“You have met with a slight accident,” said a pleasant voice very near her, as a white-capped nurse appeared. “You are in Chambers Street Hospital, not Charity, Miss Marlowe.” Marion tried to sit up, and partially succeeded. In a very few moments she remembered everything distinctly. “Was my sister hurt?” she asked at once. “Oh, do tell me if anything happened to Dollie!” “No, she escaped unharmed,” was the prompt reply. “Your brave action saved her, my dear Miss Marlowe.” Marion leaned back on her pillow with an exclamation of gratitude. She did not care for herself, but thought only of Dollie. “You have been here twenty-four hours now,” said the nurse very quietly, “but we consider you marvelously lucky to have escaped as you did. Fortunately, that horseless carriage struck a stone at that instant and swerved a little, which saved not only your life, but your bones, Miss Marlowe.” Marion smiled very sweetly. It did not alarm her to hear what had happened. She was not suffering at all, only she felt bruised and lame. “The careless fellow was arrested,” went on the nurse, quietly, “but he swore that he had lost control of the carriage, and as they did not hold him, of course you can have him re-arrested at any time you wish. I believe he gave them his name and address.” “Oh, no, I’ll not bother!” said the sick girl, quickly. She was thinking of her friend, the woman who had loved this fellow, and for her sake she did not mean to follow up the matter. It did not occur to her then to question the nurse about the extent of her injuries, but in a few moments she began thinking about her duties. “Did my sister wire the superintendent at Charity?” she asked, very anxiously. “Yes, and both Dr. Hall and Miss Williams wired back their regrets. They said for you not to worry, but just get well as soon as possible. And I guess you are going to mind them,” she added, with a smile, “for now that the shock to the brain has passed, I hope to send you home to your friends very shortly.” There was a little rustle of skirts and a light footstep coming down the ward. “Is she better?” asked a cheery voice from the other side of the bed. Marion recognized it instantly and turned her head on the pillow. The lady who stood beside her was her dear friend, Alma Allyn. Miss Allyn was a woman of twenty-five, fine-looking, stylish and far wiser than the average. She was a newspaper reporter, with an excellent position, and had befriended the two country girls ever since they came to the city. “We’ll take you right up to Harlem to the flat now,” she said, as she kissed Marion fondly, “and I’ll have a nurse to take care of you until you are well, unless Dollie insists on giving up her position.” “Then she did not lose it?” said Marion, in surprise. Miss Allyn looked grave, but she tried to speak cheerfully.