That was it, truly! The motes in a sunbeam--even he himself for that matter--were but transient aggregations of the atoms in their unending dance of life and death. What would they hive into, like swarming bees? A man or a mouse--who could tell? Only the master of the ceremonies in this dance macabre. So the question of life or death was already settled for No. 36, though, so far as he--Peter Ramsay--was concerned, it depended on the existence or non-existence of that miserable pittance of a hundred pounds. But all the sanctions, all the mental and moral backings of humanity, depended on something which could not be proved to exist. He rose with a shrug of the shoulders, put out his pipe, and started on again. Life or death seemed to him to hang on that hundred pounds. He did not much care which; the odds were distinctly on death. As he turned ere dipping down into the valley which lay between him and the gap, he gave a last look at the silver shield of the estuary. The boat must have reached the shelter of the further shadow--unless it had gone down! Life and Death--Death and Life! An even balance, despite the surgeon's skill; despite even money. As a matter of fact, the boat had at last reached the opposite shore, and Ned Blackborough, feeling savage with himself and Fate, was standing by holding the rope taut, while Ted, visibly triumphant, was lifting Aura bodily from the boat across the intervening yards of slush and seaweed. He set her down gently with a frank "That's all right," and she, looking up at him, smiled her thanks. "I'm so sorry you hurt your arm," she said to Ned rather condescendingly. "It is lucky Ted could row so well, isn't it?" "Very lucky," replied Ned, feeling aggrieved. He had gone on pulling against that miscounted tide till he positively could no more, and even now the pain of his ill-mended arm made him feel almost sick. He had been forced to give in, and though Ted had been perfectly within his rights in failing to let Aura know that the disability was--well! not absolutely blameworthy--he need not have sculled so confoundedly well. He had been a picture to look at, bending easily to the long stroke while Ned was idly steering. "We had better take the Crudel valley," said the latter as a bye-path showed up a lonely glen; "it isn't half as pretty as this, but it is shorter, and we haven't much time. I delayed you horribly." Aura smiled tolerantly. "But we came along splendidly afterwards, didn't we?" "You know this country awfully well," remarked Ted, feeling the urgent need of generosity. "I haven't an idea where we are." But Ned was in no humour for patronage.