reserving his strength for the final trial, and permitting Winslow to rest without fatiguing him with useless conversation.

"Get yourself ready," commanded Pierre, putting force into his words which rose above the increased sounds of the place.

Winslow slowly rose, obedient to the directing will of the old man.

"Lie down on the rock near the rope." The words were obeyed.

"Take the rope under you, and hold it with your hand." Painfully he followed the instruction.

"Move your body till your legs hang over the shelf." A few minutes passed away while Winslow slowly drew himself back, a few fragments of stone clattering down as he reached the position indicated by Pierre. Here he hung, his stronger hand holding the rope.

"Move your legs till the line is wound about them." As he complied the line was given a circling motion till it had wound about his legs and was held between them.

"Keep your legs stiff and hold on!" cried out Pierre, in a firm and earnest tone of voice. The order came loud and sharp to the dull sense of Winslow, and he put all his strength into play in a desperate effort, his brain acting by the inherent desire to live, and the man responding, though dully.

"Slip off the shelf, slowly, slowly."

In a moment Winslow was in mid air, clinging with one hand to the rope held stiff by Pierre and kept away from the bluff wall. He was able by means of the rope wound round Winslow's legs to control the speed of his descent, and relieve the weight and muscular strain upon the one arm he was able to use. Pierre kept him from falling down upon the rocks so quickly as to injure or perhaps kill him. He let Winslow slip down slowly, not to burn his hands or loosen his hold. He could not thus use his strength many minutes, and the old man timed his fall carefully, as not a second could be lost to ensure his safety. His place was yet dangerous, because of its height, though he was clear of the dangerous rock.

Seeing a sudden motion of Winslow's head, like that of a man who tries to keep himself awake and yet nods, Pierre felt that he was relaxing his hold of the rope.

"Hold on, hold on, sir," cried Pierre, reserving his last command for the important time he saw had come. Immediately the head rose slowly, and as the downward motion was checked altogether, he saw Winslow's arm grow more rigid and his fingers clasp themselves more closely about the rope.

Again Pierre lessened the strain on the rope, and the almost limp body began to descend again slowly, the helpless arm swinging a little. Inch by inch he lowered, each fraction of time lessening the danger and bringing him nearer the arms of the old man.

Suddenly, without warning, Winslow's head fell back and his hand relaxed, and slipping out of the control of the rope he fell into the water near Pierre, who was now up to his armpits in the tide.

Seizing the unconscious form of the young man, he bore him to the cart higher up the sloping beach, and speaking to the well-trained oxen, directed them out of the water to the dry shore.

Pierre found Marie in a swoon, and placing her in the cart beside the lifeless form of Winslow, he urged his oxen quickly forward along the devious way among the boulders, and soon came to the road leading upward to his home on the summit of the island. At "Bluff Castle," as Pierre's stone house was called, Suzanne anxiously waited, while out on the rising tide the Marie, under sail, was making for safe harbor.

When Winslow came to himself, above the consciousness of pain, he felt upon his face the soft touch of a woman's hair.

The sun that day went down and left Minas Basin in the cool, clear air of a summer night. Blomidon lay dark against the western heavens, pointing on the one side to the open waters of the Bay of Fundy, whose bosom is a mighty tide with forces never at rest; and on the other hand to the marshes of the Grand-Pré shore, full of the fate of a people.

CHAPTER IV.

BLUFF CASTLE.