t it seemed to him that
even for a creature of _his_ brain she was preternaturally natural and
solid-looking. Nor was he in the habit of letting her look quite so pale
or breathe so hard. But when she spoke he was troubled; not because the
sound of her voice was an unusual sound for him to hear, but because in
the present instance it was accompanied with distinct vibrations. And
that had never happened since she came to stay with Lord Harrow's
daughter.

"Balking," she said, "has confessed!"

"Yes--yes," said the Poor Boy, "I always knew he _did it_. But I
couldn't very well say so, _could_ I? I had to take the _gaff_."

"There are telegrams and cables from all your friends to say how glad
they are."

A shadow of bitterness came over the Poor Boy's face, but went swiftly.

"It can never be the same about _them_," he said. "They all believed.
But now they are sorry."

He sighed deeply, and then smiled like sunshine.

"It was like you to bring me the news. Dear child, where is your hat,
and why did you run so fast? You might have fallen and hurt yourself. Do
you remember the day you turned your ankle and wouldn't let me carry
you?"

"I'm not such a little fool as I used to be," she said. Her face was
getting whiter and whiter.

"You _are_ hurt!" he exclaimed.

"Yes," she said, "it's that same blessed ankle. I was so excited over
the good news that I didn't mind at first, but now--I--I think I'll have
to sit down and rest it."

The Poor Boy knew better than to give her a helping hand. _When you
touch them, they vanish._

She sank down with a little moan.

"How am I going to get back to the house?" she said. "I'm sure I don't
know."

"I'll send for a motor."

A motor? Was he crazy?

"A motor couldn't get in here," she said; "the trees are too close
together."

"I'll have them down," said the Poor Boy; "it's only a matter of
instants," and he smiled gently. "But you know as well as I do how these
things are done."

"Here's the paper," she said. "Don't you want to read for yourself?" She
held it out to him. But he shook his head.

"I can see the headlines from here," he said. "_Balking confesses_--yes,
it's all there."

And then suddenly the Poor Boy turned his face heavenward and cried with
a great bitterness:

"Oh, God! oh, God!--if it only was true!"

She thought he was mad. But she was not afraid. She wanted to go to him,
to comfort him, to share with him her own fine, young sanity. But the