Captain Cy knew better than to attempt his hurried trip by way of the road. He had no desire to be held up and congratulated. He went across lots, in the rear of barns and orchards, wading through drifts and climbing fences as no sane convalescent should. But the captain at that moment was suffering from the form of insanity known as the fixed idea. She had done all this for him--for HIM. And his last message to her had been an insult. He approached the Bangs property by the stable lane. No one locks doors in our village, and those of the perfect boarding house were unfastened. He entered by way of the side porch, just as he had done when Gabe Lumley's depot wagon first deposited him in that yard. But now he entered on tiptoe. The dining room was empty. He peeped into the sitting room. There, by the center table, sat Phoebe Dawes, her elbow on the arm of her chair, and her head resting on her hand. “Ahem! Phoebe!” said Captain Cy. She started, turned, and saw him standing there. Her eyes were wet, and there was a handkerchief in her lap. “Phoebe,” said the captain anxiously, “have you been cryin'?” She rose on the instant. A great wave of red swept over her face. The handkerchief fell to the floor, and she stooped and picked it up. “Crying?” she repeated confusedly. “Why, no, of course--of course not! I--How do you do, Captain Whittaker? I'm--we're all very glad to see you home again--and well.” She extended her hand. Captain Cy reached forward to take it; then he hesitated. “I don't think I'd ought to let you shake hands with me, Phoebe,” he said. “Not until I beg your pardon.” “Beg my pardon? Why?” He absently took the hand and held it. “For the word I sent to you when I went away. 'Twas an awful thing to say, but I meant it for your sake, you know. Honest, I did.” She laughed nervously. “Oh! that,” she said. “Well, I did think you were rather particular as to your visitors. But Mr. Tidditt explained, and then--You needn't beg my pardon. I appreciate your thoughtfulness. I knew you meant to be kind to me.” “That's what I did. But you didn't obey orders. You kept comin'. Now, why--” “Why? Did you suppose that _I_ cared for the malicious gossip of--such people? I came because you were in trouble, and I hoped to help you. And--and I thought I had helped, until a few minutes ago.” Her lip quivered. That quiver went to the captain's heart. “Helped?” he faltered. “Helped? Why, you've done so much that I can't ever thank you. You've been the only real helper I've had in all this miserable business. You've stood by me all through.” “But it was all wrong. He isn't the man at all. Didn't Mr. Peabody tell you?” “Yes, yes, he told me. What difference does that make? Peabody be hanged! He ain't in this. It's you and me--don't you see? What made you do all this for me?” She looked at the floor and not at him as she answered.