“A little, Mademoiselle; between nine and ten dollars.”

“That is good; it will serve for a little while.  Please spend it for me; I will pay you.  As soon as we can get to a telegraph station I can get more.  Get the things, as I have said; and then arrange, if you can, for a carriage and another man, besides yourself and the doctor, to come down as near this point as possible.  You two can carry him”—­she looked wistfully at James—­“to the carriage, wherever it is able to meet us.  But you will need to spend money to get all these things; especially if you get them to-night, as I hope you may.”

“I will try, Mademoiselle.”  The ex-chauffeur stood hesitating, however.  At last, “I hate to leave you here alone, with only a sick man, and night coming on,” he said.

“You need not be afraid for me,” replied Agatha coldly.  Her nerves had given way, now that the need for active exertion was past, and were almost at the breaking point.  It came back to her again, moreover, how this man and another had made her a prisoner in the motor-car, and at the moment she felt foolish in trusting to him for further help.  It came into her mind that he was only seeking an excuse to run away, in fear of being arrested later.  A second time she looked up into his eyes with her serious, questioning gaze.

“I don’t know why you were in the plot to do as you did—­last Monday afternoon,” she said slowly; “but whatever it was, it was unworthy of you.  You are not by nature a criminal and a stealer of women, I know.  And you have been kind and brave to-day; I shall never forget that.  Do you really mean now to stay by me?”

Hand’s gaze was no less earnest than her own; and though he flinched at “criminal,” his eyes met hers steadily.

“As long as I can help you, Mademoiselle, I will do so.”

At his words, spoken with sincerity, Agatha’s spirit, tired and overwrought as it was, rose for an instant to its old-time buoyancy.  She smiled at him.

“You mean it?” she asked.  “Honest true, cross your heart?”

Hand’s businesslike features relaxed a little.  “Honest true, cross my heart!” he repeated.

“All right,” said Agatha, almost cheerfully.  “And now you must go, before it gets any darker.  Don’t try to return in the night, at the risk of losing your way.  But come as soon as you can after daylight; and remember, I trust to you!  Good-by.”

Hand already, earlier in the day, had made a path for himself up the steep bank through the underbrush, and now Agatha went with him to the edge of the thicket.  She watched and listened until the faint rustling of his footsteps ceased, then turned back to the camp on the beach.  She went to the fire and stirred up its coals once more before returning to James.  He was sleeping, but his flushed face and unnatural breathing were signs of ill.  Now and then he moved restlessly, or seemed to try to speak, but no coherent words came.  She sat down to watch by him.