a low voice, "means life to me instead of a
living death; it means more than I can tell you, more than even you can
understand."

He had risen, but before he could speak she had come to him and
impulsively taken his hand. "Mr. Gifford," she said, "tell me how I can
repay you."

Her eyes met his; they were full of gratitude and something more. But he
resisted the temptation to answer her question in the way it was plain to
him he was invited to do.

"It is reward enough for me to have served you," he responded steadily.
"Seeing that chance gave me the power, I could do no less."

"You would have risked your life for mine," she persisted, her eyes
still on him.

"Hardly that," he returned, with an effort to force a smile. "But had it
been necessary, I should have been quite content to do so."

"And you will not tell me how I can show my gratitude?"

"I did not do it for reward," he murmured, scarcely able to
restrain himself.

"I am sure of that," she assented. "But you once hinted, or at any rate
led me to believe, that I could repay you."

There could be no pretence of ignoring her meaning now. Still he felt
that chivalry forbade his acceptance.

"I was wrong," he replied with an effort, "and most unfair if I suggested
a bargain."

"Have you repented the suggestion?" she asked almost quizzingly and with
a curious absence of her characteristic pride.

"Only in a sense," he answered. "I hope I am too honourable to take an
unfair advantage."

She laughed now; joyously, it seemed. "If your scruples are so strong
there will be nothing for it but for me to throw away mine and offer
myself to you."

"Edith," he exclaimed in a flash of rapture, then, checked the passionate
impulse to take her in his arms. "You must not; not now, not now. It is
not fair to yourself. At the moment of your release from this horrible
danger you cannot be master of yourself. You must not mistake gratitude
for love."

Edith drew back with a touch of resentful pride.

"If you think I don't know my own mind--" she began.

"Does any one know his own mind at such a crisis as you have just passed
through?" he said, a little wistfully. "Edith," he went on as he took her
unresisting hand, "you must not be offended with me. Think. The whole
object of what I have done for you has been to set you free, as free as
though you had woke up to find the episode of these Henshaws had been no
more than a horrible dream. You must be free, you mu