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o get in with. She may have been taken ill." Peter's curt explanation stemmed her ready stream of talk abruptly. Snatching the key which she took down from a peg on the wall he returned to the car with it. Barry was still sitting behind the steering wheel. He bent forward, as Peter approached. "You go," he said, with a bluntness that masked an infinite understanding. "There's the brandy flask"--bringing it out of a side pocket. "If you want help, blow this hooter." He had detached one of the horns from the car. "If not--well, I shall just wait here till you come back." CHAPTER XVI SACRED TROTH The tide was at its full when Peter began the ascent to King Arthur's Castle--the sea a vast stretch of quivering silver fringed with a mist of flying spray. In the strange, sharp lights and shadows cast by the round moon overhead, the great crags of the promontory jutted out like the turrets of some ancient fortress--blackly etched against the tender, irresolute blue of the evening sky. But Peter went on unheedingly. The mystic charm had no power to hold him to-night. The only thing that mattered was Nan--her safety. Was she lying hurt somewhere within the crumbling walls of the castle? Or had she missed her footing and plunged headlong into that sea which boomed incessantly against the cliffs? It wasn't scenery that mattered. It was life--and death! Very swiftly he mounted to the castle door, looking from side to side as he went for any trace which might show that Nan had passed this way. As he climbed the last few feet he shouted her name: "Nan! Nan!" But there came no answer. Only the sea still thundered below and a startled gull flew out from a cranny, screaming as it flew. Mallory's hand shook a little as he thrust the key into the heavy lock. Practically all that remained of hope lay behind that closed door. Then, as it opened, a great cry broke from him, hoarse with relief from the pent-up agony of the last hour. She lay there just like a child asleep, snuggled against the wall, one arm curved behind her head, pillowing it. At the sound of his voice she stirred, opening bewildered, startled eyes. In an instant he was kneeling beside her. "Don't be frightened, Nan. It's I--Peter. Are you hurt?" "Peter?" She repeated the name dreamingly, hardly yet awake, and her voice held almost a caress in its soft tones. Mallory bit back a groan. To hear her speak his name on that l
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