and he wants to make up."

But how did he know Helen was there? And why was he singing so sadly, so
plaintively just underneath Mary's window? Another possibility came to
her mind and she was still wondering what to do when Helen came in, even
as she had come in that night so long ago when Wally had sung Juanita
before.

"Wait till morning! He'll hear from me!" said Helen in indignation.

Wally's song was growing fainter. He had evidently turned and was walking
toward the driveway. A minute later the rumble of a car was heard.

"If he thinks he can talk to me the way he did," said Helen, more
indignant than before, "and then come around here like that--serenading
you--!"

"Oh, Helen, don't," said Mary, trembling. "...I think he was saying
good-bye.... Wait till I put the light on...."

The distress in her voice cheeked Helen's anger, and a moment later the
two cousins were staring at each other, two tragic figures suddenly
uncovered from the mantle of light.

"I won't go back to my room; I'll stay here," whispered Helen at last.
"Don't fret, Mary; he won't do anything."

It was a long time, though, before Mary could stop trembling, but an hour
later when the telephone bell began ringing downstairs, she found that
her old habit of calmness had fallen on her again.

"I'll answer it," she said to Helen. "Don't cry now. I'm sure it's
nothing."

But when she returned in a few minutes, Helen only needed one glance to
tell her how far it was from being nothing.

"Your maid," said Mary, hurrying to her dresser. "Wally's car ran into
the Bar Harbor express at the crossing near the club.... He's terribly
hurt, but the doctor says there's just a chance.... You run and dress
now, as quickly as you can.... I have a key to the garage...."

CHAPTER XXXII

The first east-bound express that left New York the following morning
carried in one of its Pullmans a famous surgeon and his assistant, bound
for New Bethel. In the murk of the smoker ahead was a third passenger
whose ticket bore the name of the same city--a bearded man with rounded
shoulders and tired eyes, whose clothes betrayed a foreign origin.

This was Paul Spencer on the last stage of his journey home.

Until the train drew out of the station, the seat by his side was
unoccupied. But then another foreign looking passenger entered and made
his way up the aisle.

You have probably noticed how some instinctive law of selection seems to
guide us in ch