Almost his first clear thought was of Frank, and the peril which he believed threatened his friend. He would have groaned aloud in the very agony of mental torture, if a wholesome fear had not restrained him. “I wonder what has become of Nell?” was his next mental query. As if in answer, when he looked again he saw her tip-toeing in shoeless feet toward the man who lay in front of the door of his prison. Her thin face seemed unnaturally white and bloodless in the dim light. Her widely distended eyes gleamed like those of some wild animal. In her right hand she held something, which he soon made out to be a knife. A sense of bewildered fascination fell on Bruce. He forgot the thumping pain in his head and the ache in his shoulder. “She is going to kill him as he sleeps!” was the horrible thought that seized him. He moved uneasily, and put out his bound hands, as if to beg her not to do a thing so dreadful. He might have done more, but at that moment her eyes met his. She saw that he was conscious, and put a finger to her lips to enjoin silence. Browning lay back and stared at her. His mind was not yet entirely clear. Again she put her fingers across her lips, and took another catlike step toward the sleeping man. She made no more sound than a gliding shadow. Browning readily might have believed her a ghost, and it is quite certain that Toots, if similarly placed, would have shrieked like a maniac from sheer fright. With the stealthy silence of a panther creeping on its prey, Nell Thornton advanced toward the open door. Then Browning saw that her gaze was not fixed so much on the sleeping man as on him, and awoke to a realization of the fact that Nell was trying to come to his rescue, and that the knife was to sever the ropes that held him, and was not intended as a weapon with which to do murder. He could not restrain the sigh of relief and hope that welled from his heart. Nell Thornton’s keen ears caught it, and again her finger went to her lips, and she stopped, looking anxiously at the sleeper. For several seemingly interminable seconds she stood thus, and when Turner did not move, she took another cautious step. With her eyes fixed on Turner’s upturned face, she stepped warily over his body, and stood in the room at Browning’s side. The knife gleamed in the moonlight. It was her father’s keen-bladed hunting knife. “I hev come ter git ye out o’ hyar,” she whispered, laying her lips against Browning’s ear. “Don’t ye so much ez whimper a sound, er——” She pointed significantly with the knife toward the sleeping form of Turner. Then she pressed the blade against the rope that held Browning’s wrists. It was almost as sharp as a razor, and ate through the tough strands with noiseless ease. She worked quickly, but silently; then stood erect, and pointed toward the door. Browning moved his head to show that he understood. “Do ye need ter hev me holp ye?” she whispered, stooping till her lips again touched his ear.