McEvoy, the leisurely, stared for one second. Then, putting a question or two, and receiving Azalea’s clear answers, he strode away to do her bidding. Azalea got the saddle off her weary little mount and ran to get the necessaries for the relief wagon, explaining as she worked. A few moments later, Miss Zillah and Carin arrived, Carin too jaded to be of much service just then, but Aunt Zillah full of expedients. So in less than an hour, McEvoy, with his wife beside him, was on his way, and the three who were left behind were making free in the bedroom of the many bottles, getting all in readiness for Mr. Panther. At midnight they laid the sick man on Mrs. McEvoy’s best feather bed. Very deep and soft and sweet it was, and very kindly and safe looked the homely room. Miss Zillah’s soup was hot and savory, and her tea had comfort in it for the weary. Azalea and Carin, swift-footed and eager, rendered all the service in their power, and at length, when every task was performed, with their lanterns in their hands, they, with Miss Zillah, started for their home. Keefe O’Connor was sitting without the door waiting for them. “I want to see you safe, please,” he said in rather a curious voice. Azalea looked at him to see what was the matter, but the lantern revealed nothing more than a white and strained face. She noticed that he was unusually silent as they made their way over the path of pine needles to the Oriole’s Nest, but for the matter of that, none of them felt talkative. She certainly was not prepared to see him, when he had unlocked the cabin door for them, reel suddenly and fall unconscious across the threshold. CHAPTER XI KEEFE Miss Zillah laid a hand on Azalea’s arm. “Don’t be so frightened,” she said. “He’s overstrained his heart, no doubt. Find a match. Light the lamps. Carin, help me lift him—well, drag him then. We’ll get him to the lounge. No hurry.” Azalea, fumbling for the matches and missing them, wondered why Miss Zillah had spoken to her. How had she known that her heart stopped beating at the sight of Keefe prone across the doorstep? And if she was more frightened than the others, how had she shown it—and why, indeed, _should_ she care more than they?