For days the procession of pretty ladies kept Justin company. Then they floated away on the rolling mists, and he found real faces bending over him,—the nurse's with its fresh comeliness, and Anthony's with a light on it which transfigured it.

One morning when he waked a white rose lay on his pillow.

"Did you put it there, nurse?"

"No. Miss Dolce came."

On Anthony's next visit Justin asked: "Why didn't you let me see her?"

"She sees you every day. Just a peep in at your door. But always when you are asleep."

"But why not when I am awake?"

"It would tire you too much, dear boy."

"Only let me look at her."

So at last Bettina stood beside him, very pale, but with her eyes shining.

Justin could not lift his hurt hands to touch her, so she bent down and laid her cheek against his, and whispered, "When you are well, we are going to be—married."

"I know—sweetheart."

"And—may I have the little silver ring for my wedding ring, Justin?"

"Yes, sweetheart."

She was not white now, but all rosy with blushes. As she again bent over him he felt the thrilling power of her youth and beauty. Her presence was like wine, reviving him. Her words were a loving cup held to his lips.

"Oh, my Betty, help me to live," he whispered, weakly.

"Hush; oh, my poor, poor boy."

In the weeks that followed it seemed as if only love were holding Justin back from death. There were days when Bettina was not allowed to see him; there were other days when Anthony dared not tell her the fears which assailed him, when he avoided all of her questions, confiding only in Diana.

"There's an awful chance that he will never walk."

Diana, very pale, asked, "Is it his spine?"

"Yes."

"And he was so strong and beautiful."

"He will never fly again, Diana."

"Oh, poor Justin!"

"And poor Betty. I wonder if, when all the first glamour is gone, she will be able to stand the test."

"I am sure she will. She has been so brave."

"If I know Justin, he won't let her marry him when he learns the truth."

"Oh, Anthony!"

"I haven't given up hope, however. His wonderful vitality and perfect health may bring about that which now seems impossible."

Bettina, since she could not minister to Justin, spent the days in ministering to others. In the great workshop where men and women of wealth wove rugs and made pottery as if their bread and butter depended upon it, she became a familiar figure. The patients loved to have her there, and she went from one to the other, a charming little helper in her white frock, with her air of girlish grace.

In those days her beauty assumed a new aspect. All the petulance was gone from her expression—the restlessness from her manner.

"How lovely she is!" said nurses and patients and doctors, and they spoke not of her physical beauty, but of her loveliness of mind and of soul.

Whenever she was allowed to see Justin she came to him with hope in her shining glance. And one day Anthony let her take the nurse's place, so that for the first time they were alone.

It was then that Justin told her of the Procession of Pretty Ladies. "Anthony says it was the morphine," he said, "but whatever it was, they kept me company for days."

Betty laughed. "You'll soon have a real procession of pretty ladies. Diana wants to come, and Sophie and Sara and Doris. But Anthony insists that they must wait until you can sit up."

"When will that be?"

"Soon."

"How soon?"

"Don't ask so many questions. As soon as it is good for you, you impatient boy."

"I am impatient. I want to be up and out. I want to fly again over the harbor. Betty, all the lovely days are going, and I am lying here like a log."

Her heart seemed to stand still. She knew that he would never fly again. Anthony had told her that he might prepare her in part for the truth. But Justin must not know.

She spoke hurriedly. "I should hate to have you fly again—I should always be thinking of the time I saw you fall."

"It's the only thing I can do well, Betty."

"There are so many things that you can do—with me."

He smiled. "What could I do—with you?"

"You could build a little workroom in the top of our house—our house, dear boy; and you could sit there and invent wonderful things to make other men safe who go up in the air, and I could watch you do it."

"But why should I be shut up, dearest? I'm not made for that sort of thing. I'd rather be out—in the open."

There was a note of alarm in his voice. Bettina tried to laugh naturally. "Because I'd rather have you with me, you venturesome youth—then I should know you were safe."

"If anything could hold me down it would be you,—Betty."

She was silent for a moment, then she said, with hesitation, "Justin, dear——"

"Yes?"

"I don't want to wait until you are well—to be married——"

As he turned on her his puzzled glance the color flooded her face. "Perhaps it isn't usual for a woman to say—such a thing. Perhaps I shouldn't say it. But—I want to feel that I belong to you—I want to know that I have the right to be always at your side. I want to know that—where you go—I can go—Justin——"

The bandages were still on his hands and arms, those hands which yearned to take her hands, those arms which ached to enfold her.

But his eyes held a look which was a caress. "But it would not be fair to you, sweetheart,—to spend your honeymoon in nursing me."

"It would be fair to me. Oh, Justin, Justin, it isn't just sweetheart love that I am giving you; it is wife love and mother love—I feel sometimes as if you were my hurt little boy, and that I'd give my life to help you——"

She was not crying, but her voice held an emotion which was deeper than tears; her steadfast eyes met his; her little hands were laid lightly on the covers above his heart.

And suddenly he saw her enthroned—a woman, not a child—a wife, not a playmate. Her youth and beauty were still there to charm him, but back of them was a quality which would hold him until the end—a divine quality of tenderness, of compassion, of eternal constancy.

And, in response, he brought the best that manhood can bring to woman—reverence and that high regard which makes of marriage a spiritual bond.

He tried to speak, but his voice failed. Then, as she bent above him, she heard his whisper:

"Kiss me—my wife!"

In the days which followed the pretty ladies came in a charming procession—Diana and Sophie, little Sara, bravely wistful, Doris escorted by Bobbie. And last, but not least in importance, came Letty Matthews, in a new white dress and rose-wreathed hat, and with happiness glorifying her plain features.

But though they came and went, all these good friends of his, and he smiled and greeted them, his eyes went always beyond them to the little white and gold creature with the woman-eyes. And his voice would call for her, and until she came he would not be content.