ame more
vigorous. Carmody moved uneasily, grunted, and opened his eyes. Ethel
started at the steady gaze of the grey eyes so close to her own. The
grey eyes closed and he passed a hand slowly across them.

"A dream," he muttered, and the girl leaned closer.

"No, Bill," she whispered, "it is not a dream. I am here--Ethel--don't
you know me?"

"Ethel," he repeated, and the name seemed to linger on his lips. "We
must get back to her, kid, she is worrying--come--mush, kid--mush!" The
girl laid a soft hand on his forehead and smoothed back the tangled
hair.

"Bill, dear," she whispered, with her lips close to his, "Charlie is
safe. And you are safe, here in the office--with me."

Bill seemed suddenly to grasp the situation.

"Ethel!" he exclaimed. And then, in a dull, tired voice, "I--I brought
him back to you." His eyes closed, and he turned his face toward the
wall.

Ethel poured a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove, and returning,
seated herself upon the edge of the bunk. Deftly her arm slipped under
his head, and she held the cup to his lips. Bill drank greedily to the
last drop, and the girl filled another cup with broth.

This time he helped a little, and she raised him higher and pillowed
his head against her breast. He sipped the broth hungrily, but very
slowly, pausing a long time between sips.

Ethel's body thrilled at the touch of him, the little hand that held
the cup trembled, and the man, close-pressed against her soft breast,
heard the wild pounding of her heart.

Suddenly he looked up into her eyes. Her face flushed crimson, and the
swift down-sweep of the long lashes hid the soft, blue eyes from the
intense, burning gaze of the hard grey ones. In confusion she averted
her face.

There was a swift movement beside her, and the next instant strong arms
were about her, and she heard, as from afar, the heavy thud as the
porcelain cup struck the floor.

Vainly she struggled in a sudden frenzy of panic to free herself from
the embrace of the encircling arms, and her heart was filled with a
great, passionate gladness at the futility of her tiny efforts as she
felt herself drawn closer and ever closer against the mighty chest of
the big man whom, in spite of herself, and of his own shortcomings and
weaknesses, she loved with the savage abandon that is the wonder-love
of woman. She knew, too, that the deep music in her ears was the sound
of his voice which came in short, stabbing, half-sentences