ing firmly now and again to the little sufferer, holding her spirit steady as it crossed the yawning abyss. She had seemed superb to me. I had asked myself if I could ever summon to my support such unswerving strength and courage.
I didn't hear from Breck again until he arrived at the front door unexpectedly one night at ten o'clock. I led the way down into the shaded pergola, and there we remained until nearly midnight. When I finally stole back to my room, I found Edith waiting for me, sitting bolt upright on the foot of my bed, wide-awake, alert, eyes bright and hard as steel.
"Well?" she asked the instant I came in, "tell me, is he as keen as ever?"
A wave of something like sickness swept over me.
"Yes," I said shortly.
"Is he really?" she pursued. "Oh, isn't that splendid! Really? He still wants you to marry him?"
"Yes," I said.
Edith flung her arm about me and squeezed me hard.
"We'll make that old cat of a mother of his sing another song one of these days," she said. "You're a wonderful little kiddie, after all. You'll save the day! Trust you! You'll pull it off yet! Oh, I have been horrid, Ruth, this last fortnight. Really I have. I was so afraid we were ruined, and we would be if it wasn't for you. Wait a jiffy."
Fifteen minutes later, just as, very wearily, I was putting out my light, Edith pushed open my door
