"What's the boy been doing?" he asked, after deciding there was nothing to keep him in Worcestershire. "This might well be mistaken for a touch of the sun," he said, smiling at the local man, "but it's not quite so simple. It looks as if he'd been trying to put himself straight with things, and not quite succeeded. He's suffering from acute mental excitement, but he's a healthy youngster and his temperature's falling. He won't talk any more." "There's a thing that rather puzzles me, doctor," Mrs. Paragon hesitated. "Well?" "My son has been troubled, greatly troubled, by someone here, but most of his talk was about someone else." "I don't quite understand." "He has talked of a girl I thought he had forgotten. At least I did not think she had lately been in his mind." "Very likely not, Mrs. Paragon. The mind's not at all a simple thing. Usually in cases like this the memories which come uppermost are things forgotten. We call it the subconscious self. This girl your son has been talking about--probably he does not know that he remembers her. Perhaps--of course I don't know all the circumstances--he has not thought of her for years. But evidently she is a vital memory. She is sleeping in his mind. Pardon my running on like this," the doctor concluded, smiling, "but you look interested." "I think I understand." "Is that all you want to know?" "You are sure he is quite safe?" "There's nothing to be anxious about. He only wants well nursing." The doctor paused and looked keenly at Mrs. Paragon. "You are very proud of him," he suggested. "Prouder to-day than ever." "He looks quite a splendid fellow. Send for me if anything goes seriously wrong." Mrs. Paragon now sat happily with Peter, for he grew continually calmer, and she felt he was safe. A proud content sank deep into her heart as she put together the story of these last days. She pondered also the doctor's words, and wondered whether Peter had consciously called Miranda to his help. Or did she lurk as a secret angel under the surface of his life? Forty-eight hours later Peter woke from a long sleep, and found his mother beside him. He did not stir, but just accepted her. He felt too weak to talk, and, taking some food, went immediately to sleep again. Next time he woke Mrs. Paragon was not in the room, the farmer's wife having taken charge for a moment. Peter raised himself on one elbow, wondering to feel himself so weak. "How long have I been like this?" he asked. "I feel as if I'd been in bed for a year." "You're all right now, lad. You've been too much in the hot sun and got a touch o' fever." Peter looked round the room. "Didn't I see my mother here?" he asked. "You did, to be sure. We sent for her when you were took with the heat. It was Bess that found you, lying in the road." Peter remembered now how and where he had fallen. Mrs. Paragon came in at that moment, and the farmer's wife greeted her. "The lad's awake, and talking like a Christian."