Billy had received only meagre news from Boston since she went away. Bertram had not written at all. William had written twice--hurt, grieved, puzzled, questioning letters that were very hard to answer. From Marie, too, had come letters of much the same sort. By far the cheeriest epistles had come from Alice Greggory. They contained, indeed, about the only comfort Billy had known for weeks, for they showed very plainly to Billy that Arkwright's heart had been caught on the rebound; and that in Alice Greggory he was finding the sweetest sort of balm for his wounded feelings. From these letters Billy learned, too, that Judge Greggory's honor had been wholly vindicated; and, as Billy told Aunt Hannah, “anybody could put two and two together and make four, now.” It was eight o'clock on a rainy July evening that Billy and Aunt Hannah arrived at Hillside; and it was only a little past eight that Aunt Hannah was summoned to the telephone. When she came back to Billy she was crying and wringing her hands. Billy sprang to her feet. “Why, Aunt Hannah, what is it? What's the matter?” she demanded. Aunt Hannah sank into a chair, still wringing her hands. “Oh, Billy, Billy, how can I tell you, how can I tell you?” she moaned. “You must tell me! Aunt Hannah, what is it?” “Oh--oh--oh! Billy, I can't--I can't!” “But you'll have to! What is it, Aunt Hannah?” “It's--B-Bertram!” “Bertram!” Billy's face grew ashen. “Quick, quick--what do you mean?” For answer, Aunt Hannah covered her face with her hands and began to sob aloud. Billy, almost beside herself now with terror and anxiety, dropped on her knees and tried to pull away the shaking hands. “Aunt Hannah, you must tell me! You must--you must!” “I can't, Billy. It's Bertram. He's--_hurt!_” choked Aunt Hannah, hysterically. “Hurt! How?” “I don't know. Pete told me.” “Pete!” “Yes. Rosa had told him we were coming, and he called me up. He said maybe I could do something. So he told me.” “Yes, yes! But told you what?” “That he was hurt.” “How?” “I couldn't hear all, but I think 'twas an accident--automobile. And, Billy, Billy--Pete says it's his arm--his right arm--and that maybe he can't ever p-paint again!” “Oh-h!” Billy fell back as if the words had been a blow. “Not that, Aunt Hannah--not that!” “That's what Pete said. I couldn't get all of it, but I got that. And, Billy, he's been out of his head--though he isn't now, Pete says--and--and--and he's been calling for you.” “For--_me?_” A swift change came to Billy's face. “Yes. Over and over again he called for you--while he was crazy, you know. That's why Pete told me. He said he didn't rightly understand what the trouble was, but he didn't believe there was any trouble, _really_, between you two; anyway, that you wouldn't think there was, if you could hear him, and know how he wanted you, and--why, Billy!”