The girl slowly lifted her head and drew a long, sighing breath. "I can't eat supper, Aunt Belinda," she said after a moment of gazing into space. "You'll forgive me, won't you? I feel as if I must rest and think until to-morrow morning, and then I promise to go on as before." "How about Mr. Whitcomb? You don't say a word about him." "He's been splendid--wonderful. We owe it all to him that we know the truth. Bertram would have lived and died and kept silence; but Fred read the letters in his desk while he was ill. His delirious talk had roused Fred's suspicions." Linda gave another sobbing sigh, the aftermath of the storm. "I'm awfully tired, Aunt Belinda. I'll go upstairs and perhaps I'll go to bed. Don't think of me again until to-morrow." "Suit yourself, child," returned Miss Barry kindly. "We shall miss you at supper." Linda vanished up the stairs and Miss Barry went out to the kitchen, where she found her maid with a very red little nose and extremely dolorous wet eyes. "What are you crying for, Blanche Aurora?" she demanded. "'Cause--'cause _she_ did." A loud sniff. "You've been listening," said Miss Barry sternly. The little girl fairly stamped in her outraged feeling. "I guess you ain't got no business to say that," she returned, and the honest wrath of her gaze caused her mistress to clear her throat. "Well, well, I don't suppose you did. Miss Linda has a friend who is ill." "He's a-goin' to drown himself, that's what," gulped Blanche Aurora, the relief of speech overbalancing her righteous wrath. "What do you mean, you crazy child?" "He told me he would if she wasn't glad to see him; and if Miss Linda wants me to, I'll go after him, and stop him." The girl's hands and feet moved restlessly as if she longed to be up and doing. "Nonsense, child. Mr. Whitcomb is always joking." "Oh, no, Miss Barry. He warn't jokin'. He said he was her beau, and Miss Linda wouldn't cry like that--" a spasm constricted the speaker's throat--"if she hadn't given him the mitten and warn't scared what he'd do." "Law! Blanche Aurora, it's another man she was crying about." The restless hands quieted and the little maid listened doubtfully. Her mind was so thoroughly made up as to the tragedy that it changed reluctantly. "Wherever Miss Linda is," went on Miss Barry solemnly, "men spring up through the ground. Who'd ever think of those two coming here to have the finishing touch put on a sick man at Luella Benslow's! If I should hire a boat and take Miss Linda out there,"--Miss Barry indicated the sea,--"out as far as the eye can reach, mermen would begin coming to the surface and swarming up the side of the vessel." "Oh, dear," gasped Blanche Aurora. The situation was worse than she had feared, thus complicated by a man so dear to Miss Linda that loyalty to her beau could not prevent her from sobbing her heart out about him. "Let's take him _here_," she said as the fruit of her swift cogitation. "Who?" "The sick man."