faces had been, and when she darted behind a tree and tried to
escape without being seen or spoken to, he ran after her, not knowing
why he ran nor why he called her Joy--Joy--Joy! And he did not
understand why she in her turn kept calling, "Martha--Martha--come
quick--come quick!"

He knew best that she suddenly stopped running, and turned and waited
for him, and that as he fell forward she caught him in her arms and
began to drag him toward a bright light.

It was a most vivid hallucination. And when he woke in his bed, so warm
and all, and Martha bending over him, the first thing he told
her--smiling sleepily--was that he had mistaken her for Miss Jocelyn
Grey.

"It was the realest sort of an hallucination," he said, "she caught me
as I was falling--and of course she was you."

[Illustration: She suddenly stopped running, and turned and waited for
him.]

"How do you feel, Deary? We--I had a devil of a time with ye."

But the Poor Boy's mind was still upon the vision of Miss Grey.

"I saw her," he said, "and there was a look in her eyes that told me
she'd _never_--_never_ believed I'd done it.... And I was so glad, I
tried to run to her for comfort, and all the time she was you. It was
all so real--so real. It was a lot realer than some things that really
did happen to me yesterday--yesterday morning, before I began to get
snow-foolish."

"'Twas the day before yesterday ye came home," said Martha. "And all
yesterday ye raved like a lunatic until night, when ye fell asleep, and
I knew that all was well."

"Have you sat up with me all the time?"

"Ye forget I have an old female to help me. We took turns."

"You must thank her for me, Martha."

"I'll do that."

"Tell her I am grateful to her, and I think we should give her quite a
lot of money, don't you?"

IX

The Poor Boy could not get Miss Jocelyn Grey out of his head, nor that
look which she had had of belief in him. The episode was a rejuvenation,
and there were days when he was steadily joyful from morning to night.

He was having luncheon one day, and he said to Martha:

"I never knew what Miss Joy believed. But ever since I saw--thought I
saw her--that time--I've been as sure as sure that she knew justice had
miscarried."

"I'm for thinking you're right," said old Martha.

"But if she believed in me, why didn't she write and say so? We were
such good friends until we had a sort of misunderstanding."

"You never told me about tha