"I wouldn't interfere for the world, Courtney. I will wait. I don't want to bother you. Please don't think about reading it to me now. But,--oh, Courtney, I have wanted to see you so much. You WILL come over, won't you. Or would you rather have me come--" "I'll be over, Rosie,--tomorrow," he said hastily. "Or the day after, sure. I'm all done up. I can hardly stand on this leg. Did they tell you? I chased the robber up through the woods. Had a bad fall. Bunged up this rotten old knee again." "You poor boy," she cried. "Yes, I heard them talking about how brave you were. And he shot at you, too. I saw the plaster on your face when the light shone on it a while ago. I was frightened. I forgot to ask you how bad it is. I forgot everything but--but just speaking to you. Is it dangerous? Is it a bad wound?" "I don't know. The doctor is waiting for me up at Miss Crown's. They sent me back, the other fellows did. I wanted to go with the gang,--but I was weak and--Oh, I'll be all right. Don't you worry, little girl. Dr. Smith may slap me into bed,--" "You must not be foolish, Courtney. Do what the doctor says. You must get well--oh, you MUST get well!" She had come quite close to him and was peering at his face. Even in the darkness he could see her big, dark eyes. Her teeth no longer chattered, but there was a perilous quaver in her low, tense voice. She put out a hand to touch him. He drew back. "I'll be as fit as a fiddle in no time at all," he said hurriedly. "See you tomorrow, Rosie,--or as soon as the blamed old doctor turns me loose. I've got to be on my way now. He's waiting for me up there. May have to put a stitch in my mug,--and yank my leg like the devil, but--" She still blocked his path. "Courtney, I'm--I'm terribly unhappy. I want to see you,--very soon." "I hear you have been ill, Rosie. Some one was telling me you were looking thin and--and all that sort of thing. I hope you're feeling better." She waited a moment. When she spoke it was with difficulty. "I'm awfully worried, Courtney," she cried, her voice little more than a whisper. He was silent, so after a little while she went on: "I wish I could die,--I wish I could die!" "Come, come!" he said reassuringly. "You must not talk like that, Rosie. Cheer up! You're too young to talk about dying. Think what I've been through,--and I'm still alive! I'll run over tomorrow,--or next day,--and try to cheer you up a bit, little girl. So long. I've got to see the doctor. I'm--I'm suffering like the dickens." "I mustn't keep you, Courtney," she murmured, stepping aside to let him pass. "Good night! You--you WILL come, won't you? Sure?" "Sure!" he replied, and limped painfully away. A little later Annie Jordan found her standing beside the road, where he had left her. She was looking up at the brightly lighted house at the top of the lane. "Goodness!" cried Annie. "I thought you were lost, Rosie. Where on earth have you been?"