"The doctor who attended Rose became suspicious of something she said when half delirious. He told the Perchton Inspector, who saw Rose and forced her to reveal the truth. Now the police are hunting for Job, and you are entirely exonerated, although you will no doubt be called upon to state the hour when you left Don Pablo." "Thank God for his mercies," said Montrose devoutly. "It is a most amazing thing, Alice. And to think that last night I nearly decided to let your father die, since he alone would witness against me." "I expect that was the test that Dr. Eberstein spoke of, Douglas. I don't know how my father came to be on the spot unless he followed me by stealth when I came to see you at the cave." Montrose nodded. "No doubt your father suspected you and followed as you say, dear. The moment I reached the top of the cliff, he rushed at me, but making a mistake about the distance in the gloom, he hurled himself over the precipice. I saw that his body was lying half way down, and it was in my mind to leave him there. Oh! what a struggle I had," cried the young man passionately, "only Christ's love could have nerved me to save the man." "Yes! Yes!" Alice fondled his hand. "The descent was very dangerous." "It is not that I was thinking about. That was nothing. But my doubts, my hesitation: my desire to save my own life at the cost of his. I wonder my hair has not turned grey. And to think that all the time things were coming to a point which would proclaim my innocence. Had I let your father die I should have committed a purposeless crime. But thanks be to Christ the All-Loving and All-Powerful, I did as I would be done by, and gave my enemy his life. What a moment of anguish it was: what a bitter, bitter moment," and the young man wiped the perspiration from his brow. Alice drew his head down on her breast and murmured over him as a mother murmurs over a child. And Montrose really was a child at the moment as what he had passed through shook him still to the core of his being. "It's all right now, dear; it's all right now," she urged gently. "You have conquered your greatest enemy." "Your father?" "No, dear, yourself. And perhaps my father also. He does not seem to be so bitter against you as he was. Twice he smiled when your name was mentioned." "Then he has recovered?" "He will never recover," said the girl sadly. "The doctor says that his spine is injured." "Poor man!" cried Douglas generously, "can I not see him?" "Not at present. The doctor says he is to be kept quiet just now." Alice burst into distressful tears. "Heaven only knows that I have little reason to love my father; but it is heart-rending to see him lying there, broken down and helpless, with no future save a painful death." This time it was her lover's turn to soothe and console. Drawing the sobbing girl closer to his heart, he said what he could. "Death is the gate of Life, we are told, dear."