She was by no means timorous, and still less fanciful, but when they moved out into the blackness that closed about them above and beneath along the slender strip of swaying timber she was glad of the masterful grip.

It seemed in some strange fashion portentous, for she felt that she would once more be willing to brave unseen perils, secure only in his guidance.

What he felt she did not know, and was sensible of an almost overwhelming curiosity, until when at last well-stiffened timber lay beneath them, she contrived to drop a glove just where the moonlight smote the bridge.

Winston stooped, and his face was clear in the silvery light when he rose again.

Maud Barrington saw the relief in it, and compelled by some influence stood still looking at him with a little glow behind the smile in her eyes.