“Thanks awfully. Will you tell Petra I’m coming? I’d rather not talk to her now. Tell her everything’s all right; I’ll explain everything when I get there and she mustn’t worry.”

To this casual request Lewis made a sound that McCloud accepted as both promise and good-by—and hung up. He had not even asked was Petra there. But Meadowbrook? McCloud must be calling from Green Doors itself. Had he been there all day? Had it been more than a sick tire that ailed his car? Well, Lewis did not care about the details—just so long as Petra and Neil did not see each other again until Lewis himself could talk with Petra on the edge of the meadow to-night.

He went through into his own office where the tragic trio awaited him. He took the boy from the mother’s arms. The poor little creature came quietly, without the struggle the parents obviously expected, and from that moment, so kind are the ways of God with mortals when they have learned to pray, Lewis’ expectation of Neil’s near visit and even his anguish for and over Petra were dropped from his consciousness until the work in hand was over—until, in fact, he escorted the parents, himself still holding the boy, out to the elevator, and saw Neil sitting in the reception office in a patient attitude that bore the stamp of having lasted some time.

“Hello,” Lewis remarked, coming back. “The coast is clear now.”

Neil followed him into his office and took the patients’ chair. But memory assailed him in the act and he went a little pale. The feeling passed quickly, however. That page had been turned forever, he knew well. His cure was permanent. Heaven would not take back its boon.

“Where’s Petra?” he asked. “I suppose you packed her off to Meadowbrook early. I’m glad.”

“Yes, I did exactly that. You didn’t pass her on the road?”

“No, but I wasn’t expecting to, you see. I drove like blazes. But I’m going right back. Pretty plucky of Petra, don’t you think, to come right along to work this morning! I couldn’t. I couldn’t have gone to work this morning if not going would bring the end of the world.”

“Well, Petra’s not working on commission. We have to keep hours here,” Lewis remarked shortly. “You’re your own boss. That’s different.”

Lewis could not interpret the odd, quick look Neil gave him then. But that did not matter. What right had the man to sit there so victorious and exalted, speaking of Petra! Petra’s face had grown thin over night. There had been no exaltation and glow on its pallor this day. But Lewis was aware that Neil’s exaltation—if that was the word for the light in his face—was of a grave variety. Not blatant. It was refined of all dross, to the most casual eye. Gorgeousness had given place to something deeper, richer.... Lewis felt his own expression of countenance to be evil. It was as if he could feel a thin mask forming over his face,—particularly ugly around his mouth and eyes. He looked at Miss Frazier’s door knob. He dared not look at McCloud any more. But hate had not returned. Only the awful fear that it might return was stiffening his lips,—his eyelids. For if it did return, here while he faced McCloud, it would be hate of the killing sort. He would hurl himself at the man physically, destroy him if he could—or be destroyed.... He had better smoke. They had better both smoke.

Neil refused the cigarette. Well, the gods on Olympus didn’t smoke little white cigarettes. But Lewis had no nectar to proffer this young giant, face and body aglow with some sweet, secret victory, eyes sea-blue and steady, long-limbed, free-postured, at ease in the patients’ chair. What right had such a being to usurp the place where misery came, year in year out? Why in God’s name was Neil here?

“Has Petra told you anything about last night?” Neil asked. “I guess she hasn’t, or you wouldn’t have spoken about her having to keep hours as you did just now.”

Lewis shook his head. Then he trusted his voice. “No. I know nothing. Except that the child ran away from her birthday party last night,—said she was going to bed with a headache but ran out the front door instead, without a wrap, and got back at eight this morning, still in her party dress and fagged almost to the danger point. But she’s going to tell me. She wants to, I think. I am going out there to-night. Petra has let me assume a responsibility to her. And I might as well tell you, McCloud, that she is as precious to me—and her welfare as precious—as if she were my own flesh and blood. You’d better understand that. Now what are you here for?”

“That’s wonderful!” was the man’s surprising answer. “But I rather felt that all along, you know. What I can’t understand is Petra’s not feeling it, not trusting you before. But this is a grand time for her to begin. She may never need you again so much as she needs you right now, Doctor. She’s going to need steadying—and a lot of loving. I’m frightened for her, myself. She’s such a kid, really, in spite of the way she swells around with her three jobs and keeps a stiff upper lip. You’d think she was made of iron! But she isn’t. She’s really just a tender-hearted, frightened kid. Teresa, you see, is mother, brother, sister, parents to her, as well as friend. Teresa is home to Petra. All the home she’s ever known. Sanctuary too. If—if anything happens—to—to Teresa—I shouldn’t wonder if Petra goes right off her head.”

Where was the exaltation now? This was just a boy, fighting back sobs.

Lewis got up. He went to the window and sat on the sill, staring at McCloud. But McCloud got control of himself quickly—and with it the exalted look returned. His eyes were blue fire and so terribly steady.

Lewis said, “Neil, I don’t know a thing. Petra has been secret with me. From the beginning—or almost from the beginning. I thought you and she were together last night. I’ve got it all wrong. What was it really? Something to do with Teresa Kerr?”

Neil got up then. He came and sat on Lewis’ desk, his feet in Lewis’ chair. He hadn’t taken in what Lewis meant about himself and Petra—at least not its implication. It simply passed him by.

“We were together,” he said. “I was there. Teresa was terribly ill. It must have been about ten o’clock when it started. Janet got the doctor and Father Morris on the telephone. But I’m worried about that doctor. I don’t like him or trust him much. Clark’s his name. He has a general practice in Meadowbrook. He knows all about you, of course, but says you won’t know him. I told him I was coming to ask you to see Teresa and advise us. He says Teresa’s got to go right off to a sanitarium. There’s one in New Mexico that he says is her only chance. He says she ought to start to-morrow. But I don’t take any stock in him. Neither does Janet Frazier. She says you are the one who will know what we ought to do. Janet is sure—”

But Lewis interrupted: “Neil McCloud! Start over, will you. I can’t seem to catch on to what all this is about. You were at Teresa Kerr’s last night? How does Miss Frazier come into it? Where does Teresa live?”

“It’s a little house between Meadowbrook and Green Doors. Off the road. You’ve never seen it, probably. Nobody does. It’s right off the road—in another world. The girls call it Mary’s Field. Teresa’s got a touch of consumption. That’s why she’s there this summer. So that she can live practically out of doors. On the porch. She was there, in the long chair, last night. Janet and I had got supper together. Janet’s spending her vacation there. We were talking, very gay. It was moonlight. Janet has a mandolin. She’s good on it, too. Finally, quite late, Janet went in to do the dishes. She wouldn’t let me come. So I stayed out with Teresa. I was going in a few minutes, anyway. Getting back to Boston. I was sitting there on the floor by Teresa’s chair. She was lying in the long chair—almost flat. That’s what she’s had to do lately—whenever she’s not sewing. She’s so terribly tired all the time! We weren’t talking any more. I thought she’d better rest. I was trying to make myself go home. Suddenly she sat up straight with a queer sound in her throat. I jumped up. She put out her hands. Blood came from her mouth. It was only moonlight but I knew it was blood. I thought—we both thought—she was dying. We said things we’d never have said if we hadn’t thought so. But that’s all right. God intended it, I guess. I called Janet. She got Doctor Clark on the telephone—and then Father Morris. Father Morris is pastor of St. Joseph’s in Meadowbrook. It’s been Teresa’s church all summer. Father Morris seemed to know more than the doctor what to do for Teresa. The doctor just stood around and scolded us about Teresa’s having worked so hard on Petra’s birthday dress. A good thing Petra wasn’t there then! It was Father Morris who told us Teresa wasn’t dying. He and Petra, when Petra came, had the coolest heads of us all. They managed everything. Petra and I stayed with Teresa on the porch all night. She couldn’t sleep and Father Morris advised against any drug. We just stayed there quiet. Close to her. At dawn she went to sleep and Janet made us eat breakfast. I took Petra back to Green Doors. We thought Teresa was all right then, you see. But early this afternoon, Doctor Pryne, she had another hemorrhage. That’s why I didn’t call Petra as I promised to. I didn’t want her to know until she got to Mary’s Field this afternoon and could see how really better Teresa seems, in spite of this second hemorrhage. She’s seemed so well all day—even strong! She even wanted to sit up, but we haven’t let her. Father Morris came to the house just before I did call you and said I’d better not wait for Petra’s consent to our asking you to see Teresa. He urged me to drive right in and bring you both out. He says Teresa is very seriously ill, now, in spite of her feeling so well, and he feels that we must do something as quickly as possible. He knows about you and your work and was sure you’d come for Petra’s sake. You will, won’t you?” Neil had told it all quickly, his eyes never leaving Lewis’.

“Of course, Neil. You don’t need to ask! But tell me more. Is this why money is so important to Petra? Had she been supporting Teresa with the allowance I was the cause of her losing? Of course. How blind I’ve been!”

“Teresa makes Petra’s clothes and Petra pays her for that. Teresa’s got the devil’s own pride. She insists on earning her money, even when she can’t hold up her head. So you can’t say Petra’s been exactly supporting Teresa. She went to Radcliffe, you know, on a scholarship and evenings making Petra’s clothes. The idea was that when Teresa got her degree and a job—perhaps one like Janet’s—Petra would kiss Clare good-by and live with Teresa and go to some business college herself. They had it all worked out. Teresa was so quick and worked so hard, she hoped to graduate in less than four years. Petra’s ‘job’ at Green Doors was to be merely temporary. That is how she has been able to stand it. But last spring, when everything was working out beautifully, the college doctor found that Teresa had T.B. and they wouldn’t let her take her exams. They said she must live in the country, out of doors, all this summer. Petra found the house. She furnished it—borrowed ahead on her allowance. The place belongs to a farmer named Murray and it’s always been called ‘Murray’s Field.’ But Teresa understood it ‘Mary’s Field’ and took it without seeing it on account of the name! It’s been easy to keep Teresa’s living there secret from Green Doors—it’s so out of the way. But that’s where Petra has been wrong. Teresa would think so too, if she knew. It’s like living a double life. All Petra’s excuses for being away from Green Doors, you know! Teresa has never guessed how Petra’s had to twist and turn. She’d never have let her! Teresa’s like truth itself. But sometimes I have to laugh when I picture how astonished Clare would be if she could see Petra Saturday afternoons, on her hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor at Mary’s Field—until I came along, that is. I do the kitchen floor now on Saturdays!—Both the girls are death on dirt. But lately Teresa hasn’t been able even to wash the dishes and Petra’s done all the cleaning ever since they took the house.—What’s the matter, Pryne?”

“Why didn’t you trust me? Why did you all leave me out so long?”

“We did trust you. We do. Absolutely. Janet and I, at least. But Petra’s been so afraid all the time! Afraid you wouldn’t keep it from Clare. She says you belong to Green Doors—not Mary’s Field. Petra’s a grand kid but she’s stubborn.”

“Well—let’s get going.”

“To Mary’s Field?”

“Where else? Petra’s bound to be there, I should think. And I’d better see Teresa for myself before taking a specialist to her. You shut the windows, Neil, while I just write up this card for the files. I’ll have to cut out the calls I was making, for Father Morris may be right, that quick action is needed. Meadowbrook may not be the place for Teresa to stay,—but I hardly think we’ll send her so far as New Mexico—”

All the while Lewis talked, he was outlining his recent interview with the idiot boy’s parents in illegible characters on a fresh white card. His heart was shaken to its depths but his head and hand were steady.