r cheek. "You are over-tired, father, or
you would not have thought of that--just now."

Deringham glanced at her curiously with an unpleasant smile. "You
apparently did not comprehend me," he said. "Would you be astonished
to hear that Alton, who seems to have anticipated disaster, left you
Carnaby by will?"

The girl rose and met the man's gaze directly, though the colour had
crept beyond her cheeks now. "No," she said very quietly; "though I
never thought of this. I know him better than ever you could do. But
it is time I gave him the medicine, and you must go."

Deringham did not move, but watched his daughter as she took up the
glass and phial. "It is important that he should have the draught?" he
said.

"Yes," she said in a voice that thrilled a little as she stood very
straight before him. "I think it would make all the difference
between--a girl without a dowry, and the mistress of Carnaby."

Then she pointed as it were commandingly towards the door, and
Deringham went out with a white face, as though she had struck him upon
it, while Alice Deringham shivered and sank down limply into the chair.
She sat still for a moment with eyes that shone mistily and a great
sense of humility, and then, rousing herself with an effort, moved
towards the bed and touched the sick man gently. He opened his eyes as
she did so, and there was no glitter in them now, but a dawning
comprehension. He seemed to smile a little when she raised his head.

"You must drink this," she said.

Alton made a gesture of understanding, and drained the glass, then let
his head fall back, and feebly stretched out his hand until it touched
her fingers. The girl did not move, and his grasp tightened suddenly.

"Hold me fast. I am slipping--slipping down," he said.

Alice Deringham returned the pressure of the clinging fingers, and as
she saw a curious unreasoning confidence creep into the haggard face
her eyes once more shone through a gathering mistiness. "I will hold
you fast," she said.

"Yes," said the sick man in a strained voice. "You will not let go.
It's five hundred feet to the river--in the dark below. I'm slipping,
slipping--no holding in the snow."

He ceased and looked up at her suddenly as though the fear had left
him, and the girl said very softly, "Don't you know me?"

"Yes," said the man. "Of course. I was sliding back into the gully,
but I knew you would help me."

He stopped again, and the strained e