e
knew not what.

The hand that held hers made as if to withdraw itself, but she clung to
it suddenly and convulsively, and it closed again.

"All right," said Max's leisurely tones. "He's a bit sleepy still.
Noel!" He bent, still holding her hand. "I've brought Olga, old chap, as
I promised. Say good-night to her, won't you?"

The voice was the voice of Max Wyndham, but its tenderness seemed to
rend her heart. She could have wept for the pain of it, but she knew she
must not weep.

The figure in the bed stirred, murmured an incoherent apology, seemed to
awake.

"Oh, is Olga there?" said Noel drowsily. "Take care of her, Max, old
boy! Make her as happy as you can! She's awfully--fond--of you--though
I'm not--supposed--to know."

The voice trailed off, sank into unconsciousness. Max's hand had
tightened to a hard grip. He straightened himself and spoke, coldly,
grimly.

"He isn't quite himself yet. I'm afraid I've brought you on a fool's
errand. You can kiss him if you like. He probably won't know."

But Olga could not. She turned from the bed with the gesture of one who
could bear no more, and without further words he led her from the room.

CHAPTER XXVII

LOVE MAKES ALL THE DIFFERENCE

"I've been prayin' for you, dear Noel," said Peggy importantly, with her
arms round her hero's neck.

"Have you, though?" said Noel. "I say, little pal, how decent of you!
How often?"

"Ever so many times," said Peggy. "Every mornin', every evenin', and
after grace besides."

"By Jove!" said Noel. "What did you say?"

"I said," Peggy swelled with triumph, "'Lighten Noel's darkness, we
beseech Thee, O Lord!'"

"Why, that's what I said!" ejaculated Noel.

"Did you?" cried Peggy excitedly. "Did you really? Oh, Noel, then that's
how it was, isn't it?"

"Quite so," said Noel.

He sat on the sofa in Daisy's little drawing-room with his small
playfellow on his knee. They had not seen each other for six weeks. And
in those weeks Noel had been transformed from a blind man to a man who
saw, albeit through thick blue spectacles that emphasized the pallor of
illness to such an alarming degree that Daisy had almost wept over him
at sight.

Peggy, more practical in her sympathy, had gathered him straightway to
her small but ardent bosom, and refused to let him go.

So they sat in the drawing-room tightly locked and related to each other
all the doings of their separation.

"I wonder you're not afraid of me in th