Margot’s impatience broke bounds, and she darted forward among the trees, shouting: “This way! this way! here we are--here!” Her peculiar life and training had made her absolutely fearless, and she would have been surprised by her guardian’s command to “Wait!” had she heard it, which she did not. Also, she knew the forest as other girls know their city streets, and the dimness was no hindrance to her nimble feet. In a brief time she caught the crashing of boughs, as some person, less familiar than she, blundered through the underbrush and finally came into view where a break in the timber gave a faint light. “Here! here! this way!” He staggered and held out his hands, as if for aid, and Margot clasped them firmly. They were cold and tremulous. They were, also, slender and smooth, not at all like the hands of any men whom she was used to seeing. At the relief of her touch, his strength left him, but she caught his murmured “Thank God! I--had--given up--” His voice, too, was different from any she knew, save her uncle’s. This was somebody, then, from that outside world of which she dreamed so much and knew so little. It was like a fairy tale come true. “Are you ill? There; lean on me. Don’t fear. Oh! I’m strong, very strong, and uncle is just yonder, coming this way. Uncle--uncle!” The stranger was almost past speech. Mr. Dutton recognized that at once and added his support to Margot’s. Between them they half led, half carried the wanderer to the canoe and lifted him into it, where he sank exhausted. Then they dipped their paddles and the boat shot homeward, racing with death. Angelique was still on the beach and still complaining of their foolhardiness, but one word from her master silenced that. “Lend a hand, woman! Here’s something real to worry about. Margot, go ahead and get the lights.” As the girl sprang from it, the housekeeper pulled the boat to a spot above the water, and, stooping, lifted a generous share of the burden it contained. It had not been a loon, then. No. Well, she had known that from the beginning, just as she had known that her beloved master was in no condition to go man-hunting. This one he had found was, probably, dead, any way. Of course. Somebody had to die--beyond chickens and such--had not the broken glass so said? Even in the twilight, Mr. Dutton could detect the grim satisfaction on her face, and smiled, foreseeing her change of expression when this seemingly lifeless guest should revive. They laid him on the lounge that had been spread with blankets for Margot, and she was already beside it, waiting to administer the herb tea which had, also, been prepared for herself, and which she had marveled to find so opportunely prepared. Mr. Dutton smiled again. In her simplicity the girl did not dream that the now bitter decoction was not a common restorative outside their primitive life, and in all good faith forced a spoonful of it between the closed lips.