even that has not made a
Hercules of me. I was more than glad when she opened her eyes, or,
rather, when she moved a little in my arms and then spoke.

She was not hurt much, she said in answer to my question, but she felt
stiff in every limb, and the dampness seemed to have soaked through to
her very bones. How was I, and what had happened?

I answered the two questions in almost the same breath. Brevity is not
only the soul of wit, but it is the sole method of carrying on a
conversation when both parties are wet and shivering.

"Have you any idea where we are?" Moira asked.

I shook my head and then, remembering that my answer was unintelligible
in the darkness, I said, "I haven't. We fell over a cliff or a
precipice, and that's all I can say about it."

"Why," she said, "you're shivering!" And she put out her hand to touch
me. Her fingers came to rest on my arm, and I could feel her stiffen in
the dark.

"Jim, why did you do it?" she demanded, with yet a curious softness in
her voice.

"Do what?" I fenced.

"As if I don't know that you're in your shirt sleeves. That's your coat
that's wrapped round me."

"What if it is?"

"You shouldn't have done it. You'll catch your death of cold."

"Much chance there is of that," I grunted.

She was silent for a time, and then I felt her arms about me, and I
realised that she was trying to place my coat about my shoulders.

"If that's what you're after," I said, "I'll put it on. But you'll catch
cold yourself."

She made no direct answer, but I heard something that sounded curiously
like a sob.

Presently she moved up closer to me and a soft voice whispered in my
ear, "Jim, I'll be warmer if you'll let me snuggle up to you. It's a
long time since last ... I didn't deserve it then."

I reached out in the darkness and drew her towards me. With her tired
head resting on my shoulder we waited for the dawn.

It was a long time coming, how long I cannot say, for in my then state
of nervous tension the hours dragged with the awful unendingness of
eternity. At last the black wall of night cracked into streaks of grey,
looking for all the world like feeble sun-rays filtering through the
chinks in the roof of a deserted house. Moira stirred a little, and I
saw in one hasty glance that her wet hair was streaming about her face
and her saturated dress was caked with black mud.

I held her off at arm's length and looked her over quizzically. Then we
each laughed outrigh