"Jenny," I said, but couldn't speak another word. Her instinct must have told her I was at my last gasp, for she didn't stay to question me. In a moment she was out of the house and at my side, and her firm little arms were about me helping me to stand, and leaning on her heavily I managed to totter in and collapsed on a chair in the dining-room beside the empty grate. After this things passed in a maze for some while. Jenny must have brought me some food and wine, and somehow supported me up the stairs to her room; for presently I found myself lying snugly in bed, and with the fading vision of her face bent above me sank into a wonderful sleep. There was nothing more the matter with me than exhaustion, for when I awoke later in the day, though I still felt stiff and somewhat shaky about the head, yet I had lost the stupid sense of weakness which had sent me tottering down the road from Rancey Bridge. My strength had returned to me, and even the soreness had gone from my back. But putting my hand to the place I discovered why; it was swathed in comfortable bandages. At the movement Jenny was at my side, and I put out my hand to her. "Better, Tommy?" she asked in a voice of such concern that I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, for there was something so disconcertingly touching in her wide anxious eyes, usually so fierce, that I felt a strange emotion shake me. I couldn't decide whether it was pleasant or painful; but as I lay there and felt her little fingers about my brow there seemed to be something very wonderful about it all. For I had no desire to get strong and well again if I might have Jenny to tend and comfort me like this. But the weakness was only momentary, for I felt a sudden shame at the unmanly sentiment; and putting Jenny's hands aside, rather roughly I'm afraid, I sat up and said, "There, that's enough." I jumped out of bed, pretending to feel nothing of my aches and soreness, though still acutely conscious of them. Jenny fell back with a little "Oh!" and her eyes grew harder. Perhaps I felt a slight compunction at having so churlishly repaid her care and tenderness, but that unpleasant sense of shame at having yielded to a weak and babyish emotion wouldn't let me tell her how dearly I held her. But it pained me to see her standing away from me, surveying me gloomily, stroking her hands together as though I had hurt them. I wanted to say something to set all right again, but all I could say was, "I must be quick, Jenny." I began pulling on my clothes, for some one had undressed me. Then she smiled at me, and I felt relieved; for there had seemed for a moment the menace of thunder in the air, but now I knew the storm had blown over. "Let me help you," she said, as I struggled against my stiffness, reaching round for the sleeve of my jacket. And soon I was dressed and armed again, and felt like a man.