They would all blame her--Miss Vine and Mr. Dugald, Aunt Achsa, Doctor Blackwell. Probably now Pola would have more complexes to suffer; Pola's mother would be angry and they could never be friends again. And Mart--Aunt Achsa had said old Mrs. Calkins could be terrible when she was "worked up!" Even if Lavender lived Aunt Achsa would never forgive her and if he _didn't_ live--Mr. Dugald had said he was fighting. Those boards creaking faintly meant that Doctor Blackwell and Aunt Achsa were helping Lavender fight. Dear old Lav with his fine dreams! The desperate longing for Trude shook her. She sobbed into her pillow. And yet the longing brought only added remorse. Trude would scold her. Trude would take her home. That meant stinging humiliation. How Vick would laugh at her when everything was over. A case of rum! Sidney writhed under the soft covers. Somewhere boards creaked again--Lavender's fight. Sidney pictured the doctor and Aunt Achsa bending over him. And outside everything was so quiet and gray. That was the way death probably came, Sidney thought. On the morrow they would send her home--in disgrace. She might not even be allowed to see Lavender, or Mart, or Pola--or Mr. Dugald. Someone would telegraph to Trude and Trude would meet her back at Middletown. She would live a long, sad life of penance behind the crumbing stone wall she had so detested. But the thought of the wall and the shelter of the old house brought such a surcease of torment that the girl had fallen into a heavy sleep. When she wakened it was to a consciousness of bright sunshine--and someone looking at her, someone different, and someone smiling. She sat bolt upright and rubbed her eyes. Then she flung out her arms with a low glad cry that was half sob. "Trude--_Oh, Trude!_" Trude held her long and close, stroking the shorn head, murmuring soothing words. Finally Sidney wriggled from her. "Have you come to take me home? But how could they send for you so quickly? How long have I been asleep? Oh, Lavender--is he--is he--" "One question at a time, Sid. Lavender is better. He'll be all right, the doctor says, after a good rest. Yes, I think I'd better take you home. No, they did not send for me." Briefly, as though now that earlier concern was of little consequence, Trude told of the sketch that had so bewildered and alarmed her. "I couldn't understand," she finished. "I couldn't either, at first. You see the boarder--the man who has boarded here so long and is dreadfully fond of Aunt Achsa wrote that letter to me and wrote it _nice_ so as to please her, and, at first--but, oh, Trude, Aunt Achsa _is_ wonderful and so is Lavender, really, truly, even though they are poor--"