"'Won't you take me there?'

"'Not to-day. I guess I've got to sit here till I feel better.
Another thing is, you'll be doing me a kindness if you don't let on
to the Bishop that you found me in this--this state. He never saw me
like this: he's good, I tell you. And he'd be sick and sorry if he
knew. I'm just mad with myself, too; but I swear I never meant to be
like this to-day. I just took a dose to fix me up for the journey;
but ever since I've been holding off from the whisky the least drop
gets into my walk. You didn't happen to notice a spring anywhere
hereabouts, did you? There used to be one that ran right across the
track.'

"'I passed it about a hundred yards back.'

"I dismounted and led her to the spring, where she knelt and bathed
her face in the water, cold from the melting snowfields above.
Then she pulled out a small handkerchief, edged with cheap lace, and
fell to dabbing her eyes.

"'Hullo!' she cried, breaking off sharply.

"'Yes,' I answered, 'you had forgotten that. But another wash will
take it all off, and, if you'll forgive my saying so, you won't look
any the worse. After that you shall soak my handkerchief and bandage
it round your forehead till you feel better. Here, let me help.'

"'Thank you,' she said, as I tied the knot. 'And now hurry along,
please. Sixty-seven, West Fifteenth Street. I'll be waiting here
with your handkerchief.'