n, there's a dear
boy.... And why shouldn't Alison have----"

"But if it's April---- _Good God!_" he cried hoarsely, raising a
trembling hand. "_D'you mean to say I've lain here in this house for
six months?_"

The woman's heart leaped into her mouth.

"And why not?" she said quietly. "I know a case of a man who lay
unconscious for over two years--the result of a fall hunting. And when
he came to----"

She stopped to peer at the patient.

Then she rang for the nurse---instantly.

Anthony had fainted.

* * * * *

Thus fell that formidable position upon whose delicate reduction all
the science of physic, the love of women, the wisdom of friends, had
been feverishly concentrated by day and night for nearly three weeks.

Chance and a woman's instinct had done the trick. As by a miracle the
hopeless had come to pass. The helm had been put hard over, and the
craft had answered as sweetly as any swish-tailed circus nag. Gramarye
and all her works, if not forgotten, had in the twinkling of an eye
become the fabric of a dream--mere relics of a fantastic age for a sane
mind to marvel at.

For two or three days after the momentous interview Anthony said very
little. When he had again seen Lady Touchstone, and the two--blind
leading the blind--had satisfactorily fixed the very date of his
collapse, George Alison was sent for. Carefully schooled, the latter
spent a fruitful five minutes by the sick man's side. Upon the third
day came Valerie....

The girl was exalted. Gratitude had set the crown upon the glory of
her array. No one had ever seen her look so beautiful. Out of the
furnace the fine gold had come refined, dazzling.

My gross pen cannot picture her.

The dark lustre of her hair, the exquisite curve of her lips, her pride
of carriage, were things for sonnets. Her small firm hands, the white
column of her neck, the colour springing in her cheeks, made three
sweet wonders. The style of her was superb. Tall, straight,
clean-limbed, her figure remembered graces of a younger age. The
simple flowered-silk dress looked as though all who put it on must go
in elegance. Silk and satin covered her precious feet. A nosegay of
violets, brooched to her gown, echoed the hue, but not the magic of her
eyes. Had the poor flowers been blowing still upon their mother bank,
all wet with dew, and had a star stooped to prove how sweet they
smelled, then, sirs, they should have rend