Father Corraine stood painfully staring at the figure for a moment, and
then the words broke from him "Not dead--not dead--wonderful!" Then he
stepped quickly to a table, took therefrom a pannikin of water, and
kneeling, held it to the lips of the gasping figure of a woman, throwing
his arm round the shoulder, and supporting the head on his breast. Again
he spoke "Alive--alive! Blessed be Heaven!"

The hands of the woman seized the hand of the priest, which held the
pannikin, and kissed it, saying faintly: "You are good to me. . . .
But I must sleep--I must sleep--I am so tired; and I've--very far--to go
--across the world."

This was said very slowly, then the head thick with brown curls dropped
again on the priest's breast, heavy with sleep. Father Corraine,
flushing slightly at first, became now slightly pale, and his brow was a
place of war between thankfulness and perplexity. But he said something
prayerfully, then closed his lips firmly, and gently laid the figure
down, where it was immediately clothed about with slumber. Then he rose,
and standing with his eyes bent upon the sleeper and his fingers clasping
each other tightly before him, said: "Poor girl! So, she is alive. And
now what will come of it?"

He shook his grey head in doubt, and immediately began to prepare some
simple food and refreshment for the sufferer when she should awake. In
the midst of doing so he paused and repeated the words, "And what will
come of it?" Then he added: "There was no sign of pulse nor heart-beat
when I found her. But life hides itself where man cannot reach it."

Having finished his task, he sat down, drew the book of holy offices