“Oh, yes, I know, it is lovely of you all,” Judith managed to articulate, “but you have got your old ankles to fall back on. But take the advice of a friend—don’t fall.” CHAPTER XX—STEMMING THE TIDE One reaction after another made up the program of Wellington, and directly after the big practice game, at which Judith turned her ankle, Jane was confronted again with Helen’s plea that she be allowed to withdraw from college. All the minor anxieties of the little Polish girl cemented now into the one great obstacle of terror—that a girl should have called her mad! “Mad! Mad!” Helen kept repeating, and so great was her distress that Jane actually feared for a collapse of nerves, if not for some real mental disturbance. “We must go to Mrs. Weatherbee,” Jane insisted, as Helen sobbed and sighed in her room, declining to be comforted and refusing to go out for any exercise. “I must talk it over with her. She is motherly and kind, and will know best what to do.” “But please no!” begged Helen. “I would not that you ask Mrs. Weatherbee. It would mean so much trouble, and I cannot stand more.” “But, Helen dear, it is our only way of bringing those hateful girls to their senses. I will not agree that they go along unpunished, when they deliberately take every occasion to cause you fear and anxiety. We cannot stop them if——” “Oh, but my dearest friend!” begged Helen. “You will not do that! I could not stay at Wellington if you ask for any action by the faculty.” Jane was baffled. Why did Helen always insist upon secrecy? Why could she not go to Mrs. Weatherbee and demand that Marian and her followers be compelled to desist? For a moment or two she pondered: then decided to ask Helen outright. “Helen dear, can you not tell Jane, why you do not want any assistance from the faculty? Why do you always—seem to fear—something?” It was extremely difficult for Jane to express herself so directly to the very much alarmed little Helen, but the time had come, Jane felt, when the question should be put straightforward and frankly. Helen looked like someone about to be executed—or as one might imagine such an unfortunate looking. Her big dark eyes fairly blazed, and she put her two hands up in a most tragic pose. “My friend! My benefactress!” she exclaimed. “You will not ask me—all now. I will tell you with gladness soon—I hope, but for a little time wait—till poor Helka can speak,” and she fell in a heap, crumpled and miserable at Jane’s feet. Never had Jane seen anything so like tragedy enacted in a school girl’s room. Never before had she witnessed such a scene as this, so wrought with dark and mysterious foreboding. She pressed a kind hand on the black head that lay upon her knee, then raised the tear-stained face.