"Looks as if we might fix you up, then," returned the man, unemotionally. He stepped, with some difficulty, to the hob, removed a tea-pot, and, turning to a shelf, poured out a cup of tea, mixed in a spoonful of condensed milk from a tin near, and handed it to the girl. "Stop a bit," he said, withdrawing the cup as at a sudden thought. He went to a tiny corner cupboard, took out a square black bottle, and poured something into the cup. "Drink that up, it'll put heart into yer," he said. Then, to Felix, "When she's 'ad all she wants, you take a ditto, and never mind emptying the pot; I can make some more." With this he disappeared, and they heard him stumping along the jetty. The cognac was really good, and the hot drink pulled the young man together. Rona and he sat by the fire side by side, gazing at the red coals, with a drowsiness born of fatigue and excitement. Felix had an illusion of being separated from the world which was to him so detestable a spot, and placed in a new setting, in a universe where there was clearly a post for him, and a work which he alone could do. He looked, in a fervor of compassion, at the figure of the waif beside him. Rona was gripping the arms of the hard wooden chair upon which she sat to hold herself upright. Her breath came broken and uneven; there was a glaze of perspiration upon her pale forehead, where little locks of bronze hair lay damp. He could see that she was wretchedly uncomfortable, and that she was too dazed with misery to see how her discomfort could be lessened. Every minute or so the lids half-sunk over her filming eyes, the pupils turned up, as if sleep were overcoming her. Then her limbs relaxed a little, and the torture startled her awake once more. When he had watched this for some minutes, he saw that she would be easier lying down. But the floor was impossible. He glanced down at the mud and expectoration which defiled it, and then at the fragile girl, who was daintily clean, except for the dust and mire of her breathless escape. The young man rose, placed his arms under her, and lifted her upon his knees. He laid her head against the shabby coat, which, with a shirt, was all that protected him from the March wind, and rested her feet upon the chair in which she had been sitting. She moaned a little as he lifted her; but evidently the relief of the change of position was immediate. She seemed to breathe more easily, and after a moment she raised her eyes to his with a gratitude which he found very moving. As he cradled her there, before the cinder fire, in that strange refuge, he vowed himself to her service, as one of Arthur's knights may have vowed life and loyalty to the lady for whom he fought. There was satisfaction in seeing the blue-veined lids once more descend, as unconsciousness enfolded the suffering girl.