dowitz, on the high ground
dominating the valleys on either side. Sorell was a great walker. But
probably they were as anxious to avoid a casual meeting as he was.

The evening was rapidly darkening, and as he climbed he searched the
hillside with his quick eyes for any sign of his father. Once or twice
he stopped to call:

"Father!"

The sound died away, echoing among the fields and hollows of the moor.
But there was no answer. He climbed further. He was now near the stream
which descended through the park, and its loud jubilant voice burst upon
him, filling the silence.

Then, above the plashing of the stream and the rising of the wind, he
heard suddenly a cry:

"Help!"

It came from a point above his head. A sudden horror came upon him. He
dashed on. In another minute a man's figure appeared, higher up, dark
against the reddened sky. The man put one hand to his mouth, and
shouted through it again--"Help!"

Douglas came up with him. In speechless amazement he saw that it was
Otto Radowitz, without a coat, bareheaded, pale and breathless.

"There's a man here, Falloden. I think it's your father. He's awfully
ill. I believe he's dying. Come at once! I've been shouting for a
long time."

Douglas said nothing. He rushed on, following Radowitz, who took a short
cut bounding through the deep ling of the moor. Only a few yards till
Douglas perceived a man, with a grey, drawn face, who was lying full
length on a stretch of grass beside the stream, his head and shoulders
propped against a low rock on which a folded coat had been placed as
a pillow.

"Father!"

Sir Arthur opened his eyes. He was drawing deep, gasping breaths, the
strong life in him wrestling still. But the helplessness, the ineffable
surrender and defeat of man's last hour, was in his face.

Falloden knelt down.

"Father!--don't you know me? Well soon carry you home. It's Duggy!" No
answer. Radowitz had gone a few yards away, and was also kneeling, his
face buried in his hands, his back turned to the father and son.

Douglas made another agonised appeal, and the grey face quivered. A
whisper passed the lips.

"It's best, Duggy--poor Duggy! Kiss me, old boy. Tell your mother--that
young man--prayed for me. She'll like to--know that. My love--"

The last words were spoken with a great effort; and the breaths that
followed grew slower and slower as the vital tide withdrew itself. Once
more the eyes opened, and Douglas saw in them the old affe