The knife was sawing at a turn of the rope with short, hampered strokes. She could hear him whispering doggedly to himself:
"I can, I—can. I did it—as long as—this—at the—doctor's. I can do it."
The rope loosened a little in one place, and Joan twisted her hand.
"Don't," Garth said. "I'll cut you. You can't pull it out yet, till I do more. Don't jiggle your arm! If I fall down now, it'll take so much longer!"
She remained motionless, and at last something gave with a rush. She tore one arm free.
"Take the knife," Garth gasped. "Can you do the rest yourself? I—I'm afraid I—don't feel—quite—"
He went down suddenly in a limp little heap across her feet. She hacked and slashed at the ropes which bound her other arm and her ankles.
"Garth, Garth! Oh, my poor, splendid darling!"
The next moment she had him in her stiff arms and had cut his hands free. With rather uncertain steps she carried him across to his bed. Holding him very closely, she felt the struggle of his overtaxed heart hurrying
