“Why, I believe you’re quite sorry about this stupid smash!” with a little callous laugh; “sorry in spite of yourself, eh, Paddy?” She did not answer, feeling vaguely hurt, and he ran on: “You’re allowed to pity me, then, and to come and see me out of charity as the poor invalid! Well, I don’t know that there’s anything in the world I hate more than charity, but I seem to be with the beggars every time now, and called upon to be thankful for anything I can get.” “You know it is not charity,” she blurted out. “It is unkind of you to say so. I hate to see you lying there, looking so ill. I—I—” She stopped short suddenly—pitfalls lay ahead that might engulf her. “Let it be charity if it brings you nearer. I can’t afford pride any longer. Charity should bring you close beside my couch of suffering, laying your hand on my fevered brow, and all that stuff. You are not a very good district visitor, Paddy.” There was a taunt in his voice, and he saw that he was hurting her more and more, and because in some way it gave him pleasure, he drove the barbs in. “Don’t look so resentful. Do you feel you’ve been trapped here under false pretences? Did Gwen tell you I was dying or something? How wicked of her! And now you find I’ve only a smashed-up arm, and all that beautiful Christian spirit of pity is like to be wasted on an unworthy object. Well, the arm hurts pretty badly, if that is any help to you. They give me morphia now and then, but I wouldn’t have it to-day.” But that was a little too much, and a flash of the old Paddy came back. “You have no right to speak to me like this,” she declared hotly; “it is ungenerous of you. I have done nothing to deserve it. Gwen told me that you were hurt, and that you wanted me; that was all.” “And haven’t I wanted you for weeks and months!... Yet you only ran away. Paddy, why did you run away from Omeath! It wasn’t quite fair. You made me behave like a brute; and to mother. I’m expiating it in my mind every hour, but, thank heaven, a mother like mine always understands. I wrote afterward and told her how it happened. I’d have gone across if I hadn’t had this smash.” His voice changed suddenly, as with a quick, keen expression he leaned toward her and asked: “Paddy, why did you run away?... Why do you treat me like this, _when you love me_?” Again the tell-tale colour flooded her face, and she could not meet his eyes; but pulling herself together quickly, she answered in a voice that had borrowed some of the taunt from his: “I thought you said it was just charity.” He smiled as if the taunt pleased him. “It is certainly about the same temperature just now. But there, I won’t tease you any more. You were a dear thing to come. I’ll get you a cozy, inviting chair if I can, then perhaps you’ll stay.” He attempted to rise, but the effort brought on a sharp spasm that turned him faint, and Paddy sprang forward. “Oh, you mustn’t move, you mustn’t move,” she cried. “Why did you try to?... Can I get you anything...!”