“To be always waiting _is_ perhaps the worst,” said Bella, with lowered eyes. “Yes, worst of all.” Bella roused herself and came nearer to her friend. “But for Mr. Mar—why, it’s impossible—don’t you believe it, dear. It’s absurd to think—” “He’ll never come back. You’ll see he’ll never come back, unless—” “Unless?” “Unless”—Hildegarde cleared her tear-veiled voice—“unless some one goes and brings him home.” “Louis Cheviot?” “Don’t you see, he’s failed. He’s been enormously kind;—he’s been wonderful, but he couldn’t get my father to come home.” “Are you thinking one of the boys might?” Hildegarde shook her head. “They couldn’t make him.” “Who could?” She looked round the room with eyes that again were filling. But they came back to Bella’s face. “Father would do it for _me_,” she said; “don’t you know he would?” “Well,” said the other, staring, “if not for you, for no one.” “Yes, yes, he’d do it for me!” Hildegarde moved about the room with a restlessness unusual in her. She went to each window in turn, pulled down the blinds and drew the curtains; and still she moved about the room. Excitement had drunk her tears. Her face was full of light. Bella did not stir, but no look or move of Hildegarde’s escaped her. She fixed her eyes on the gleaming dragons that crawled at the hem of Hildegarde’s skirt. The voices in the next room were audible, but not the words. Across the street the tireless female had again struck up her favorite march. “You’d have to go alone,” Bella said presently. “Yes, I’d have to go alone.” “It’s an awful journey.” “I suppose so.” “Yes, and the people—the roughest sort of people.” “I wouldn’t be afraid—at least, not much.” “_I_ shouldn’t dare to.” “No, no, you’re younger. And besides, even if I were the younger, I’m the one who could do it.” Not often that Hildegarde laid herself open to a charge of arrogance. “Yes,” she said, with rising excitement, “_I_ could do it, only”—and the high look fell—“it costs a great deal.” She stood quite still looking down upon Brunhild’s shield, that showed on the dark carpet like a tiny circular pool of gleaming water. Still that maddening piano over the way! “The boys wouldn’t help me,” Hildegarde thought out loud, “they’ve already—they’ll be disgusted enough as it is.” She sat down, still with her eyes on the shield, as if she didn’t dare lose sight of it a moment. “Of course mother wouldn’t dream—” After a little pause, “And Louis would say I was mad. But I must think—I must think!” She leaned her tilted chin on her hand, and still like one hypnotized she stared at the metal disk shining there in the shadow. “I must find a way. Father shall not be left up there another winter.” Nothing more, till Bella brought out quite low the words, “I could get you the money.” “_Bella!_” Hildegarde dropped her hand and sat back. “Would you?” Instead of answering, “I wouldn’t dare to go myself,” Bella said.