"I have caused enough trouble already," it went on in its rough scrawl. "I have been wicked enough and had to pay dear for my lies. Julianna is not the daughter of Monty Cranch. That is the truth. She is the daughter of the Judge, so help me. Mrs. Welstoke is to blame for that first lie. I stole the locket from the Cranch baby's neck and after the fire I saw a chance to get the Judge in my power. I snapped the locket on and I fooled him otherwise. God knows I suffered enough for it afterward when I got to love him and Julianna. I never attempted any blackmail. But I did not dare to tell the truth. It was the only home I had and I was afraid. I have done the best I could. You will never see me again. Monty knows now she is not his. I have money saved. We won't come back." "Well," said Estabrook, when I had tossed it on the table, "I am dumb. I am the happiest man alive. The Estabrooks, when you come right down to it quickly, would have been sorry if--" "Pardon me, sir," I said. "I will call later. You do not need me now and I will step into the Marburys'." "But, Doctor!" cried the young man. I shook my head. "My dear fellow," said I solemnly, "I cannot bear to hear you talk about the respectable Estabrooks!" Our hands met, however, and, I believe, with a warmth that meant more than many words. As I went up the Marburys' steps a minute later, I looked up. A light was burning in Mrs. Estabrook's room. I saw the shadows of a man and a woman pass the curtain together. This pretty picture was in my mind as I entered little Virginia's room, where Miss Peters met me with a smile--the first human smile I had ever seen on her metallic face. For many minutes I sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at the child that I had grown to love, as a foolish old doctor sometimes will. Then I bent and kissed her cool, white forehead. "She is out of danger," said I softly. "Oh, yes," said Miss Peters. "She will get well. You have saved her." She moved her angular shoulders as she adjusted her belt, she strode noiselessly across the room and moved the shade on the lamp. The light now shone so that the blue wall, with its ethereal depths, had turned rosy as with the light of dawn. "Suppose, Miss Peters--" said I, after staring at it a moment, "suppose that you were called upon for one guess about this wall and its effect upon this child." She wheeled about and stared at me. "I've thought of that," she said. "What's behind that wall?" she mused as if to herself. "As between something and somebody, it is not a thing, but a person. A person has been there--perhaps some one overcoming evil or winning some victory over disease." "Well," said I, seeing that she was hesitating, "go on."