"Oh, dear," Julie murmured concernedly. "He's passed out again." She started to massage Marc's wrists. Then, noticing the trickle of blood over his left eyebrow, she added another; "Oh, dear!" "Oh, Lord!" Dr. Polk breathed, and his voice was far more earnest than Julie's. Staring at the place where Toffee had been, he seemed almost in danger of bolting over the face of the cliff in a fit of terror. "She's gone!" he cried. "She just melted into nothing!" Avoiding the spot where Toffee had last stood, he edged cautiously toward the trail, and reaching it, broke into a dead run toward the lodge. He ran like a man possessed. Not conscious of the doctor's odd behavior, Julie gazed softly into Marc's unconscious face. "I'll take care of you," she whispered. And slowly she lowered her lips to his. * * * * * But in the tranquil valley of his own mind, Marc was concerned with other lips ... the very singular lips of Toffee. One arm still around his neck, Toffee leaned back and smiled. "Another day," she sighed happily, "another dilemma. You do live such a rapturous life. Never a sane moment." "It has never occurred to you," Marc said dryly, "that you contribute somewhat to that insanity yourself?" "Me?" Toffee asked, wide-eyed. "How can you say a thing like that? I'm always the one that has to straighten everything out." "I suppose you were on your way to straighten things out when you ran out on the cliff. If Julie had seen you she'd have tossed me over the brink again." "I was on my way to save your wretched life," Toffee replied haughtily. "I cornered Marge back at the lodge and made her tell me the whole story. She thought you were already dead, but I knew you weren't. If I still existed, you did too. So I ran up there to stop Pete from killing you. Now I get blamed." Marc took her hand in his. "You were wonderful," he said sincerely. "You bet I was," Toffee said self-righteously. "It was that fiend, George, that caused all the trouble." Marc had almost forgotten the ghost in the excitement of the last half hour. "That demon! First I couldn't get rid of him, then when I wanted him, he wasn't anywhere." "Of course not. George went back to ... well, wherever he came from. Remember how he disappeared at the table?" Marc nodded. "Well, George did his swan song right there." "What!" "Sure. Because of that fortuneteller," Toffee explained. "It was the simplest thing in the world. She said it was written in your hand that you would live a long time. Well, George believed her. And if you were going to live, he had to get going. That's the rules, and he's a stickler for the rules. And it's only natural that George believes in fortunetellers. He's very superstitious, you know. After all, he's a ghost, himself, isn't he?" "I see," Marc murmured wonderingly. "Then George is gone for good." Toffee nodded and began to laugh. "You remember how that jug lurched about when George disappeared?"