Her shriek rang far and shrill through the Knaresborough rocks, as, stiffened suddenly to stone, she stood with outstretched arms, her straining eyes gazing up at the cliff. A small object had hurtled through some brushwood overhead, and, rolling downward, was now stopped half-way. It was a little boy, clinging desperately to a bush at which he had caught. Before the last sounds had left her parted lips, Jacynth bounded forward and was clambering, springing as best he could, up from foothold to ledge. Many holidays of mountain-climbing stood him in good stead. Higher still--ah! there! The bush is giving way slowly at the roots. A little shower of earth falls down on Fenella’s upturned face; she has somehow tottered with quaking knees onward. Safe--safe! Just as the terrified child feels his hold giving way, a strong arm catches him round the waist. “Thank God!” exclaims a well-known man’s voice. Fenella feels a little group about her, summoned by her echoing shriek, but her filming vision sees nothing till Ronny is placed, pale but plucky, in her arms. Presently, with the boy hugging her neck, and her own tight grasp proving he has no bones broken, she turns to find Frank, looking strangely excited, holding out a hand to Jacynth. “Let me thank you. That was splendidly done. You saved the boy’s life, and I am--I----” he stammered and stopped, reddening. “No thanks are needed. I could not tell but that it was my own little scamp of a nephew. Where is Grandison?” Jacynth frigidly answered, looking round. He had driven Fenella and the two boys out here, because she wished to avoid meeting her husband and his probable companion. And, lo! tricksome fate had drawn these two hither as by some irresistible attraction. Lucille was meanwhile looking on with intense apprehension. The child--the child was the sole remaining link between this man and wife, but that one how strong! She must interfere rapidly. Next moment she had dropped on her knees beside Ronny, who now stood leaning against his mother, and had tenderly lifted his hand. “Poor infant--_chéri_! He is bleeding, see!” And she softly wiped some trickling drops from a graze on the chubby, childish fist. “How dare you? Leave my child alone!” blazed out Fenella, withdrawing as if from the touch of a reptile. Lucille rose with an air of dignified humility, and looked full at Onslow, with surely a sudden moisture in her beautiful dark eyes. “I have made a mistake, it is true. But I am a woman, and only remembered that a child was hurt--your child!” The last words were murmured only for his ear. “Come away,” said Onslow briefly, but consolingly. * * * * * A very thunder-cloud, charged with electricity, overhung the end of one of the long dinner tables in the Prospect Hotel that evening.