He relinquished little Anne to her father and watched her family as they gently turned away the blanket from the thin face, now crimson, with pinched lips. “I found her standing in the river. She had some sort of an idea of doing penance; of course, one of little Anne’s queer notions,” Kit said, for with a groan as his words to little Anne came back to him, Peter bolted. “We’ll put her to bed. Sometime I can thank you, Kit, dear,” said Mrs. Berkley. Little Anne’s father did not speak and he had no hand to give. He nodded to Kit, tears streaming down his face, and carried the child upstairs. From the corner where she had sat, forgotten, Anne Dallas now emerged. She looked haggard; it had been a day of intense emotions. She felt embarrassed to speak to Kit. She had just learned that he was to marry Helen Abercrombie, and that she herself was beloved by Richard Latham. The face of the world had changed. But Kit looked so surprised, so glad to see her, he seized her hand so cordially, that she could not help responding to his warmth. Why had she been disinclined to speak to him in the first place? she wondered. He was the same fine boy; nothing had happened to alter their friendship. “Are you going?” he asked. “I’ll walk with you, please. I’m troubled about little Anne. She fainted dead when she saw me, been standing no end of time, and the water is like ice to-day. Good heavens, if she has pneumonia!” “Heaven forbid!” said Anne. Her heart leaped with pleasure at Kit’s kindness, his anxiety, the warmth of his love for the child. She glowed with joy that he was so good. “Saint Christopher bore a little Child out of the water, across to safety, you know. Let us hope he will bless this Christopher’s rescue,” she said, softly. Kit stared. “What nice things you think of; sweet, womanly, lovely things,” he said, simply, and took Anne home. CHAPTER XII _Making Alive_ During three days and for as many long nights Anne Dallas lived intensely in unrealities. Richard Latham was not inclined to talk; she herself was submerged in feeling that silenced words. It seemed to her that it blanketed thought, yet all the time she was thinking intently and, unknown to herself, was reaching conclusions. She worked fast, for Richard was working fast; she rapidly took down notes for the first part of his third act, and was aware somewhere in her brain behind her absorption that he was dictating to her lines which surpassed himself at his previous best.