ve, to go to her
assistance. Again and again he tried to wrench himself from the chair;
then, with a groan, he fell back and blew a long, shrill note on the
silver whistle which never left him.

In a moment, it was all over. Patrick had rushed in and wrapped Phebe in
a rug. Then, more frightened than hurt, the child had started for home,
concocting, as she went, a plausible story to account for her charred
apron. The maid came in to put the room to rights, and no one knew but
Billy, as he ordered Patrick to move him to the sofa, that the sudden
strain had done his invalid back a lasting injury. That was three days
before, and now Theodora sat twisting his mother's note in her hands and
wondering what it all meant.

The doctor was away, that day, and Theodora was too proud to ask the
others any questions. She briefly explained to her mother that Mrs.
Farrington had invited her to spend the afternoon and dine there, and,
putting on her broadest hat, she went away across the lawn.

Patrick admitted her, and, even in the momentary glimpse she had of him,
she saw that he looked unusually grave. As she entered the library,
however, she was reassured, for the room looked just as usual, with
Billy lying on the familiar lounge by the fire. It seemed so good to her
to get back there, after her self-imposed banishment, that, forgetful
of her cropped head, she sprang forward to his side.

"Oh, Billy!"

"Have you really come, Ted? I began to think you'd cut me. Where have
you been?"

"At home. But what's the matter, Billy?" For, as she took his hand, she
was startled at his pallor and at the heavy shadows under his eyes.

"Only this set-back," he answered. "My back's given out again, so I
can't move a bit."

"What do you mean? When was it?" She dropped down beside him, and rested
her arm on the edge of the lounge.

"Didn't you know it?"

"No. When was it?"

"How queer you didn't know! It was three days ago. I strained myself
somehow or other, and it kept getting worse, till it's about as bad as
it was at first."

"Oh, Billy!" Theodora's overstrained nerves were giving way. After her
outbreak, after the shame which had followed and the week when she had
missed her friend daily and hourly, this last was too much. After all
her protestations of loyalty, he had been ill and suffering, and she
had not known it, nor been near him at all.

"And you have to lie flat on your back, like this?" she demanded almost
fiercely.