In thirty seconds or less, she was back again and stooping over him
with a piece of brown bread in her hand.

"Eat this," she ordered, in a tone of authority.

Nick's face was hidden again. He seemed to be fighting with himself.
His voice came at length, muffled and indistinct.

"No, no! Take it away! I'll have a drain of brandy. And I've got some
tobacco left."

Muriel stooped lower. She caught the words though they were scarcely
audible. She laid her hand upon his arm, stronger in the moment's
emergency than she had been since leaving the fort.

"You are to eat it," she said very decidedly. "You shall eat it. Do
you hear, Nick? I know what is the matter with you. You are starving.
I ought to have seen it before."

Nick uttered a shaky laugh, and dragged himself up on to his elbows.
"I'm not starving," he declared. "Take it away, Muriel. Do you think
I'm going to eat your luncheon, tea, and dinner, and to-morrow's
breakfast as well?"

"You are going to eat this," she answered.

He flashed her a glance of keen curiosity. "Am I?" he said.

"You must," she said, speaking with an odd vehemence which later
surprised herself. "Why should you go out of your way to tell me a