"Very little, as a rule; and what I had I tried to keep. It was to give
me a start in life. It was hard to resist the temptation to use some of
it now and then, but I held out." He laughed grimly. "After all, I
suppose it was excellent discipline."

The girl made a sign of comprehending sympathy. There was a romance in
the man's career which had its effect on her, and she could recognize the
strength of will which had held him to the laborious tasks he might have
shirked while the money lasted. Then a stain on the sleeve of his jacket
caught her eye.

"You have hurt your hand!" she exclaimed.

Vane glanced down at his hand, which was reddened all over.

"It looks like it; those slates must have cut it."

"Hadn't you better wash it and tie it up? It seems a nasty cut."

He dipped his hand into the rill, and was fumbling awkwardly with his
handkerchief when she stopped him.

"That won't do! Let me fix it for you."

Rolling up her own handkerchief, she wet it and laid it on his palm,
across which a red gash ran. He had moved close to her, stooping down,
and a disturbing thrill ran through him as she held his hand. Once more,
however, he was troubled by a sense of compunction as he recalled his
interview with Chisholm.