ness the boulders scattered about the stream
stood up like mediaeval monsters, and for a few panic-stricken seconds
Muriel took the twining roots of a rhododendron close at hand for the
coils of a gigantic snake. Then as the ordinary light of day filtered
down into the gloomy place she sighed again with relief, and looked at
her companion.

He was sitting with his chin on his hand, gazing across the ravine. He
did not stir or glance in her direction. His yellow face was seamed in
a thousand wrinkles.

A vague misgiving assailed her as she looked at him. There was
something unnatural in his stillness.

"Nick!" she said at length with hesitation.

He turned sharply, and in an instant the ready grin leaped out upon
his face. "Good morning," he said lightly. "I was just thinking how
nice it would be to go down there and have a wash. We've got to pass
the time somehow, you know. Will you go first?"

His gaiety baffled her, but she did not feel wholly reassured. She got
up slowly, and as she did so, her attention was caught by something
that sent a thrill of dismay through her.

"Don't look at my feet, please," said Nick. "They won't bear
inspection at present."

She turned horrified eyes to his face, as he thrust them down into a
bunch of fern. "How dreadful!" she exclaimed. "They are all cut and
gashed. I didn't know you were barefooted."

"I wasn't," said Nick. "I've got some sandals here. Don't look like
that! You make me want to cry. I assure you it doesn't hurt in the
least."

He grinned again as he uttered this cheerful lie, but Muriel was not
deceived.

"You must let me bind them up," she said.

"Not for the world," laughed Nick. "I couldn't walk with my feet
in poultice-bags, and we shall have some more rough marching to do
to-night. Now don't you worry. Run along like a good girl. I'm going
to say my prayers."

It was flippantly spoken, but Muriel realised that it would be better
to obey. She turned about slowly, and began to make her way down to
the stream.

The sunlight was beginning to slant through the ravine, and here and
there the racing water gleamed silvery. It was intensely refreshing to
kneel and bathe face and hands in its icy coldness. She lingered long
over it. Its sparkling purity seemed to reach and still the throbbing
misery at her heart. In some fashion it brought her peace.

She would have prayed, but she felt she had no prayer to offer. She
had no favour to ask for herself, and