"I have been a coward!" he said, abruptly, "and there is nothing I have shunned more all my life. I have been unfair to you, and if it is not too late I want to set myself right. Perhaps it is weakness to tell you that I have tried--but I have. The strength is mine now, and it will not desert me. Will you see me tomorrow night, and hear my story?" The "yes" which came from her lips was faint indeed, but he heard, and pressed her hand in farewell. CHAPTER XVI Early the next morning a telegram came for Julia. From its condensed message she learned that her room-mate at college, who was likewise a dear and intimate friend, had been taken seriously ill, and wanted her to come on the first train. Major Dudley was present when she received the summons, and she immediately asked his advice. It was that she should depart on the noon train for the East, and remain as long as circumstances required. He was feeling prime, and Aunt Frances and Peter should look after his comfort. Transfixed upon the horns of this new dilemma, Julia rushed upstairs and began mechanically to get her things together for a hurried departure. She knew that she would go, although she told herself repeatedly that she could not. She must be at home that evening, for her future happiness depended upon the issue of that night. Yet Bess was sick--desperately ill--and had wired her to hasten. Yes, she would go to her friend in distress, and send a note by Peter to Doctor Glenning, advising him of this unforeseen emergency. Perhaps it was just as well, she told herself at length, to prolong indefinitely the hour when he should tell her all. This, indeed, would be a supreme and unerring test. So it came to pass that the train for the East bore Miss Julia Dudley away from Macon that day at noon, and that Uncle Peter, for the second time, bore to Doctor Glenning a delicately tinted, square envelope. John groaned when he read the note, and let his hands drop despairingly. Of course it could not be helped. He realized that she was right in going, and he loved her the more for it, but the missive gave no date upon which the writer might return. There was nothing for him to do but live the days through as best he could until he should see her again, and keep himself strong. The waiting would be hard, but he could do it. All hesitation, all temporizing, had vanished. He would be ready for his part on the first evening after she came home.