"One word before you rise, my good fellow," said Doctor Praed, as he drew his patient from where Sturgess lay; "whether the law deals with you or no is not my affair; but I, as a doctor, tell you this: mad or only enraged there's sometimes a deadly poison in the tooth of a dog. You have had a long taste of delirium from that gun-shot wound. Mind what you're about, or I wouldn't give sixpence for your life; and if you're bad again you may die before I'll run a step to save you. Here, Jessop. Those of a feather flock together; take this bird of prey back to his cage. You're not wanted here." He stood watching as Sturgess rose and staggered away like a drunken man, while Jessop, after a vain effort to speak, walked rapidly off in turn. Then the Doctor turned to where the Major stood with Dinah in his arms, her face buried in his breast. "You will not fear to be alone, Major?" he said quietly. "Afraid, sir," said the Major, with an angry look. "No." "Then I will leave you now, and take my patient back to town. Good day, my dear sir, and God bless you. I must come and see you again. Dinah, an old man wants to say good-bye." She turned her wild eyes to his, and his look was sufficient. She left her father and the next moment rested in his arms. "Good-bye, and I need not say God bless you, my darling," said the Doctor, with his voice quivering a little. "There, _au revoir_. Clive will ask your pardon another time. Not now." The next morning Clive Reed had to be helped up the steps into Doctor Praed's house in Russell Square, a relapse having prostrated him; and by the time he was about again the `White Virgin' mine was a solitude once more. It was waiting for orders to go forth about the sale of the valuable engines and other machinery, Robson now having the property in charge, and going over four or five times a week to see that the place was uninjured, though the weather had already begun to make its mark. One day he met the Major, and was ready enough to become communicative, and tell how Sturgess had been taken bad the day he returned to the mine, and how he had been fetched at last by friends who came all the way from Cornwall. "Death's mark was on him, safe enough, sir. I shouldn't be at all surprised to hear that he had gone." "And those gentlemen?" said the Major, clearing his throat, and speaking still huskily, for he did not like his task. "Mr Jessop Reed and Mr Wrigley, sir? Oh, they haven't been down again. Don't suppose they will come, for the poor mine's played out." Two months more had passed away before Clive Reed visited those parts again. He was thin and worn, but there was a bright look in his eyes, as he breasted the hills from Blinkdale and plunged down into the deep, chasm-like vales. For he knew that the past, with its cruel doubting, was forgiven, and that the woman he loved more than life was ready to take him to her breast.