"Wake up!" Nick said again, and this time there was insistence in his
voice. "Open your eyes, Muriel. There is nothing to frighten you."

Shuddering, she obeyed him. She was lying once more upon her couch of
ferns, and he was stooping over her, looking closely into her face.
His eyes were extraordinarily bright, like the eyes of an eagle, but
the lids flickered so rapidly that he seemed to be looking through her
rather than at her. There was a wound upon his lower lip, and at the
sight she shuddered again, closing her eyes. She remembered that the
last time she had looked upon that face, it had been the face of a
devil.

"Oh, go away! Go away!" she wailed. "Let me die!"

"I will go away," he answered swiftly, "if you will promise to drink
what is in this cup."

He pressed it against her hand, and she took it almost mechanically.
"It is only brandy and water," he said. "You will drink it?"

"If I must," she answered weakly.

"You must," he rejoined, and she heard him rise and move away. She
strained her ears to listen, but she very soon ceased to hear him; and
then raising herself cautiously, she drank. A warm thrill of life ran
through her veins with the draught, steadying her, refreshing her. But
it was long before she could bring herself to look round.

The miniature roar of the stream was the only sound to be heard, and
when at length she glanced downwards there was no sign anywhere of