“But, Aunt Hitty—­” began the girl, pleadingly.

“Stop!  Don’t you ‘Aunt Hitty’ me,” continued the angry voice.  “You needn’t tell me you didn’t fall off that ladder a purpose.  Four dollars and a half and all the trouble besides!  I hope you’ll think of that while you’re laying here like a lady and your poor old aunt is slavin’ for you, workin’ her fingers to the bone.”

“If I can ever get the four dollars and a half,” cried Araminta, with tears in her voice, “I will give it back to you—­oh, indeed I will!”

At this point, Doctor Ralph Dexter entered the room, his eyes snapping dangerously.

“Miss Mehitable,” he said with forced calmness, “will you kindly come downstairs a moment?  I wish to speak to you.”

Dazed and startled, Miss Mehitable rose from her chair and followed him.  There was in Ralph’s voice a quality which literally compelled obedience.  He drew her into the dusty parlour and closed all the doors carefully.  Miss Evelina was nowhere to be seen.

“I was standing in the hall,” said Ralph, coolly, “and I heard every word you said to that poor, helpless child.  You ought to know, if you know anything at all, that nobody ever fell off a step-ladder on purpose.  She’s hurt, and she’s badly hurt, and she’s not in any way to blame for it, and I positively forbid you ever to enter that room again.”

“Forbid!” bristled Aunt Hitty.  “Who are you?” she demanded sarcastically, “to ‘forbid’ me from nursing my own niece!”

“I am the attending physician,” returned Ralph, calmly.  “It is my case, and nobody else is going to manage it.  I have already arranged with—­the lady who lives here—­to take care of Araminta, and——­”

“Arrange no such thing,” interrupted Miss Hitty, violently.  Her temper was getting away from her.

“One moment,” interrupted Ralph.  “If I hear of your entering that room again before I say Araminta is cured, I will charge you just exactly one hundred dollars for my services, and collect it by law.”

Miss Hitty’s lower jaw dropped, her strong, body shook.  She gazed at Ralph as one might look at an intimate friend gone suddenly daft.  She had heard of people who lost their reason without warning.  Was it possible that she was in the room with a lunatic?

She edged toward the door, keeping her eyes on Ralph.

He anticipated her, and opened it with a polite flourish.  “Remember,” he warned her.  “One step into Araminta’s room, one word addressed to her, and it costs you just exactly one hundred dollars.”  He opened the other door and pointed suggestively down the hill, She lost no time in obeying the gesture, but scudded down the road as though His Satanic Majesty himself was in her wake.

Ralph laughed to himself all the way upstairs but in the hall he paused and his face grew grave again.  From Araminta’s room came the sound of sobbing.

She did not see him enter, for her face was hidden in her pillow.  “Araminta!” said Ralph, tenderly, “You poor child.”