"She can't be very heavy," Ralph thought, as he looked down into her sweet, colourless face. "I'll have to make the attempt, anyhow. It's nearly two miles to St. Goram; but perhaps I shall be able to manage it." A moment or two later he had gathered her up in his strong arms, and, with her bandaged head resting on his shoulder, and her heart beating feebly against his own, he marched away back over the broken gate in the direction of St. Goram. Jess gave a feeble whinny, then followed slowly and dejectedly, with her nose to the ground. Half a mile away the ground dipped into a narrow valley, with a clear stream of water meandering at the bottom. Ralph laid down his burden very gently and tenderly close to the stream, with her head pillowed on a bank of moss. He was at his wits' end, but he thought it possible that some ice-cold water sprinkled on her face might revive her. Jess stood stock-still a few yards away and watched the operation. Ralph sprinkled the cold water first on her face, then he got a large leaf, and made a cup of it, and tried to get her to drink; but the water trickled down her neck and into her bosom. She gave a sigh at length and opened her eyes suddenly. Then she tried to raise her head, but it fell back again in a moment. Ralph filled the leaf again and raised her head. "Try to drink this," he said. "I'm sure it will do you good." And she opened her lips and drank. He filled the leaf a third time, and she followed him with her eyes, but did not attempt to speak. "Now, don't you feel better?" he questioned, after she had swallowed the second draught. "I don't know," she answered, in a whisper. "But who are you? And where am I?" "You have had an accident," he said. "Your horse threw you. Don't you remember?" She closed her eyes and knitted her brows as if trying to recall what had happened. "It was close to Treliskey Plantation," he went on, "and the gate was shut. You told me to open it, and I refused. I was a brute, and I shall never forgive myself so long as I live." "Oh yes; I remember," she said, opening her eyes slowly, and the faintest suggestion of a smile played round her ashen lips. "You took offence because----" "I was a brute!" he interjected. "I ought not to have spoken as I did," she said, in a whisper. "I had no right to command you. Do--do you think I shall die?" "No, no!" he cried, aghast. "What makes you ask such a question?" "I feel so strange," she answered, in the same faint whisper, "and I have no strength even to raise my head." "But you will get better!" he said eagerly. "You must get better--you must! For my sake, you must!" "Why for your sake?" she whispered. "Because if you die I shall feel like a murderer all the rest of my life. Oh, believe me, I did not mean to be rude and unkind! I would die for you this very moment if I could make you better! Oh, believe me!" And the tears came up and filled his eyes.