"Oh, darling, darling!" Allan was saying over and over again. "You are safe--thank heaven you are safe! Oh, Phyllis, I could never forgive myself if you had been hurt! Phyllis! Speak to me!" But Phyllis's own safety did not concern her now. She could only think of one thing. "_You can stand! You can stand!_" she reiterated. Then a wonderful thought came to her, striking across the others, as she stood locked in this miraculously raised Allan's arms. She spoke without knowing that she had said it aloud. "_Do you care, too?_" she said very low. Then the dominant thought returned. "You must sit down again," she said hurriedly, to cover her confusion, and what she had said. "Please, Allan, sit down. Please, dear--you'll tire yourself." Allan sank into his chair again, still holding her. She dropped on her knees beside him, with her arms around him. She had a little leisure now to observe that Wallis, the ever-resourceful, had tied the tramp neatly with the outdoor man's suspenders, which were nearer the surface than his own, and succeeded in prying off the still unappeased Foxy, who evidently was wronged at not having the tramp to finish. They carried him off, into the back kitchen garden. Allan, now that he was certain of Phyllis's safety, paid them not the least attention. "Did you mean it?" he said passionately. "Tell me, did you mean what you said?" Phyllis dropped her dishevelled head on Allan's shoulder. "I'm afraid--I'm going to cry, and--and I know you don't like it!" she panted. Allan half drew, half guided her up into his arms. "Was it true?" he insisted, giving her an impulsive little shake. She sat up on his knees, wide-eyed and wet-cheeked like a child. "But you knew that all along!" she said. "That was why I felt so humiliated. It was _you_ that _I_ thought didn't care----" Allan laughed joyously. "Care!" he said. "I should think I did, first, last, and all the time! Why, Phyllis, child, didn't I behave like a brute because I was jealous enough of John Hewitt to throw him in the river? He was the first man you had seen since you married me--attractive, and well, and clever, and all that--it would have been natural enough if you'd liked him." "Liked him!" said Phyllis in disdain. "When there was you? And I thought--I thought it was the memory of Louise Frey that made you act that way. You didn't want to talk about her, and you said it was all a mistake----" "I was a brute," said Allan again. "It was the memory that I was about as useful as a rag doll, and that the world was full of live men with real legs and arms, ready to fall in love with you. "There's nobody but _you_ in the world," whispered Phyllis.... "But you're well now, or you will be soon," she added joyously. She slipped away from him. "Allan, don't you want to try to stand again? If you did it then, you can do it now." "Yes, by Jove, I do!" he said. But this time the effort to rise was noticeable. Still, he could do it, with Phyllis's eager help.