When people knew this! Henriette was thinking of the Lady Truckleford lot. There were pitfalls ahead which she had not foreseen. "Why didn't you undeceive him?" she demanded. "I--I could not. It meant so much to him. As soon as he is well then I shall tell him." "And if he never gets well----" "He will!" Helen insisted. "But taking the view that he will not," she added, "only his father and mother know and Peter Smithers. They found it out inadvertently and have sworn to keep the secret." Henriette half closed her eyes thoughtfully as the two sisters looked at each other. "It seems safe," breathed Henriette, raising her lashes and smiling in relief. Phil was writing again: "You do not answer. Helen wrote only one letter to me while I was at the front. I fear that I have offended her. Won't you tell me?" "I--I must explain in some way!" said Helen. "Let me!" Henriette interposed. "I've never tried writing on his arm, but I think that I know how from watching you." She rolled up his sleeve and taking his hand to hold up the arm, as she had seen Helen do, traced the letters, slowly announcing each word as she wrote it: "This is Helen. She has just come to see you and has come often and thinks that you are making the bravest kind of a fight." He caught her hand in both of his and shook it warmly in his happiness. "You don't write as well as Henriette," he wrote in reply, "but I have a lot of experience and could read it. What are you drawing? What cartoons are you making? What mischief are you up to generally?" "I will tell you when I can write better. Now I shall be going so as not to tire you. Good-night!" She gave his hand another clasp and turned to Helen, smiling, as she said: "I'm in your place, now, as well as you being in mine!" not forgetting to press her lips to Helen's before withdrawing. She had gone through it all with a graceful facility and self-command, while Helen had found herself unable even to murmur "Good-night." For an instant, again alone with Phil, she felt that she also was groping in a noiseless and sightless world and that she, too, was maimed. Henriette was beautiful--oh, very beautiful! It was no wonder that men fell in love with her. Just to look at her must make any man want to live. Only to the blind could she herself be beautiful. If his sight should come back, it would be the end of the walks in the court and the writing of messages for him. There was dreadful mockery in the thought when he became well he might think that she who had shared his pain in the dark night cared more for making cartoons than for him. For an instant revolt flamed up in her mind; but only for an instant. It was smothered by the appeal of his helplessness as she looked around at him.