Hildred was on the ground beside him, gazing into his face with straining eyes, that seemed as if they must call him back from death itself. She lifted up his arm and tried to put it round her. She called to him, first in a choked whisper, then louder, yet louder, as his silence struck the chill of terror more into her heart. 'Cuthbert, Cuthbert! Oh come back! Forgive me! Dear Cuthbert, speak to me!' The men stood round watching her. I heard some of them crying, great rough fellows as they were. Hildred looked up at me with bright, widely-opened eyes--no tears in them. Then she spoke to him again, called on him to come back, and she would love him. He heard her. Some tone of hers must have reached him even then. He moved, drew a faint sigh. Oh the low cry she gave! It was not a word or a sob, but just the half-stifled first cry of a new-born hope. And then Cuthbert opened his eyes, saw her leaning over him, and smiled. She did not speak, only bent down lower, until her face lay hidden by her hands upon his breast. In a few minutes, very slowly and feebly he raised his hand and put it on her head. Cuthbert was taken to Clifford's house, which was much nearer at hand than ours. For a few hours more we watched him anxiously. Life came back slowly, but at length the doctor turned away from the bed with a sigh of relief. 'He will do now,' he said cheerily. 'Only keep him quiet. Why, it would never have done to let him slip through our fingers in this sort of way, after his getting over his wounds and escaping out of that Indian prison, as they tell me he did.' By the next day he could speak to us in a weak voice, and had revived enough to smile a little when Martha told him he had got no more than he deserved, for mooning about in places where Jock himself knew better than to venture. Towards evening I left him comfortably asleep. Hildred followed me out of the porch, and closed the house door behind her. For a few minutes we did not speak, but stood looking at the setting sun, and thinking--at least I thought--with what different eyes we had seen it going down yesterday, not less peacefully than to-day. Hildred spoke first, lifting her eyes to mine with a grave rested look that it was new to me to see upon her face. 'God has been merciful,' she said. 'Most merciful.' 'And now----' My heart was beating fast and heavily. In her grief, in her great terror and her self-reproach, she had seemed to grow dearer to me than ever before; and now that the moment had come--I knew it had--when I must really give her up, I felt as if I could not part with her. 'And now, Willie, I must try to be good at last.' She stopped for a moment, and clasped her hands. 'In that most dreadful time last night, when you told me to pray--when you and the men were working, and I did not know whether or not I had killed him, I made a promise, a solemn promise before God. You know what it was.' I nodded.