprang forward just in time, and caught it as the
undertow was bearing it out into the deep water.

Again there was a quick cry and struggle within the bundle. In a
twinkling Dorothy had torn off the wrappings.

"Oh, God in Heaven!" she cried, "it is a little child!"

CHAPTER XXVI.

The cry died away in Dorothy's throat as her terrified eyes fell upon
the bundle which she held in her arms.

Yes, it was a little child.

"Oh, the cruelty of it!" she sobbed aloud. Some one had doomed it to
death on this bitter night, and she thanked Heaven for bringing her to
that spot to save its life.

Wrapping it quickly in the ends of her long thick cloak, Dorothy hurried
to the nearest shelter with it.

This happily proved to be a small cottage on the outskirts of the town.
A solitary ray of light shone from one of the windows, and without
hesitation Dorothy hastened up the little narrow path to the porch and
rang the bell.

She quite believed that she would know the inmates of the cottage, for
she well knew every one in the village.

It was a strange woman that opened the door at length and peered out at
her, and a shrill voice cried:

"Why, as I live,