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 2.10.3 Accurate Modeling of DC Response
2.10.4 Frequency Response and Step Response
2.10.5 Loop Gain, Differential Gain, and Noise
2.11 Discrete-Time Amplifiers
2.11.1 DC Analysis with Charge Conservation
2.11.2 Unified Closed-Loop Model
2.11.3 Accurate Modeling of DC Response
2.11.4 Transient Response
2.11.5 Loop-Gain Extraction
2.12 Fully-Differential Discrete-Time Amplifiers
2.12.1 DC Analysis with Charge Conservation
2.12.2 Unified Closed-Loop Model
2.12.3 Accurate Modeling of DC Response
2.12.4 Transient Analysis and Loop-Gain Extraction
2.13 References
2.14 Exercises

3 Device Layer
3.1 Introduction
3.2 MOSFET Basics
3.2.1 Structure and Electrical Ports
3.2.2 Performance Metrics and Design Variables
3.3 NMOS Design Relations and Tools
3.3.1 Long-Channel Models
3.3.2 Threshold Voltage
3.3.3 Drain-Source Saturation Voltage
3.3.4 Sheet Current
3.3.5 Transconductance Efficiency
3.3.6 Output Resistance and Early Voltage
3.4 PMOS Design Relations and Tools
3.4.1 Strong-Inversion Model
3.4.2 Subthreshold Model
3.4.3 Threshold Voltage
3.4.4 Drain-Source Saturation Voltage, Sheet Current, and
Transconductance Efficiency
3.4.5 Output Resistance and Early Voltage
3.5 Thermal Effects
3.6 Biasing and Sizing a MOSFET with Design Tools
3.7 Small-Signal Modeling and Circuit Analysis
3.7.1 MOSFET DC Small-Signal Model

8
 3.7.2 DC Small-Signal Circuit Analysis
3.7.3 MOSFET Capacitances and High-Frequency Small-Signal
Model
3.8 MOSFET Noise Model
3.9 MOSFET as a Switch
3.9.1 Single-Device and Transmission-Gate Switch Properties
3.9.2 Charge Injection and Clock Feedthrough
3.10 Resistor Design
3.10.1 Resistor Structures and Resistance Modeling
3.10.2 Design Techniques for Accuracy and Precision
3.10.3 MOSFET as a Resistor
3.11 Capacitor Design
3.11.1 MIM Capacitor
3.11.2 MOSFET as a Capacitor
3.12 References
3.13 Exercises

4 Circuit Layer
4.1 Introduction
4.2 Current Sources, Sinks, and Mirrors
4.2.1 Fundamental Concepts and Performance Metrics
4.2.2 Accuracy and Precision in Current Mirroring
4.2.3 Basic Cascoding
4.2.4 Low-Voltage Cascoding
4.2.5 Regulated Cascoding
4.2.6 Self-Cascoding
4.3 Current and Voltage References
4.3.1 Voltage-Divider Current Reference
4.3.2 Beta-Multiplier Current Reference
4.3.3 Bandgap Voltage Reference
4.4 Basic Amplifier Stages
4.4.1 Common-Source Stage
4.4.2 Source Follower
4.4.3 Basic Differential Pair
4.4.4 Source-Degenerated Differential Pair
4.4.5 Super-GM Differential Pair
4.5 Basic OTA
4.5.1 DC Transfer Characteristic as a Voltage Amplifier
4.5.2 Range Limitations
4.5.3 DC Differential Gain and Offset

9
 4.5.4 Frequency Response and Step Response
4.5.5 Noise-Related Properties
4.6 Symmetrical OTA
4.6.1 Topology and DC Transfer Characteristic
4.6.2 Range Limitations
4.6.3 DC Differential Gain and Offset
4.6.4 Frequency Response and Step Response
4.6.5 Noise-Related Properties
4.6.6 Cascoded-Symmetrical OTA
4.7 Folded-Cascode OTA
4.7.1 Topology and DC Transfer Characteristic
4.7.2 DC Differential Gain and Range Limitations
4.7.3 Frequency Response, Step Response, and Noise-Related
Properties
4.7.4 Rail-to-Rail Folded-Cascode OTA
4.8 Miller OTA
4.8.1 Topology and DC Response
4.8.2 Frequency Response and Noise-Related Properties
4.8.3 Step Response
4.9 Opamp with a Push-Pull Source-Follower Output Stage
4.9.1 Topologies and Operation
4.9.2 DC Response
4.9.3 Frequency Response, Step Response, and Noise
4.10 Opamp with a Push-Pull Common-Source Output Stage
4.11 Fully-Differential OTAs and Opamps
4.11.1 Core Topologies and Properties
4.11.2 Common-Mode Feedback Circuits
4.11.3 Design Examples
4.12 References
4.13 Exercises

Index

10
 CHAPTER 1
Preliminaries

T his book is about linear analog integrated circuits. An analog circuit

is qualified as linear if it exhibits a linear relationship between its
input and output variables. Regulators, amplifiers, buffers, and filters are
typical examples of such circuits. They are used mostly for regulating
power supplies, conditioning sensor signals prior to analog-to-digital
conversion, or driving an actuator/transducer after digital-to-analog
conversion. The last two cases are exemplified in Fig. 1.1 with two simple
applications. Figure 1.1(a) shows a voltage amplifier matching up the
voltage-mode signal of a temperature-sensing diode to the input range of
an analog-to-digital converter (ADC). Figure 1.1(b) shows a
transimpedance amplifier converting and filtering the currentmode output
signal of a digital-to-analog converter (DAC) into a voltage-mode signal to
drive an actuator/transducer load. Both examples exhibit a feature common
to almost all linear integrated-circuit applications: Their architecture is in
the form of a closed-loop configuration consisting of (a) an operational
amplifier (opamp), and (b) an external network built usually with passive
components. In a closed-loop configuration, the opamp itself acts as an
inaccurate, imprecise, and nonlinear supplier of large voltage gain while
the negative feedback provided by the external network trades off the
excessive voltage gain for accuracy, precision, and linearity, which are the
three fundamental attributes of linear analog signal processing.

11
FIGURE 1.1 Two linear integrated-circuit application examples. (a) A
single-ended voltage amplifier for conditioning a thermal-sensor signal
prior to analog-to-digital conversion. (b) A fully-differential
transimpedance amplifier for driving an actuator.

Integrated-circuit design in general is a two-stage process. The first

stage, called electrical design, delivers a complete circuit schematic of the
closed-loop configuration annotated with the dimensions and other
physical parameters of (a) all external-network components and (b) all
opamp internal devices. The second stage, called physical design, converts
this schematic into an artwork defining the layout to be fabricated. This
book is primarily on electrical design; physical design is covered as much
as it pertains to electrical design.
Electrical design is a top-down process going through three layers of
abstraction as illustrated with a block diagram in Fig. 1.2. Electrical
performance of the application, as specified in terms of what we call
closed-loop metrics, is the input of the topmost application layer. In this
layer, design activity begins with the selection of a closed-loop
configuration that can handle the application, and moves to the translation
of the specified closed-loop metrics into (a) open-loop metrics, which
define the target performance of the opamp itself, and (b) external-network
device metrics, which define the target performance of external-network
components. The intermediate circuit layer of design is based on open-
loop metrics. Its outcome is twofold: (a) adopting an opamp circuit
topology that can satisfy these open-loop metrics, and (b) specifying the

12
target performance of opamp internal devices in terms of device metrics.
In the final device layer of design, the device metrics specified in
application and circuit layers are translated into bias conditions and
physical parameters for all opamp devices and external-network
components. Although the block diagram shown in Fig. 1.2 indicates a
one-way flow, it frequently becomes necessary to loop back and redesign
as overconstrained or underconstrained design spaces are encountered
along the way. However, this does not alter the definitions indicated in
Fig. 1.2 for the input metrics or outcomes of any of the three layers.

13
14
FIGURE 1.2 Layers of abstraction in electrical design.

The main body of this book is divided into three chapters, each dealing
with one of the three layers of design. The application layer is covered in
Chapter 2. The device layer comes next in Chapter 3. Finally, in Chapter 4,
we study the circuit layer and also work on complete linear integrated-
circuit design examples involving the contents of the preceding chapters.
The methodology practiced in this book for design and verification is
based on Spice simulations, which are run on version-27 of the open-
source platform Ngspice. The reader is referred to the companion website
of this book, www.mhprofessional.com/AICDS, for instructions regarding
its download and installation.
Circuit description in Ngspice is based on direct netlist entry whereas
commercial simulation platforms generate netlists from schematic entries.
Schematic entry is generally faster, easier, and foolproof, which are
valuable assets in professional use because they minimize the time and
attention needed for circuit description. However, the intricacies of circuit
description are better learned by paying attention to details, which is why
netlist entry is preferred in this book. Input files describing the netlists of
all simulation examples can be downloaded from this book’s website.
Each of the folders named chap2, chap3, and chap4 contains the files used
in one particular chapter. The first step of running a simulation with any of
these files is to open the Ngspice executable. Next, the folder containing
the input file is defined as the current directory if it is not already so. For a
file residing in, for example, c:\spice\chap3 of an MS Windows
installation, this is done by entering

at the prompt as shown at the top of Fig. 1.3. Next, the filename itself is
entered as exemplified in the middle part of Fig. 1.3 for an input file ex3-
16.sp. Finally, entering the command run as shown at the bottom of Fig.
1.3 initiates the simulation. As the reader will experience initially in
Example 2.9 of Subsection 2.4.2, it is possible to start a simulation without
entering a run command provided that the input file is properly scripted.
As to reading out or plotting the outcomes of a simulation, the reader will
find the necessary descriptions inside the examples presented throughout
the following three chapters.

15
FIGURE 1.3 Screenshots showing the steps of running an input file in an
MS Windows installation. Top: Changing the directory. Middle: Declaring

16
the filename. Bottom: Initiating the simulation.

Input files are prepared with a text editor, and saved with extension .sp.
Each begins with a title line and ends with a .end line. The lines in
between are expected to describe at least the network of components, their
parameters, and the type of analysis to be performed. For an example, the
reader is referred to file ex2-1.sp, which netlists the circuit schematic
shown in Fig. 2.5. Its line-by-line description is as follows:
Line 1 Filename is typed in the title line. Since Spice does not consider this
line as a declaration, any text can be included without affecting the outcome of
the simulation.

Line 2 This line quantifies certain parameters. Typographically, it spans over

two lines as indicated by the plus sign appearing at the beginning of the
extension. This is how a long line can be accommodated in an input file.
Line 3 Another file opmacrol.sp is called by this line. This additional file
actually describes the netlist of the opamp x1 declared in line 4 as a subcircuit.
If a circuit is involved in multiple simulations, or multiple instances of a circuit
are involved in a simulation, we prefer to describe such a circuit as a subcircuit
and simply include its instances whenever or wherever needed.

Line 4 This is an element line where an instance of the subcircuit opamp is

called. Note that a subcircuit instance is identified with a name beginning with
x. The three numbers appearing after the name are the node numbers of the top-
level circuit in which the subcircuit is embedded.
Lines 5 and 6 These lines begin with r, and therefore describe the instances of
resistors. Each contains two node identifiers and the value of the resistance.
Lines 7 and 8 Independent voltage sources are defined in these lines. They
begin with v, and continue with two node identifiers. The first between the two
is the reference node. The third number 0.54 appearing in line 7 is the voltage
imposed onto the reference node with respect to the ground node. Note that 0 is
the universal identifier of ground node. The voltage of the source vd is
undefined in line 8 because it is changed as a part of the analysis defined next in
line 9.

Line 9 Beginning with a dot, this line describes a command. Specifically, it

defines a dc simulation as indicated by .dc. The voltage of the independent
source vd is the variable of this simulation. It varies between 0.476 and 0.723 V
in 1-mV increments.
The end of the input file is declared in the very last line.

17
 Although the examples included in the following chapters will help the
reader master the basics of simulation with Ngspice, it will be much more
beneficial at this stage to read the specific sections of the user manual,
which is included in the downloaded Ngspice package.

18
 CHAPTER 2
Application Layer

2.1 Introduction
As stated in Chapter 1, the application layer of electrical design involves
(a) selection of an appropriate closed-loop configuration for the
application, and (b) translation of the specified closed-loop metrics into
open-loop metrics for the opamp and device metrics for the external
network. Available closed-loop amplifier configurations are well
documented in related literature. No attempt is made in this book to
present their inventory but most popular configurations are presented in
examples throughout this chapter. The main emphasis of the chapter is on
the analytical techniques and tools used in translating closed-loop metrics
into open-loop metrics and external-network device metrics. These
techniques and tools are generalized into four major architectural classes
depending on (a) whether amplification is performed in continuous time or
in discrete time, and (b) whether signal representation is single ended or
fully differential. The case of continuous-time/single-ended amplifier
configurations, being the most fundamental of the four, is covered in the
first nine sections of this chapter. Based on the foundation thus
established, coverage is then extended to continuous-time/fully-differential
configurations in Section 2.10, to discrete-time/single-ended
configurations in Section 2.11, and finally to discrete-time/fully-
differential configurations in Section 2.12.
Most of the concepts presented in this chapter are supported with Spice
simulations conducted with a parameterized single-ended or fully-
differential opamp macromodel defined as a subcircuit. The single-ended

19
version is netlisted in the input file opmacrol.sp. As shown in Fig. 2.1(a),
this macro interfaces with the closed-loop configuration through the
following three pins:

FIGURE 2.1 Symbols and pin configurations of the opamp macromodels

defined as subcircuits. (a) Single-ended opmacrol.sp. (b) Fully-
differential opmacro2.sp.

1. ninv: Noninverting input.

2. inv: Inverting input.
3. out: Output.

The user-defined parameters of the single-ended opamp macro are

described in the following list for future reference.

• vdd: Positive power-supply voltage. Introduced in Subsection

2.2.1.
• vss:Negative power-supply voltage (zero for a single-supply
opamp). Introduced in Subsection 2.2.1.
• voh: Higher limit VOH of output range. Introduced in Subsection
2.2.1.
• vol: Lower limit VOL of output range. Introduced in Subsection
2.2.1.
• a0: DC differential gain A0 at the midpoint of the output range.
Introduced in Subsection 2.4.1.
• fgbw: Gain-bandwidth product fGBW. Introduced in Subsection
2.5.1.
• vdir: Differential-input range VDIR. Introduced in Subsection
2.5.2.

20
 • fnd: Nondominant pole frequency fnd. Introduced in Section 2.7.
• vos at vout: Offset voltage Vos defined at an output bias voltage
VO. Introduced in Subsection 2.4.1. Unlike the preceding
parameters, these two are set by default to vos= 0 and vout=
(voh+vol)/2 but can be reset by adding the following lines to the
main input file that contains the opamp subcircuit opmacrol.sp:

where <subcircuit identifier> is the name of the opamp

instance, such as x1, and <value> is the reset value.
The input file netlisting the fully-differential opamp macro is
opmacro2.sp. As shown in Fig. 2.1(b), this macro interfaces with the
closed-loop configuration through the following five pins:

1. ninv: Noninverting input.

2. inv: Inverting input.
3. outp: Noninverting output. Described in Subsection 2.10.1.
4. outn: Inverting output. Described in Subsection 2.10.1.
5. ocm:
This is the pin where the output common-mode voltage
VOCM is externally applied as described in Subsection 2.10.1.

The user-defined parameters of the single-ended opamp macro described

previously apply also to this opamp with one exception. The exception is
the replacement of the single- ended open-loop dc gain parameter a0 with
the differential open-loop dc gain parameter adif0 which is defined in
Subsection 2.10.3.
Another adjustable opamp parameter is the offset voltage vos, whose
default value is zero. The user may alter it by adding the following line to
the main input file containing the opamp subcircuit opmacro2.sp:

21
Discovering Diverse Content Through
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 It was rough going. Rocks and boulders and gorse bushes
impeded the progress, invisible in the mist. Now and again he struck
a boggy patch of ground and had to make a wide detour to avoid it.
He had been walking for upwards of an hour, and he began to fear
lest he had missed his way and perhaps been going round in a circle,
when suddenly he stepped out into a clear, starlit night. Below him
he saw the tiny village of Post Bridge, and almost directly in front of
him red lights gleaming through the belt of trees.
Post Bridge Hall! Down on the bridge itself, near the little post
office, he saw figures moving to and fro. He dropped on to his hands
and knees behind the shelter of a rock. He heard the barking of a
sheep dog, the voices of men and women travelled up to him.
Of course the news of the escape had spread, and the place
was alive with people searching.
How eager men and women were to hunt their kind! He
remembered how as a boy he had joined in just such a hunt.
He commenced to crawl along on all fours towards Post Bridge
Hall. The trees there might shelter him, but it would be useless to
try and cross the patch of country on the other side. He climbed a
couple of stone walls, crossed a field, scrambled over a fence, and
dropped straight into the garden of the Hall itself.
Lights gleamed from the windows. The front door stood wide
open, and not a hundred yards away from him he saw the outer
door of the glass conservatory which abutted from the drawing-
room. He saw with surprise that this was open too.
For a long time he lay waiting, watching, afraid to go on—
because he knew the fog would not descend again. The million eyes
of the night watched him from a cloudless sky.
 Presently from the woods behind him he heard voices and the
barking of dogs. A gang of men were beating the spinney, searching
for the two convicts.
Within sight of home he would be caught. He rose to his feet,
crossed the narrow stretch of turf and walked boldly up the drive.
He stood a moment outside the conservatory door, listening. He
heard nothing but the voices of the men in the wood and the
barking of the dogs.
He stepped inside the conservatory, closed the door, and then,
fumbling for the key, found it. He locked it, and drew the bolts top
and bottom which he knew were there. Stooping down he crawled
beneath the broad shelf which ran the length of the glass-house.
The leaves of a palm and the fronds of a large fern gave him
complete shelter.
He stretched himself out full length so as to lie perfectly flat,
and as he did so his foot struck a pile of empty flower-pots. They fell
over with a crash. He stopped breathing. He thought he detected a
woman's voice in the drawing-room. A minute passed, but no one
came.
He breathed again. He was safe for the time being. The
conservatory door was locked. They would never search Sir Reginald
Crichton's house! He was still a free man. And freedom to him now
was more than anything else in the world. More than love or honour,
or the wealth that might be lying hidden in the tin mine at home,
waiting for his father and sister.

CHAPTER XVIII.
 ALARMED.

Marjorie Dale only remained at Blackthorn Farm after her father's

return from London long enough to nurse him back to health. When
he had completely recovered from the effects of his accident she left
home, Devonshire, and all she knew and loved. She went away as
much in deference to her lover's wishes as to her father's, though so
far as her own feelings were concerned she would have preferred to
remain at Post Bridge and face public opinion—scandal, cruelty, and
calumny. She knew that both she and her father would be social
outcasts.
She had connections on her mother's side living at Calais. They
were in the lace trade, and had spent the best part of their lives out
of England. To them Marjorie was sent—not altogether as a guest.
In return for a home and protection she was expected to play the
part of nursery governess to their children and help in the
housework.
No one was more delighted at this arrangement than Sir
Reginald Crichton. Marjorie would be away for at least six months,
and during that time much might happen.
Jim would learn to forget; work would help him.
He was so grateful that he made the mistake of thanking
Marjorie for the step she was taking. But she read his thoughts as
she had done before: she knew what he hoped would come from
this parting between Jim and her.
"I'm going away, not for my father's sake, nor for yours, nor my
own, but for Jim's sake," she explained. "I know that the parting will
only strengthen our love, and his determination to marry me. With
him I believe that love is the greatest thing in the world." She smiled
when Sir Reginald shrugged his shoulders. "I know it's an
unfashionable belief, yet everything in the world depends on love.
The greatest men have always been the greatest lovers; even
soldiers, sailors, and Empire builders. When I return from abroad Jim
is going to announce our engagement. I'm not entirely selfish in
agreeing to this; for I know that his happiness and his future lie in
my hand."
Sir Reginald had nothing to say. He had proved that argument
was useless. His son's attitude was a severe blow to him. For the
moment love was stronger than reason or ambition, but he still
believed that by waiting, love would weaken and even Jim would
listen to wiser and more worldly counsels.
So Marjorie bade her lover farewell one grey autumn morning
and left for France—but not before she had had an unpleasant
interview with Robert Despard and taken a very unhappy farewell of
her father.
For when Despard brought the old man back from London, he
had stayed on at Blackthorn Farm, and he had seized every
opportunity of making love to Marjorie—even after she had told him
his case was hopeless, that her heart was already given.
Despard had merely laughed and said he intended to win her in
spite of all opposition. At first his attitude puzzled her, for she could
not conceive why a man of his type should wish to marry into a
family whose name was now a byword in the county. Her father
encouraged him, moreover, and did everything in his power to make
her look kindly on Despard's suit.
 It was only the night before she left for Calais that she
discovered the reason.
Despard had insisted on paying off the mortgage which Sir
Reginald held on Blackthorn Farm, and the homestead was once
again her father's property. Crichton, too, had acted very generously
in the matter of paying the conveyancing expenses himself.
Instead of being grateful, Marjorie was shocked and horrified. It
seemed as if the three men had laid their heads together and
planned this thing to put her in their power. It was a trick on
Despard's part, and Sir Reginald had helped him—not really for John
Dale's sake, but in order to save his own son from what he
considered would be a mesalliance.
To a certain extent she was right. But Despard had another and
stronger motive for his generosity in paying off the mortgage on the
farm and handing the estate back to the man who had, only a
month or two ago, been a stranger to him. The reason was to be
found in the old tin mine where Rupert and he had suddenly
discovered the presence of pitch-blende, firing their imaginations
with thoughts of radium—and a fortune.
News of what was happening in the outside world seldom
reached Marjorie in Calais. And the only news she received of what
was taking place in the wilds of Dartmoor was contained in a weekly
letter from her father. He refrained from telling her everything. Jim
wrote to her daily. They were very wonderful letters telling her of his
work, telling her of his love. But for those letters she would never
have remained for half those long, weary months in the conventional
Anglo-French family in the sleepy little town of Calais.
 But even Jim did not know what was taking place at Blackthorn
Farm until the news became public property, and the great boom
which Despard cleverly engineered was burst on a credulous, Tango-
dancing world.
By that time Marjorie had returned home to find Despard
ensconsed at Blackthorn Farm, the land surrounded and over-run by
a small army of men, and Jim Crichton still absent with his corps at
Netheravon.
Marjorie hardly recognised her old home. It was over nine
months since her brother had been convicted and sentenced. A
change had taken place, too, in her, and she knew it. Six months
abroad had made a great difference—mentally and physically. She
had looked forward to returning to Blackthorn Farm in spite of its
loneliness and the bitter memories she knew she would find there.
Her father met her at Newton Abbot station, and it was some
minutes before he found her in the crowd of passengers who
alighted from the West of England express. To the old man it
seemed as if she had grown up suddenly. Grown from a girl into a
woman. From a farmer's daughter into a lady.
"Why, how swagger we have become," he smiled. "I almost
took you for a Frenchwoman with that smart little hat and dress, and
those ridiculous shoes! It's lucky we haven't brought the dogcart, so
you won't have to walk up the hills."
Marjorie imagined they would take the train to
Moretonhampstead, and from thence by motor omnibus to Post
Bridge. When she had collected her luggage, John Dale led her
across the bridge and out of the station. And there she saw Robert
Despard waiting in a motor-car. He seized the reluctant hand she
gave him, and after pressing it warmly, put it to his lips.
"Welcome home!" he cried; then, turning to Dale: "By Jove,
what a fine lady she's become! She'll be able to play the part to
perfection, eh?"
Marjorie flushed with resentment and disappointment. Despard
was the last person in the world she wanted to see.
"Have I got to drive home in that thing?" she cried, pointing
disdainfully to the motor-car.
While the luggage was being strapped on, Dale explained that it
belonged to Mr. Despard, and that he kindly allowed them to make
use of it.
"It belongs to the syndicate," Despard replied. "There have
been great happenings at Post Bridge since you went away, Marjorie.
I'm afraid you'll find the place changed—not the farmhouse itself,
but the surrounding waste land."
"Mr. Despard has discovered that we've been living with a
fortune under our feet all these years," Dale explained.
He looked anxiously at his daughter and took her hand; but she
made no response. After two or three attempts at conversation
when the car had started, Dale relapsed into silence. It was not easy
to talk at the pace they went, with the wind singing in their ears.
And in his heart, too, he felt a little afraid of Marjorie. A little
frightened at the quick march of events since she had been away.
And perhaps just a little ashamed.
Marjorie guessed what had happened. When Blackthorn Farm
was reached, she knew. But instead of feeling grateful or elated,
disgust seized her. Within a few hundred yards of the farm, hideous
corrugated iron buildings had sprung up; the land all around the tin
mine had been cleared and levelled. Plant was being erected;
scattered here and there were temporary dwellings, and offices for
the workmen; a miniature railway line had already been laid on the
ancient granite track. Tears rose to her eyes as she looked at the
desecration that had been done to her moorlands and her home.
"Whose work is this?" she asked. "Mr. Despard's, of course! I
suppose Sir Reginald gave permission——"
Dale explained all that had happened, and the generous part
Despard had played. "I owe him a debt I can never repay. Ruin
stared us in the face, Marjorie, and through him it has been averted.
When—when my boy comes out of prison—though I hope I shall not
live to see that day—he will at least have the chance of living a
decent life, of wiping out the crime he committed, and becoming a
useful citizen. He will have the opportunity, for he will be a rich man.
God grant that he takes it."
Marjorie shook her head. "Mr. Despard is a stranger to us. It's
unlike you, father, to accept so much from a stranger. What does Mr.
Despard expect in return?"
The old man turned away. "Nothing. Of course he'll share in our
good fortune. He'll take the larger share of whatever money we
make. I have insisted on that. A company will be floated—it's in the
course of promotion already. It's a gamble, to a certain extent. I
believe there's a deal of opposition; there are men who scoff at the
idea of traces of radium having been discovered here. Other eminent
men have made exhaustive tests, and their report leads us to believe
there is no doubt that we shall be able to extract radium from the
mine. But I've refused to take a single penny in cash; I'm to be paid
entirely in shares."
"And how is Mr. Despard to be paid?"
"I don't believe he has thought of himself," Dale replied. "He'll
join the board of directors, of course, and I suppose he'll receive a
certain number of shares. He'll become a very famous man,
Marjorie. I've seen a lot of him during the past few months, and my
respect has grown daily. He has thrown himself heart and soul into
this business. At first every one scoffed at him, but lately a change
has taken place in public opinion here. Even Sir Reginald is
converted. Can't you guess why Mr. Despard has worked so hard and
been so generous? I'm sure his love for you, born originally of pity,
has been the motive."
"Then I'm sorry," Marjorie said quickly. "Even if I were not
engaged to Jim I could never care for Mr. Despard. I dislike and
distrust him. The sooner he realises this the better."
John Dale sighed and shook his head. He had forced himself to
believe his daughter would forget. He had hoped, he had prayed,
that she would have grown to see things in a reasonable way, and
that this sudden promise of wealth would entirely change her point
of view of life and love.
"Sir Reginald will never consent to his son marrying you," he
replied harshly. "Why, Jim is little more than a boy, he doesn't know
his own mind. He has already forgotten."
Marjorie smiled and said nothing more. She knew that she
would see him in a few days' time, for he had applied for special
leave on urgent private affairs, and he had written assuring her that
he would be at the Hall again within twelve or fourteen days. He
also hinted that he had important work in hand, that he might be
doing some long distance flights on a new monoplane containing
improvements, which were his own inventions, later on in the year.
And he was down for early promotion.
The twelve days of waiting for her lover's return were long and
weary ones. Blackthorn Farm was no longer the lonely, forgotten
homestead, tucked away in a secluded part of the moorlands it had
been formerly. Tourists and trippers thronged to look at the curious
old farmhouse and to watch the works being erected a few hundred
yards away. The place was over-run by workmen. All day long cars
and lorries were rushing to and fro along the main road between
Princetown and Post Bridge and Moretonhampstead. Solitude and
loneliness, which had been so easy to find in the old days,
disappeared. Marjorie had to take long walks before she knew she
was safe from intrusion. She dreaded meeting friends and
acquaintances more than the strangers who came to stare at her old
home. She was not afraid of being cut or shunned. Instinct warned
her, that now it was known vast wealth was hidden in the old mine,
people would conveniently forget the shame that had fallen on her
name. They would no longer think of her as the convict's sister, but
as the future heiress. Shame made her want to hide from every one
but her lover. Even from her father and the labourers and farm
hands on the estate.
She was ashamed—not of herself or her brother, but of them!
At last, one Friday morning, a note arrived from her lover saying
that he would reach Post Bridge Hall that evening. Of course the
news of the happenings at Blackthorn Farm had been carried to him.
He told Marjorie that his father would be absent on Friday evening,
and asked her as soon as it was dark to go straight up to the Hall.
He did not want anyone to know of his arrival.
So Marjorie said nothing. Her love had become too precious a
thing to be talked about. Moreover, she did not want Despard to
know of Jim's presence at the Hall. Feeling secure in the knowledge
that John Dale approved of his love for Marjorie, Despard had
pressed his suit on every available opportunity, giving her no peace.
When he found it was useless to plead, he even threatened her.
But Marjorie laughed in his face.
"You can laugh now," he said savagely. "But I mean to make
you my wife. I mean to win you. Not many men would have done for
a woman what I've done for you. I've saved you from poverty, I've
saved you from disgrace. Perhaps when we're married I can save
your brother from prison."
She had always believed in her heart that Despard could have
proved Rupert's innocence if he had chosen to speak at the trial.
And these words returned to her a few days later with redoubled
force.
Soon after the midday meal on Friday she left the farm and
walked in the direction of Beardown, intending to pass the rest of
the day there reading, until it was time to meet her lover at the Hall.
When the fog came down, she had to slightly alter her plans, and
she made for the main road as she knew she could not lose her way
there. She was terrified lest the fog delayed Jim, and she hovered
close to Post Bridge Hall until it began to grow dark. She scarcely
heard the boom of the warning signal gun from Princetown, so
intent was she on meeting the man she loved. It was just as the fog
lifted and she was making her way by the long drive towards the
Hall that a motor-car overtook her and pulled up, and Jim jumped to
the ground.
They looked at one another, but spoke no word. Telling the
chauffeur to take the car on, Jim slipped his arm through Marjorie's,
and together they walked up to the house. Not until they had
entered the drawing-room, where a cheerful fire was blazing, did Jim
Crichton speak. He took Marjorie's hand in his and looked deep into
her eyes.
"I can hardly believe that you are really here," he whispered. "It
seems too good to be true. The months have been like years. But
you have never been absent from me—even in my work you have
always been beside me. By day and by night. If I had ever doubted
that love was the greatest thing in the world I should know it now."
Marjorie smiled: her red lips parted and she tried to speak, but
no words came. He had said just what she wanted him to say. And
he had said it quietly, almost coldly.
For a few moments there was silence. Then he released her
hands, and opening his arms he took her in them and, holding her
tightly, covered her face with kisses. The pent-up passion burst. The
months of separation, the obstacles that had been placed in their
way, instead of killing their love, had increased it ten-fold.
"My dear, my dear one, what does anything else in the world
matter so long as we have one another!" Jim whispered.
"Nothing," she sobbed, unable to keep back her tears—tears of
joy. "Nothing—but I'm a woman. Therefore love is all in all to me.
But you're a man, and——"
He silenced her with his lips: "And helpless, useless without his
mate."
 The darkness increased. The old oak-panelled room was only lit
by the dancing flames from the log fire. There was silence in the
house, and outside on the moorlands there was silence, too.
Presently it was broken by the shouts of men and the baying of
dogs. But the lovers did not hear.
They only heard the beating of each other's hearts and the
voice of Love calling them to walk fearlessly along the path they had
chosen. And the voice of Fate calling them to face the unknown
future together.
Twice a servant knocked at the door before Jim heard, and
starting up told him to enter.
"Well, what is it?" he asked, striking a match to light the
candles, fearful lest his father had returned earlier than he expected.
The servant explained that an official from Princetown Prison
wished to see him. "I understand, sir," the man said in an excited
voice, "that a couple of convicts escaped this afternoon in the fog.
They traced one in this direction. He was wounded by a shot the
warder fired. They want permission to search the grounds and out-
buildings."
Jim hesitated for a moment. "Of course they can search," he
replied. "You know where the keys of the garage, the stables, and
the out-buildings are, Perkins. You had better accompany them; and
be sure to lock up carefully."
"Very good, sir!"
The servant was about to retire when the burly form of a
uniformed warder blocked the doorway. He saluted.
"I understand Sir Reginald is away; can I speak to you a
moment, sir?"
 Jim glanced over his shoulder at Marjorie. She was hidden from
sight, seated in a large armchair.
"Certainly," he replied. He crossed the room and stepped into
the hall, closing the drawing-room door behind him.
As he did so a noise from the conservatory on the left of the
fireplace startled Marjorie. The sound of a sudden crash. She
listened a moment, then rose to her feet.
Very quietly stepping towards the door which led into the hot-
house, she pulled back the curtain and peered through the glass
panel.

CHAPTER XIX.
"YOU MUST GO BACK!"

Marjorie could see nothing. It was quite dark outside now. She
listened, straining her ears, but not another sound could be heard.
Whatever had fallen or been knocked down had made a great noise.
Obviously, some one was in the conservatory.
She turned the handle of the door; it was unlocked, and it
opened. Her first thought was that perhaps one of the dogs had
been shut in by mistake. As she stepped down on to the tessellated
pavement into the darkness she experienced a sudden little throb of
fear. For the thought came that perhaps one of the escaped convicts
had made his way into the conservatory and was hiding there. The
fear went as quickly as it came. Her eyes, growing accustomed to
the gloom, saw dimly outlined the delicate fronds of the ferns and
the graceful palms and overhead the green of the clambering vine.
The air was heavy with the warm and subtle odour of forced growth.
She made her way to the door leading into the garden, and
found it locked and bolted. So no one could have possibly entered
that way. She gave a whistle and snapped her fingers, still thinking
that one of the dogs might be there. There was no response.
She was turning away when her foot struck a portion of broken
pot. Stooping down she saw that a large pile of them had been
overturned, and the majority lay in fragments on the ground, behind
them a tin bucket from which water was still trickling.
She gave a little laugh—it seemed so mysterious. And then her
brow puckered in a frown.... Had some one been listening and
spying on them? The idea was ridiculous, and yet—the bucket,
obviously half full of water, and the pile of pots could not have fallen
there on their own account. It was just possible that a large rat——
She stooped down to peer under the shelf. As she did so she
was conscious of footsteps on the gravel outside, and at the same
moment a brighter light shone through the door leading into the
drawing-room. A servant had brought in the lamp. Then she heard
Jim's voice, obviously speaking to one of the warders from the
prison.
The ferns and the drooping tendrils of plants and a bank of
moss blocked her view underneath the shelf; the light from the
drawing-room fell at the wrong angle. Bending lower she brushed
aside a clump of ferns.
And she saw, pressed tightly against the wall, the outline of a
foot and leg. Some one was hiding there.
 The next moment her eyes had seen the tell-tale broad-arrow
on the boot and trousers.
One of the escaped convicts! She caught her breath, and
drawing back stood upright, uncertain for the moment what to do.
The door was bolted on the inside, and with Jim and the warders a
few feet away in the drawing-room he was trapped. There was no
escape. She hesitated a moment, not in the least alarmed, only
surprised and a little overwhelmed by her discovery. She knew that
the moorlands must be alive with men searching; already, probably,
the outbuildings and the houses were being ransacked—and here
the convict lay, at her feet.
The next thought was that he must have heard her enter and
knew that she had discovered him. She wondered why he had not
attacked her and tried to bolt.
"Marjorie—where are you?"
She started at the sound of her lover's voice. It brought her
back to a sense of her duty. As she turned towards the drawing-
room she heard—him saying good-night to the warder to whom he
had been talking.
"One moment," she cried, "I want you, Jim."
Something stirred at her feet. A movement from the hunted
creature lying hidden beneath the ferns and flowers.
Suddenly, in a flash, she felt as if her soul, her whole being, had
changed places with his. She experienced the agony that he was
feeling—alternating hope and fear. The desire to live and escape at
all costs, and the desire to kill those who stood between him and
liberty. She heard herself draw her breath with difficulty, with hard,
sharp gasps. Her body broke out into a sweat. She trembled from
head to foot.
Then she felt Jim's hand on her arm. "Hello, dear, what are you
doing out here in the darkness?"
She turned her back on him, afraid lest the light coming through
the open door shone on her face. Again she heard a stealthy
movement of feet followed by a shuffling under the shelf. The
convict knew the game was up and was coming out.
"Don't move," she cried, scarcely knowing what she said.
With an effort she steadied herself and gained self-control.
Against the wall on her right a Maréchal Niel rose-tree had been
trained. A yellow bud caught her eyes just out of reach. Jim Crichton
entered the conservatory.
"I wanted to steal that rose," she whispered. "I'm not tall
enough. Do pick it for me, Jim."
"Silly child," he laughed. "You gave me quite a fright. I thought
something was wrong."
Standing on tip-toe, he picked the rosebud and gave it her.
Bending her head she placed her lips to it. Jim kissed the top of her
head, then, turning away, tried the outer door.
"That's all right. No one can get in here. Come along back to
the drawing-room, Marjorie. Those fellows will have finished
searching in a minute and we shall be left in peace again. It's rather
serious, you know, a couple of convicts getting away. But, of course,
they'll catch them all right—though I'm afraid they'll have to wait
until the morning now."
Taking her hand he led her back to the drawing-room. He was
closing the conservatory door when she asked him to leave it open.
 "It seems rather hot in here."
"Well, it's hotter in there," he laughed.
He put his arms around her and gazed into her eyes. "I'm
jealous of every minute that's stolen from us. I shall never let you go
away again for such a long period. It's been bad enough for me, and
I've had work that I love. It must have been worse for you, darling."
She nodded, and laid her face on his shoulder. "That's all gone,
dear. This hour is ours—and there's the future.... Jim, I have a
confession to make."
"Well, come and sit down in the arm-chair and make it," he
laughed. "Let me hold you in my arms as if you were a child, for
that's all you are sometimes."
"Not now. I'm a woman. No," as he made a movement, "listen
to me, Jim. While I was away from you I had no doubts about the
future. I was certain that I could make you happy, that love was the
principal thing in life. I'm not so sure now."
She felt his grip tighten. "Why, just now you confessed——"
"I confessed what I felt," she interrupted. "I want you to
confess. I want you to look far, far into the future ... and also to
remember the past. Remember what I am—and what my brother
is."
Against her will her eyes were drawn towards the conservatory
where the convict was hiding. An outcast, an outlaw, wearing the
shameful uniform of crime. Just such a man was her brother.
Wearing just the same uniform, living the same life, thinking the
same thoughts. Just as desperate. Her brother: herded with other
criminals in one of the great prisons of England. She had been
speaking her thoughts, saying just what she felt. She knew that she
was speaking them to gain time. She ought not to have wasted one
moment before telling Jim of the man hiding a few yards away from
them. Warders were at that moment searching outbuildings and the
gardens. She was committing an unlawful act in not giving him up.
She was making her lover party to her guilt.
But she could not tell him. For one dreadful moment she had
entered into that wretched man's feelings. It was as if she had taken
his place in the darkness out there where he was hiding.
She wanted him to escape! She was incapable of reasoning that
moment. Perhaps the taint of crime was in her blood. Perhaps her
brother really had been guilty of robbing her lover's father.
"My dearest little one, you needn't trouble about my future. I
shall really only begin to live when you're my wife. I can't lose my
job—if I do I can find another. And your love will make me twice as
keen on my work, for you will share in it. We have each got our job
to do, and we shall do it better for being together. That's all about
it."
She heard his voice, as from a distance off. As he finished
speaking she heard footsteps in the hall—the opening of the front
door.
Some one knocked at the drawing-room door. It opened, and
the servant admitted the chief warder.
"We've searched carefully, sir," he said to Jim, who put Marjorie
from him and stood in front of her. "And some of my men have been
right through the gardens and shrubberies, but they ain't hiding
anywhere here. No doubt you'll see that your men-servants keep a
sharp look-out. One man's badly hit—but he was a sharpish one, he
was. I'm afraid there ain't much chance of getting them to-night, but
we shall have them as soon as day breaks." He saluted. "Good-night,
sir. Good-night, ma'am."
The drawing-room door closed, and Marjorie listened to the
footsteps crossing the hall. "We shall get them as soon as day
breaks." Automatically she repeated the words the warder had
spoken.
"Jim, come here quickly. I have something I must tell you before
the warders go."
He turned towards her, frowning, a look of amazement on his
face. Even then she hesitated. She heard the front door close. The
warders had gone. Taking Jim by the arm she led him towards the
conservatory.
"There's some one hiding in there," she whispered. "When you
left the room to speak to the chief warder I heard a crash from the
conservatory. I went in, and under the shelf I saw a man crouched
up. His clothes bore the broad arrow. He's one of the convicts who
escaped."
Jim looked at her with unbelieving eyes. Then putting her aside,
he stepped quickly towards the conservatory. Suddenly he stopped
and swung round.
"Marjorie! You're certain of this? Why didn't you speak—before
the warders left?"
Something moved in the darkness of the hothouse. Slowly out
of the masses of foliage a head and shoulders emerged. Jim sprang
to the bell and rang it.
"What are you going to do?" Marjorie whispered.
"Send Perkins to call the warders back. Give the fellow up," he
replied sharply. "You ought to have told me at once, Marjorie. You
had better wait in the dining-room."
He stood in the doorway blocking the exit. Marjorie stood in
front of him and laid her hands on his arms.
"Jim—you mustn't give him up. It's horrible."
He tried to push her away.
"Jim," her voice rose piercingly. "My brother is a convict.... You
needn't hide him, but just let him go—give him a sporting chance.
Let him go. No one will ever know. Give him a chance."
"Silence, dear. You don't know what you're saying."
The door opened and Perkins entered the room. For a moment
there was silence. Not a sound from the conservatory now. Not a
sound from the garden outside. The barking of the dogs and the
voices of the men had died away.
"You rang, sir?"
"Bring the glasses, a syphon of soda water, and the whisky," Jim
said in a strained voice.
Directly the servant had gone he pointed to the sofa on the
other side of the fireplace away from the entrance to the
conservatory.
"Marjorie, dear, go and sit down there. I understand, and I'm
sorry; but I must do my duty."
She looked at him dry-eyed. All the tenderness had left her face.
"It's five-score of men against one. Open the door and let him go.
Yes, he's bound to be caught to-morrow, but every hour, every
minute, every second of freedom must be as sweet to him as our
love is to us, Jim. Give him a run—for his money."
Jim had turned his back on her. He disappeared into the
conservatory and the door closed behind him.
 Perkins brought the tumblers and the whisky into the room and
placed them on a small table.
"Quite exciting, miss, this escape of two convicts. Hasn't been
an escape from Princetown for a long time. What with that and this
radium mine on Mr. Dale's estate——"
He suddenly stopped and coughed deprecatingly. He, too, in
speaking of convicts had forgotten that he was speaking to a
convict's sister.
Marjorie waited. For a long time she heard no sound. Then Jim's
voice, strained and very stern. Not the voice of a lover now, but the
voice of a soldier—even something more than that, the voice of a
man under the strain of great emotion.
Presently she detected an answering voice. She rose to her feet,
and standing against the conservatory door peered through the
glass.
She could see the outlines of the two men distinctly. One her
lover, the other the convict. Jim turned, and as he did so he saw her.
She saw him push the convict back, then, mounting the steps, he
opened the door.
"Go back!" he cried fiercely. "Go—away—into the dining-room."
"You must tell me what you're going to do."
She looked into his face, but his eyes fell. His mouth looked
merely a thin line, his jaws protruded. She put her hand on his arm
—it was like a steel band.
"Go away, do you hear! Go away, do you hear! Wait until I come
to you." He commanded now.
He tried to push her across the room. She clung to him and
stood her ground. She stared into his face, forced his eyes to meet
hers.
"You are hiding something from me, Jim.... You are going to
give him up——"
Suddenly he seized her wrists in a grip of iron. "You know who's
hiding out there," he said between his teeth.
"A convict—that's all I know——"
A sound from the conservatory made Jim turn his head. Marjorie
wrenched herself free. Out of the darkness beyond the conservatory
door the figure of the convict emerged. Marjorie stopped as she saw
him.
"Go back!" Jim cried.
The convict spoke. "It's too late! I'm a coward, I know. But
liberty's dearer than life now." He held out his arms to Marjorie.
"Hide me, for God's sake, hide me!"
She put out her hands as if to keep him off. Her lips framed his
name. The name of her brother! It rattled in her throat. She turned
to her lover.
"I didn't know, Jim, I didn't know!"
He nodded. "Speak quietly. Sit down there."
Crossing the room, he locked the drawing-room door. He
motioned Rupert to the arm-chair and made him place it so that if
he had to open the door no one would see him. Then he poured out
a stiff whisky and soda and gave it him to drink. The tumbler rattled
between his teeth as he emptied the contents. He laid it on the floor
by his side, then he looked at Jim, avoiding his sister's eyes.
"I—I was hunted here. I didn't come purposely. When I broke
away it was not to escape.... I had a message. But the taste of
liberty has grown so sweet that—that nothing else matters!"
 He stopped, and drew the back of his hand across his mouth.
"But before it comes to a question of—of fighting for my freedom—in
case I go under, you had better hear what I've got to say. It's for
Marjorie and my father I escaped. It was not for you or your father's
ears, Mr. Crichton—I want to make sure that swine Despard doesn't
cheat us of our rights."
He paused a moment as if expecting an interruption, but neither
Jim nor Marjorie spoke. They were as motionless as figures of stone.
"Just before—before I was accused of robbing your father, Mr.
Crichton, Despard and I found there was pitch-blende in the old tin
mine by Blackthorn Farm. Despard made experiments with it and—
he got a report from Vardoff—you may have heard of him—an
expert. The report said there were good grounds for supposing that
radium might be——"
Then Jim Crichton stopped him. "Save your breath. We know
this. Why, already the plant is being erected, a company floated. Mr.
Despard has apparently done quite the right thing. Anyway, the
property belongs to your father again, and if there's any truth in the
report he'll make a fortune. If that's all you came to say, all you
wanted to know, you can go back to prison with an easy
conscience." He spoke brutally. "You must go back, you know."
"I am innocent."
"That's not the question now. You must go back."
Slowly Rupert turned and looked at his sister. "Marjorie. Help
me! Say a word for me. He loves you.... Ask him, and he'll help me
to escape. For he can, now. The warders won't come back here. I'm
safe for the moment. Marjorie—speak. You are my flesh and blood.
Speak! It's my life I'm pleading for."
 CHAPTER XX.
PLANS FOR ESCAPE.

Marjorie looked at her lover. He met her gaze fairly. But she saw fear
in his eyes—a thing she had never seen there before.
She knew he had never known the meaning of fear until now.
Then she looked at her brother. Crossing to his side she told him to
stand up.
"Look at me, Rupert. Tell me whether you're innocent or guilty—
one moment, before you speak. I know, but I want to hear the truth
from your lips."
"It can make no difference." Jim Crichton spoke. "He has been
found guilty. He has escaped from prison. He must go back to
prison."
Brother and sister were standing close together, facing one
another fearlessly now. To Jim listening and watching it seemed a
long time before Rupert spoke.
"I am innocent," he said at last.
Marjorie put her arms around him, holding him closely and
tightly. "I knew it."
Tears filled her eyes, but she forced them back. "Who was the
guilty person? Do you know that?"
"Yes. I know that."
"Who was it?" Her voice rose triumphantly.
Again there was a long silence. Jim turned his back. He was
fighting against the fear which possessed him. He was afraid of
himself. Emotions of which he had never before been conscious filled
his heart—war against ideals, principles and faiths to which he had
been brought up.
"I shall never say who was guilty."
Marjorie gave vent to a little cry: a cry of joy. She took her
brother's hands, both of them, and covered them with kisses.
Roughly he snatched them away and stood back.
"I've given you my message—though it has come too late. I
don't know what Despard has done for you, but don't trust him,
Marjorie. Warn father.... When I said just now that I had had no
intention of escaping it was true. But now I have escaped I don't
mean to go back. If you won't help me, if the man who loves you
does his duty and gives me up, then I shall fight for it."
He backed across the room as he spoke, and gazed around as if
seeking for some weapon.
Marjorie stepped towards her lover and held out her arms.
"Jim!"
He shook his head, and crossing the room unlocked the door.
"Jim! What are you going to do?"
"I must do my duty."
She followed him. "Your duty to the State? But what of me. Yes,
I am pleading for myself now. For the love we bear one another."
The door-handle rattled in his hand. He stood with his back
towards her. "Marjorie, don't tempt me."
"I'm not tempting you," she replied quietly. "I'm asking you
calmly and coldly to save my brother. I know what I'm asking. I
know that if you hide him and if he's discovered you will be ruined. I
realise the awful responsibility I'm putting on you. I'm doing a
terrible thing, but I'm doing it with my eyes open, conscious of the
love I bear you.... Still, I ask it. Save him."
Beads of perspiration stood on Rupert's forehead. He was
trembling from head to foot as if with an ague. The muscles of his
face worked convulsively.
"Just let me go then. I'll take my chance outside. They'll never
know I was here, I'll swear to that. A few hours' more freedom—
that's all I want. I might get back home and see my father for a
moment.... They won't take me alive. I can't go back to that granite
hell at Princetown. Death's easier. I'm not afraid—for I can die
fighting ... but to be taken back like a dog on a chain, to be put into
a hole where there is neither night nor day, only silence and four
narrow walls, and a cup of water and a piece of bread——"
Jim held up his hand. "Silence, Dale. Don't say any more. This
rests between Marjorie and me. There is one thing, however, you
should know—I am going to marry your sister."
Rupert made a movement forward, then stopped. "I told you
just now that I was a coward," he cried fiercely, his voice rising. "I
am no longer a man. Prison has done its work quickly.... All I want
now is freedom. I don't care how I get it. I was neither a thief nor a
liar nor a coward when I was convicted nine months ago, but I am
now, and I'll lie, cheat, kill—for freedom. I'm going to get out of this
house alive even if they shoot me like a dog outside your garden
gate. So now you know."
"Be silent," Jim said again. He turned round and looked at
Marjorie. "You have heard. What do you say?"
"Save him. Perhaps I am asking you the greatest thing in the
world. If my love is worth the sacrifice—make it."
 He took her hands in his then. They were as cold as ice. She
scarcely looked beautiful. The agony she was undergoing had
distorted her features.
"Wait here. I shall not be long."
He left the room, closing the door behind him. Marjorie stood
with her back to it, supporting herself against it. Rupert stared round
the room, crossed to the conservatory door and closed it. He pulled
the curtain at the window closer. He picked up the decanter of
whisky as if to help himself again, but changed his mind and put it
down. Twice he tried to speak, but no words issued from his lips.
"Sit down, dear," Marjorie said, striving to regain her normal
voice. "You must be very tired."
He nodded his head but remained standing. Jim was absent a
long time. Now and then sounds they would not have heard under
ordinary circumstances startled the brother and sister waiting in the
drawing-room—waiting far apart. Once they had been all in all to
one another; now a third person stood between them, and in his
hands lay Rupert's life.
At last Rupert spoke. "I can't stand this much longer. Marjorie,
open the door and let me go. I'm asking too much. Let me go and
take my chance."
She shook her head. "Wait."
At last Jim returned. He left the door open and beckoned to
Rupert. "Follow me."
The convict glanced at him. There was no need to question. He
crossed the room on tip-toe, holding his breath. His expression was
that of a hunted animal, his movements the same.
 The door closed and Marjorie was alone. An hour passed, but
now she was unconscious of time. She sat on the Chesterfield
staring into space. She was only conscious of Jim's presence when
she felt his arms around her.
"Father may return any moment," he said. She heard a sob of
fear in his voice, it had changed. She did not recognise it as the
voice of her lover. "I'm afraid you must go. Before you go I must tell
you what I've done and what I hope to do. Listen, dear—and
remember."
"I am listening, Jim."
"You know my workroom at the back of the house, just
underneath my bedroom? It was built out for me just before I joined
the R.F.C. Underneath it is a cellar where I keep a few things stored
—plant, bits of machinery, petrol, and so forth. Some of the plant I
want for my experiments is there and a small furnace. The entrance
to my workroom is always locked and the way to the cellar bolted
and padlocked, too. I've hidden him there, in the cellar. Binks, my
bull terrier, always sleeps in the workroom. He knows Rupert,
remembered him and made friends at once. He would give warning
if anyone approached.... I've given Rupert a change of clothes and
food—enough of the latter to last him twenty-four hours in case of
need. I spend half the day in my workroom always, so—he won't
feel lonely. A fortnight or three weeks at least must pass before we
can dream of escape. He can change his appearance in that time,
too."
He waited a moment. Marjorie said nothing, but he felt her body
tremble. He held her tighter.
 "I've thought of a way. It seems the only way, but, at the same
time, it means the greatest risk. I'll tell you now in case there's not
another opportunity. We may want your help. In about three weeks'
time I'm doing a special flight—a long distance flight from
Netheravon to Plymouth, carrying a passenger. It isn't long enough
to attract public attention. As an experiment I am using a new
engine and trying a little invention of my own which the Government
may take up. A certain amount of secrecy will, therefore, be
observed. I shall be free to make whatever arrangements I like, take
whatever course I choose, and so forth. My idea, hazy at present, is
that Rupert shall be my passenger. If I can pick him up and land him
at Plymouth he'll stand a chance, a fairly good one, perhaps. Luckily,
he knows every inch of Dartmoor, so do I. A monoplane doesn't
attract as much attention as it used to, and if the public doesn't
know anything about the flight or the direction I'm taking, I may
manage to pass over the wildest part of Dartmoor, Cranmere Pool,
for example, come down there unnoticed, and pick up Rupert....
Don't say anything, dear, and now go. If you're asked, don't hesitate
to say where you've spent this evening. Hide nothing—except the
fact that you've seen your brother. Any distress you may show would
be perfectly natural. Blackthorn Farm is sure to be watched day and
night. You and your father will be watched and followed, probably,
but that needn't prevent your coming up here if you want to see me.
I won't announce our engagement until Rupert is safe, in case it
arouses suspicion." He led her to the door. "Good-night, dear. God
bless you."
"God bless you," she stammered. "It is mean to ask now, but
tell me one thing more before I go. You don't hate me? I've asked
the impossible, and you have done it—you won't hate me when you
realise what you've done?"
He forced her eyes to meet his and he smiled bravely. "I
realised what I was doing before I did it, dear. It's a big thing. It's
like war. That's all now. I love you better than——"
The sentence was unfinished. He kissed her lips, and opening
the door led her through the hall out into the garden. There he
wished her good-night again, loudly, in a cheery tone of voice, and
watched her until she was out of sight.
The fog had quite disappeared. The million eyes of the night
shone from a cloudless sky. An owl hooted from a wood on the right.
Down in the valley the East Dart sang its way to the sea.
Jim Crichton looked up at the sky. And presently he smiled. It
was good to be a soldier and to fight. It was better to be a man, and
to love.

CHAPTER XXI.
READY FOR FLIGHT.

Marjorie had reason to be grateful now for the sudden fame into
which Blackthorn Farm had sprung owing to the discovery of pitch-
blende in the tin mine, with the supposition contained in the expert's
report that radium would undoubtedly be found. For the county was
far too excited—even though still sceptical—over this discovery to
have more than a fleeting interest in the escape of two convicts.
 No. 303, the man who had been hit and cleverly deceived the
warders into believing they had killed him, was, of course, eventually
caught, though not until he had enjoyed thirty hours of freedom.
Nearly a fortnight passed and No. 381 was reported to be still at
large. The police and warders scoured the county. Plain-clothes
detectives were at every seaport town and village on the coast.
Nearly every tramp steamer leaving Plymouth was searched. Hotels
and common lodging houses were kept under constant surveillance.
Occasionally an arrest was reported—but 381 was not found.
The police confessed themselves baffled at last. The authorities
at Princetown were at their wits end. That a convict should escape
at all was bad enough, but that fourteen days should pass without
his being captured was almost without precedent.
At first the moorland dwellers and village folk all strenuously
aided in the search, but soon they grew tired, and presently they
began to laugh at the futile efforts of the warders and police to
capture 381. Public opinion on Dartmoor veered round, and soon a
wish was openly expressed that the convict would really make good
his escape and never be caught.
"He must be a durned smart chap, and deserves to get off.
Dang me! if I came across him now I'm not sure I'd give him up."
The police decided that he had safely got out of the county,
probably out of England. Up at Princetown, however, the officials
insisted that the man was still hiding somewhere on Dartmoor. And
they had good reason for thinking this. The news soon leaked out
that 381 was none other than Rupert Dale, of Blackthorn Farm. A
moorman, one who knew every inch of the country, born and bred
on Dartmoor. Such a one, provided he could get food and drink,
might easily play hide and seek with his would-be captors for many
weeks.
When the best part of three weeks had passed, when every
scrap of country had been searched and no stone left unturned—
indeed, there was not a cairn nor a pile of boulders that had
escaped examination—then the officials began to look rather
ridiculous, and were inclined to confess that Rupert Dale, though he
had not left the country, had at least got out of Devonshire.
The moorlands resumed their normal aspect and were no longer
dotted about with detectives, constables and armed warders. But the
police increased their vigilance in all the neighbouring towns.
Old John Dale had done his best to help in the search and aid
the warders. It was only natural that at first he should be suspected
of knowing where his son was hiding, in spite of the character he
bore for straightforwardness and honesty. A very careful account
was kept of the workmen employed in erecting the plant of what
was already known as the radium mine at Blackthorn Farm.
Marjorie's sufferings those three weeks were terrible, but she
hid her feelings and showed no more anxiety as to her brother's
whereabouts and welfare than was to be naturally expected in such
a case.
Curiously enough, with each passing day confidence in his
ultimate escape grew until she felt no fear at all that he would be
discovered and taken back to Princetown. While he was hidden in
Jim's workroom at Post Bridge Hall he was safe. Even the terrible
risk her lover had taken for her sake ceased to worry her.
She had to play a part, and she sometimes marvelled herself at
the cool, deliberate way in which she played it.
 The one, the only person, she feared, was Robert Despard.
Before Rupert's escape she had avoided him on every possible
occasion. Now, she no longer dared do so. For she felt he suspected
her—suspected she had seen Rupert and knew where he was hiding.
His work kept him so busy that he had not much time to persecute
her. Still, she knew he was at watch—and when he was not watching
her, she in turn, was watching him, terrified that whenever he left
the farm he would bend his footsteps towards the Hall.
She had only seen Jim once since the night of Rupert's escape,
when he had called at the farm with some message from Sir
Reginald for her father. They had not been alone for a minute, but a
glance at his face told her all was well.
There were moments, of course, when she repented of what
she had done. She told herself she was a coward. For repentance
meant that she was putting her own happiness and future before
that of her brother. Being a woman, she argued that since her
brother was innocent it was her duty to help him to escape. It was
criminal for an innocent man to suffer for the guilt of another, even
though, by speaking, he could have cleared himself. In her eyes, his
silence gave him an added nobility. Her soul revolted when she
thought of the long years he might still have to endure shut up in
the dreadful granite prison on the moors. For the first time in her life
she realised what it meant to be a convict, a prisoner, a criminal.
She knew now that these men she had sometimes seen working
in the fields and quarries were treated worse than beasts of burden;
in harness day and night, knowing not one minute's liberty or
freedom; doomed to years of silence, forced to implicit obedience of
every order given them. Just enough food and just enough sleep
dealt out to keep them alive.
No risk could be too great to save her brother. She knew a
chance would never occur again. And if he were caught and sent
back until he had served his time, then, when he came out, he
would no longer be a man but really and truly a criminal—something
distorted, hideous, unnatural. A human being at war with humanity.
It was just at the end of three weeks that Jim Crichton
presented himself at the farm to say good-bye before going back to
Netheravon to join his corps. Rupert's escape had never been
spoken of in the farmhouse. Dale had forbidden his name to be
mentioned, and Marjorie sometimes wondered if her father had lost
all feeling for his only son. She had a dreadful thought that if he
knew of his hiding-place he would instantly inform the police and
give him up.
"I suppose when we meet again you will be millionaires,"
Crichton said cheerily. "I see a prospectus is being issued next week
of The Blackthorn Development Company. I shall apply for a few
shares—just for luck."
"I'm afraid you won't get them," Despard answered. "The
Company will be subscribed two or three times over. You go back to
Netheravon to-morrow?"
Jim nodded.
"Alone?"
There was a moment's silence. Marjorie caught her breath.
There seemed to be a challenge in Despard's voice.
"Yes, alone," Jim replied with a laugh. "Unfortunately, I can't
take Marjorie with me—yet. Perhaps in a few months' time, though,
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