But Peter went on unheedingly.  The mystic charm had no power to hold him to-night.  The only thing that mattered was Nan—­her safety.  Was she lying hurt somewhere within the crumbling walls of the castle?  Or had she missed her footing and plunged headlong into that sea which boomed incessantly against the cliffs?  It wasn’t scenery that mattered.  It was life—­and death!

Very swiftly he mounted to the castle door, looking from side to side as he went for any trace which might show that Nan had passed this way.  As he climbed the last few feet he shouted her name:  “Nan!  Nan!” But there came no answer.  Only the sea still thundered below and a startled gull flew out from a cranny, screaming as it flew.

Mallory’s hand shook a little as he thrust the key into the heavy lock.  Practically all that remained of hope lay behind that closed door.  Then, as it opened, a great cry broke from him, hoarse with relief from the pent-up agony of the last hour.

She lay there just like a child asleep, snuggled against the wall, one arm curved behind her head, pillowing it.  At the sound of his voice she stirred, opening bewildered, startled eyes.  In an instant he was kneeling beside her.

“Don’t be frightened, Nan.  It’s I—­Peter.  Are you hurt?”

“Peter?” She repeated the name dreamingly, hardly yet awake, and her voice held almost a caress in its soft tones.

Mallory bit back a groan.  To hear her speak his name on that little note of happiness hurt incredibly.

“Nan—­wake up!” he urged gently.

She woke then—­came back to a full sense of her surroundings.

“You, Peter?” she murmured surprisedly.  She made an effort to sit up, then sank back against the wall, uttering a sharp cry of distress.

“Where are you hurt?” asked Mallory with quick anxiety.

She shook her head at him, smiling reassuringly.

“I’m not hurt.  I’m only stiff.  You’ll have to help me up, Peter.”

He stooped and raised her, and at last she stood up, ruefully rubbing the arm which had been curled behind her head while she slept.

“My arm’s gone to sleep.  It’s all pins and needles!” she complained.

Slung over his shoulders Peter carried an extra wrap for her.  Whatever had happened, whether she were hurt or merely stranded somewhere, he knew she would not be warmly enough clad to meet the sudden coolness of the evening.

“You must be nearly perished with cold—­asleep up here!  Put this on,” he said quickly.

“No, really”—­she pushed aside the woollen coat he tendered.  “I’m not cold.  It was quite sheltered here under this wall.”

“Put it on,” he repeated quietly.  “Do as I tell you—­little pal.”

At that she yielded and he helped her on with the coat, fastening it carefully round her.

“And now tell me what possessed you to go to sleep up here?” he demanded.