"Jem," said the girl in terrified tones, "dear Jem, what is the matter?"

For the man she loved was standing regarding her with horror. The moon
which touched it was not responsible for all the whiteness of the
distorted face, and she shrank back in fear to the edge of the well. He
saw her fear and by a mighty effort regained his composure and took her
hand.

"Poor little girl," he murmured, "you frightened me. I was not looking
when you cried, and I thought that you were slipping from my arms,
down--down--"

His voice broke, and the girl throwing herself into his arms clung to him
convulsively.

"There, there," said Benson, fondly, "don't cry, don't cry."

"To-morrow," said Olive, half-laughing, half-crying, "we will all come
round the well with hook and line and fish for it. It will be quite a
new sport."

"No, we must try some other way," said Benson. "You shall have it back."

"How?" asked the girl.

"You shall see," said Benson. "To-morrow morning at latest you shall
have it back. Till then promise me that you will not mention your loss
to anyone. Promise."