r at this
instant there was a knock at the door, so gentle that it was difficult
to be sure that it really was a knock.

Outside stood the German professor with his violin under his arm. And
he looked so utterly wretched and uneasy that Sylvia wondered how he
could feel so great an emotion over Betty, although the entire village
seemed to be worrying as though in reality she had been their own
"Princess." No one could talk of anything else until her condition
became finally known; but Herr Crippen was a newcomer and Betty had
never cared for him.

"Would the little _Fraeulein_ like it that I should play for her?" he
now asked gently.

And Sylvia turned to the girl on the bed.

At first Betty had shaken her head, but now she evidently changed her
mind.

"You are very kind. I think I should enjoy it," she answered. And a
few moments afterwards Sylvia stole away.

So there was no one in the room to notice how frequently Herr Crippen
had to wipe his glasses as he looked down upon the girl of whose face
he could see nothing now save the delicately rounded chin and full red
lips.

[Illustration: The professor had to wipe his glasses]

Then without worrying her he began to play: in the beginning not
Beethoven nor Mozart, nor any of the classic music he most loved, but
the Camp Fire songs, which he had lately arranged for the violin
because of his interest in the Sunrise Hill Camp Fire girls, and which
he was playing for the first time before an audience.

And Betty listened silently, not voicing her surprise. The song of
"The Soul's Desire," what memories it brought back of Esther and their
first meeting in this room! No wonder that Esther had so great talent
with such a queer, gifted father. Betty wondered idly what the mother
could have been like. She was an American and beautiful, so much she
remembered having been told.

Then ceasing to think of Esther she began thinking of herself. Could
she ever again even try to follow the Law of the Camp Fire, which had
meant so much to her in the past few years, if this dreadful tragedy
which hovered over her, sleeping or waking, should be not just a
terrible fear, but a living fact. Should she be scarred from her
accident, or worse fear, should her eyes be affected by the scorching
heat of the flames?

Softly under her breath, even while listening with all her soul to the
music, Betty repeated the Camp Fire Law.

"Seek Beauty?" Could she find it, having lo