a crash!

Jerry was not hurt, nor the other adventurers. The chauffeur was
stunned. But Barry was crumpled up against the stone steps of one of
the funny little houses, and lay there with Leila's letter all red
under him.

It was Porter and Mary who told Leila. The General had begged them to
do it. "I can't," he had said, pitifully. "I've faced guns, but I
can't face the hurt in my darling's eyes."

So Mary's arms were around her when she whispered to the child-wife
that Barry was--dead.

Porter had faltered first something about an accident--that the doctors
were--afraid.

Leila, shaking, had looked from one to the other. "I must go to him,"
she had cried. "You see, I am his wife. I have a right to go."

"_His wife_?" Of all things they had not expected this.

"Yes, we have been married a year--we ran away."

"When, dear?"

"Last March--to Rockville--and--and we were going to tell everybody the
next day--and then Barry lost his place--and we couldn't."

Oh, poor little widow, poor little child! Mary drew her close.
"Leila, Leila," she whispered, "dear little sister, dear little girl,
we must love and comfort each other."

And then Leila knew.

But they did not tell her how it had happened. The details of that
last ride the woman who loved him need never know. Barry was to be her
hero always.

CHAPTER XXIV

_In Which Roger Comes Once More to the Tower Rooms; and in Which a Duel
is Fought in Modern Fashion._

It was Cousin Patty who had suggested sending for Roger. "He can look
after me, Mary. If you won't let me go home, I don't want you to have
the thought of me to burden you."

"You couldn't be a burden. And I don't know what Aunt Isabelle and I
should have done without you."

She began to cry weakly, and Cousin Patty, comforting her, said in her
heart, "There is no one but Roger who can say the right things to her."

As yet no one had said the right things. It seemed to Mary that she
carried a wound too deep for healing. Gordon had softened the truth as
much as possible, but he could not hide it from her. She knew that
Barry, her boy Barry, had gone out of the world defeated.

It was Roger who helped her.

He came first upon her as she sat alone in the garden by the fountain.
It was a sultry spring day, and heavy clouds hung low on the horizon.
Thin and frail in her black frock, she rose to meet him, the ghost of
the girl who had once bloomed like a flower in her