Keith had climbed to the crest of the Ridge and was making his way through the great pines to the point where the crag jutted out sheer and massive, overlooking the reaches of rolling country below, when he lifted his eyes, and just above him, half seated, half reclining against a ledge of rock, was the very girl he had seen two days before.  Her eyes were closed, and her face was so white that the thought sprang into Keith’s mind that she was dead, and his heart leaped into his throat.  At the distance of a few yards he stopped and scanned her closely.  She had on a riding-habit; her hat had fallen on her neck; her dark hair, loosened, lay about her throat, increasing the deep pallor of her face.  Keith’s pity changed into sorrow.  Suddenly, as he leaned forward, his heart filled with a vague grief, she opened her eyes—­as blue as he remembered them, but now misty and dull.  She did not stir or speak, but gazed at him fixedly for a little space, and then the eyes closed again wearily, her head dropped over to the side, and she began to sink down.

Gordon sprang forward to keep her from rolling down the bank.  As he gently caught and eased her down on the soft carpeting of pine-needles, he observed how delicate her features were; the blue veins showed clearly on her temples and the side of her throat, and her face had that refinement that unconsciousness often gives.

Gordon knew that the best thing to do was to lower her head and unfasten her collar.  As he loosened the collar, the whiteness of her throat struck him almost dazzlingly.  Instinctively he took the little crumpled handkerchief that lay on the pine carpet beside her, and spread it over her throat reverently.  He lifted her limp hand gently and felt her little wrist for her pulse.

Just then her eyelids quivered; her lips moved slightly, stopped, moved again with a faint sigh; and then her eyelids opened slowly, and again those blue eyes gazed up at him with a vague inquiry.

The next second she appeared to recover consciousness.  She drew a long, deep breath, as though she were returning from some unknown deep, and a faint little color flickered in her cheek.

“Oh, it’s you?” she said, recognizing him.  “How do you do?  I think I must have hurt myself when I fell.  I tried to ride my horse down the bank, and he slipped and fell with me, and I do not remember much after that.  He must have run away.  I tried to walk, but—­but I am better now.  Could you catch my horse for me?”

Keith rose and, followed the horse’s track for some distance along the little path.  When he returned, the girl was still seated against the rock.

“Did you see him?” she asked languidly, sitting up.

“I am afraid that he has gone home.  He was galloping.  I could tell from his tracks.”

“I think I can walk.  I must.”

She tried to rise, but, with the pain caused by the effort, the blood sprang to her cheek for a second and then fled back to her heart, and she sank back, her teeth catching her lip sharply to keep down an expression of anguish.