Then Montrose lost count of time. From the moment when he sank in the darkness before the door of Tremore until the hour he woke in his own bed time had no existence. A screened lamp illuminated the room, the blinds were drawn, the door was closed, and a fire was burning in the grate. He was clasping a tender hand, and his eyes opened to see the face of Alice bending over him with that motherly look which all women give to men in time of sickness. It was certainly night, Montrose thought dreamily, and he probably had been carried to his bedroom a few minutes since. But how had Alice come so swiftly from the cave? Was this another miracle in this life of miracles? "Did you come after us?" he asked weakly. The girl uttered a cry as his lips moved and thankful tears fell on his pale face. "Douglas! do you know me?" "Alice! Yes, I know. Alice! I am all right." He strove to rise, but fell back. "You are weak still," said the girl, arranging his pillow, "don't attempt too much, dearest. Take this," and a strengthening drink was held to his lips. "But I must see what is happening," muttered Montrose impatiently, his brain becoming gradually clearer. "Your father lies insensible at the door with that coastguard in charge." "Father is in bed and the coastguard is gone, Douglas. It was last night you came here." "Last night! Impossible! It is night still." "My dear one, you have slept for twenty-four hours. The doctor said it was the best thing that could happen after the strain you have undergone. You will soon grow strong. I am your nurse and have been watching you for hours and hours. Now," Alice rose and moved towards the fire, "you shall have some soup." "I do feel tremendously hungry," admitted the patient; "and your father?" "Hush!" Alice's face grew sad. "You must not talk. Shortly you shall know all that has taken place. Drink the soup and then try to sleep."