"Are you better, Paul?" murmured the girl. "You had a lovely sleep." "Oh, yes," he sighed. "I feel almost good. If only my head would stop throbbing. What time is it?" "Almost noon, dear, and Clip will soon be here." "Will she fetch the morning papers? I must see how the thing is going on. They were to go to court this morning." "Now you must not think of that, you know, Paul," commanded the girl gently. "If you are to grow strong enough to go and take your own part you will have to leave the others alone. There is nothing new, or I should have told you." "But Mr. Robinson called--I heard you talking to him last night." "Yes, you did, dear. But he came to inquire for you. He is very anxious about you." Hazel Hastings went to the dresser and slipped under the cover a piece of yellow paper. Paul was getting better, and he should not see Mr. Robinson's check for money, which that gentleman had insisted upon leaving for the sick boy's expenses. They were not poor, neither were they rich, but Paul Hastings should not want for anything through his sister's pride. "He was so glad to hear you were improving," she went on, "and particularly said you were not to worry about the papers. It seems they have some important clue, and feel positive of recovering them." "If they only could," sighed Paul. "To think that I should have lost them! And they meant a small fortune to the Robinsons. What if they should become poor, and through me!" "Oh, you silly boy! Stop that nonsense this moment. There! I heard Clip coming. I am glad, for she knows better than I how to control you." It was Clip who entered the room, but what with her buoyant, happy way, and the great bunch of flowers she carried, one could hardly be certain it was only a girl--it might have been some fairy of sunshine. "Well!" she exclaimed, glancing from Paul to Hazel. "You are better, Paul. Has Hazel been treating you again with some of her magic suggestion business? At any rate, I cannot deny its power." She flittered over to the bed and playfully buried Paul's face in the bouquet. "There! Aren't they splendid? And you would never guess who sent them. Guess, Hazel." "Ed," hazarded the girl. "No, indeed. You try, Paul." "Walter Pennington," replied Paul, smiling. "Indeed, Walter probably has forgotten my very existence." "Then it was--" "Oh, you would never guess. It--was--Rob Roland!" A dark look stole over the face of the young man on the bed. "I don't like him, Clip," he said.