The minutes rolled by. Now she
was crouching, pressing her hands
against the roof, and the water was
swirling about her knees. Suddenly
a black speck appeared round the dis
tant rocks. It was a boat! Dorothy
shouted, and she saw the speck grow
larger and turn inward. There was
a man in it, and he was pulling hard
toward her. Presently, with a few
quick strokes, he sent the boat elid
ing against the cave.
"Jump. in!" he said.
Dorothy stepped in and sank down
exhausted in the bottom of the boat.
Now that the danger was over she
felt ready to faint from relaxation
after the nervous tension. She must
have fainted, in fact, for the next
thing she knew the boat had ground
ed and the young fisherman had lift
ed her in his arms and war carrying
This was a humiliating situation.
Dorothy felt almost angry when, he
set her down and stood smiling over
her from his superior height
"That was a narrow escape you
had, miss," he said, in the quaint in
tonation of. the New England coun
tryman. "Best not go on the rocks
agen until you know this coast.
You're staying at Mrs. Jones', ain't
"Yes," answered Dorothy resent
fully. "Then I'll just take you there," said
the young fisherman.
Dorothy heard his story and duly
listened to Mrs. Jones.' motherly
scoldings. Her spirit was chastened,
and she felt thoroughly' disgusted,
with herself. This young man ap
parently regarded her only as a wilful
girl her, Dorothy Lamont, who was
being sought for all over the coun
try. Worse than that, the papers,
which had 'been filled for days with
the tale of her flight, suddenly ceased
to "feature" the news.
Then came a blow which fairly
crushed Dorothy's spirits. It was 'the
report of an interview with her
father, and contained these words:
"I do not believe that my daughter
has come to any harm, and I am sure
she has gone away of her free will.
I shall, therefore, make no further
effort to find her. When she is ready
to come home she may do so, and she
will find me still her father. But un
til then I shall cease to interest my
self in her whereabouts."
Dorothy read that on the beach,
and she burst into bitter tears. The
enormity of her behavior suddenly
became clear to her. . She had run
away, not to avoid a marriage which
was being forced upon her, but to
become a popular heroine. She must
write to her father and go home. But
as for Harold never, never!
A step at her side made her look
up. The young fisherman was stand
ing by her.
"In trouble, miss?" he asked, see
ing her streaming eyes.
"I don't know what to-do," sobbed
Dorothy. "Oh, I wish you were a
woman, so that I could tell you about
it. I am in such trouble. . I I "
To her amazement the fisherman
had calmly sat down at her side and
taken her hand in his. Then, to her
further amazement, she felt his arms
"Dorothy, don't you know me?" he
asked. "Don't you remember that
evening at my father's house?"
"Harold!" she exclaimed, staring
at him in consternation. "0, what a
fool I was!" Then she tore herself
away and, her anger began to rise
swiftly. 'l3ut you how dajed you
take such a mean advantage of me?"
she demanded hotly.
"Forgive me, Dorothy," he pleaded
humbly. "I learned that you were
here and telegraphed to your father
yesterday. I've loved you all the
time, Dorothy, and wanted you
mighty bad; and now I've got you
I'm going to keep you, because I
saved your life and it's going to be
And Dorothy thought this reason
able. (Copyright by W. G. Chapman.)
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