She had no opportunity to see Molly alone, that afternoon, and no mention of Alan was made. After school, she walked quickly home without waiting for the girls, and taking up a book, she sat for an hour, not speaking, not reading a word, but with her eyes fixed on the roof of the Hapgood house, going over and over the scenes of the noon, longing to run to Alan and beg his forgiveness, yet too proud to do so, so soon. How she wanted to tell her mother the whole story, and ask her how to undo the harm she had done! But she dreaded to see her mother's shocked, pained face, so she held her peace. The long hours till bedtime slowly dragged away, and for once Polly went up-stairs without her usual goodnight talk. But, for some reason, sleep would not come to her, even then. Instead of that, she lay with wide-open eyes, staring into the darkness and picturing Alan as she saw him turn away, with the cold water dripping from his clothing. Suddenly she heard the bell ring sharply, violently. Springing out of bed, she stole noiselessly to the head of the stairs to listen, sure that it was a message of bad news. She was not mistaken, for she heard Molly's voice saying hurriedly,-- "Can Dr. Adams come right away? Alan is terribly ill." Yes, he was ill, and perhaps he was going to die, and she had done it! Polly fled desperately back to bed and, pulling the blankets tightly over her head to smother the sound, she burst out crying as she had never before cried, in her life, crying with shame for herself and sorrow for her boy friend. As soon as her first outburst was over, she raised herself on her elbow and strained her ears to listen for the sound of her father's return, convinced that he must and would bring good news. It was nothing serious, she reasoned, they were unnecessarily alarmed, for it would be too unjust for Alan to be ill, when she alone had been the one to blame. It was long that her father was gone. A dozen times Polly had been sure that she heard his steps, but the moments dragged on and on, without bringing him. At length the door opened and he entered. Polly was out of bed in an instant and crouching at the head of the stairs, shivering with cold and fear, while she waited to hear his first words to her mother. She thought he would never get his coat off and go into the parlor. When he did, she heard something that seemed to stop her breath. "I've only just pulled Alan through, to-night," the doctor was saying to his wife. "When I went in, I thought there wasn't much chance for him; but the worst is over, for the present." "What was it?" asked his wife anxiously. "Acute pneumonia, as much as anything," answered the doctor; "but it's mixed up with his rheumatism till he's a poor, forlorn little bundle of aches and pains. They sent for me just in time, too. If they'd waited till morning, we should have lost our Alan." "What brought it on?" asked Mrs. Adams, and her voice was a little unsteady as she spoke.