she was worryin' herself sick over being
without a cent, poor child. He didn't tell her he'd sent for me. He just
did it on his own responsibility. Oh, Martin, you will let me go an' bring
her back here, won't you? Mary an' 'Liza an' I want to nurse her,
ourselves. We can't bear to think of her bein' a charity patient in a
hospital."

Jane's voice trembled with earnestness.

"Yes, you shall go, Jane," Martin answered quickly. "We'll both go. I'll
see right away if we can get Watford to take us in his touring car. We
ought to make the distance in four hours in a high-power machine."

"Mercy, you're not goin' to-night?"

"I certainly am."

"But there's no need of that," protested Jane. "The doctor said Lucy was
gettin' on finely, an' he hoped she'd quiet down an' get some sleep, which
was what she needed most."

"But I'd rather go now--right away," Martin asserted.

"'Twould do no good," explained the practical Jane. "We wouldn't get to
Ashbury until the middle of the night, an' we couldn't see Lucy. You
wouldn't want 'em to wake her up."

"N--o."

"It'll be much wiser to wait till mornin', Martin."

"Perhaps it will."

The brother and sister walked silently across the turf.

"I'm--I'm glad you're willin' we should take care of Lucy," murmured Jane,
after an awkward pause. "Mary, 'Liza, an' I love her dearly."

"An' I too, Jane."

The confession came in a whisper. If Martin expected it to be greeted
with surprise, he was disappointed.

Jane did not at first reply; then she said in a soft, happy tone:

"I guessed as much."

"You did."

The man laughed in shamefaced fashion.

"I ain't a bat, Martin."

Again her brother laughed, this time with less embarrassment. It had
suddenly become very easy to talk with Jane.

Welcoming her companionship and sympathy, he found himself pouring into
her listening ear all his difficulties. He told her of Ellen's will; of
the wall; of Lucy's flight; of his love for the girl. How good it was to
speak and share his troubles with another!

"How like Lucy to go away!" mused Jane, when the recital was done. "Any
self-respectin' woman would have done the same, too. She warn't goin' to
hang round here an' make you marry her out of pity."

"But I love her."

"Yes, but how was she to know that?"

"She must have known it."

"You never had told her so."

"N--o, not in so many words."

"Then what right, pray, had she to think so?" argued Jane with warmth.
"She wa