ere still hung
the long line with the grapnel--and I saw the hands of a man upon the
ledge; the arms, the head, and the shoulders of a man, of a man who the
next minute was standing in the car, I fast in his embrace: Phillip
Rutley, my true love, my husband!

Then it seemed to me that the balloon collapsed, and all things melted,
and I was whirling away--down, down, down!

[Illustration: "I LAY IN PHILLIP'S ARMS"]

How long I was unconscious I do not know, but it was daylight when I
opened my eyes. It was piercingly cold--snow was falling, and although I
lay in Phillip's arms with his coat over me, while he sat in his
shirt-sleeves holding me. On the other side stood Kenneth Moore. He also
was in his shirt-sleeves. His coat also had been devoted to covering
me. Both those men were freezing there for my sake, and I was ungrateful
enough to shiver.

I need not tell you that I gave them no peace until they had put their
coats on again. Then we all crouched together in the bottom of the car
to keep each other warm. I shrank from Kenneth a little, but not much,
for it was kind of him--so kind and generous--to suffer that awful cold
for me. What surprised me was that he made no opposition to my resting
in Phillip's arms, and Phillip did not seem to mind his drawing close to
me.

But Kenneth explained:--

"Mr. Rutley has told me you are already his wife, Minnie. Is that true?"

I confirmed it, and asked him to pardon my choosing where my heart
inclined me.

"If that is so," he said, "I have little to forgive and much to be
forgiven. Had I known how things stood, I loved you too well to imperil
your happiness and your life, and the life of the man you prefer to me."

"But the danger is all over now," said I; "let us be good friends for
the future."

"We may at least be friends," replied Kenneth; and I caught a glance of
some mysterious import that passed between the men. The question it
would have led me to ask was postponed by the account Phillip gave of
his presence in the balloon-car--how by springing into the air as the
grapnel swung past him, dragged clear by the rising balloon, he had
caught the irons and then the rope, climbing up foot by foot, swinging
to and fro in the darkness, up, up, until the whole length of the rope
was accomplished and he reached my side. Brave, strong, dear Phillip!

And, now, once more he would have it that I must wear his coat.

"The sun's up, Minnie, and he'll soon put warmth i