“Oh yes, I wrote, and so did the Colonel.  I had a letter from Dad this morning.  He said he hoped she was better and that she was being well looked after.  That’s like Dad, you know.  He never realizes a thing unless he’s on the spot.  I daresay I shouldn’t myself,” said Billy broadmindedly.  “It’s want of imagination in the main.”

“Or want of heart,” said Scott curtly.

Billy did not attempt to refute the amendment.  “It’s just the way you chance to be made,” he said philosophically.  “Of course I’m fond of Dinah.  We’re pals.  But Dad’s an easy-going sort of chap.  He isn’t specially fond of anybody.  The mater,—­well, she’s keen on me, I suppose,” he blushed a little; “but, as I said before, she hasn’t much use for Dinah.  Even when she was a small kid, she used to whip her no end.  Dinah is frightened to death at her.  I don’t wonder she doesn’t want her sent for.”

Scott’s face was set in stern lines.  “She certainly shall not be sent for,” he said with decision.  “The poor child shall be left in peace.”

“She is going to get better, isn’t she?” said Billy quickly.

“I hope so, old chap.  I hope so.”  Scott patted his shoulder kindly and prepared to depart.

But Billy detained him a moment.  “I say, can’t I come and see her?”

“Not now, lad.”  Scott paused, and all the natural kindliness came back into his eyes.  “My sister was just getting her calm again when I came away.  We won’t disturb her now.”

“How is your sister, sir?” asked Billy.  “Isn’t she feeling the strain rather?”

“No, she is standing it wonderfully.  In fact,” Scott hesitated momentarily, “I believe that in helping Dinah, she has found herself again.”

“Do you really?” said Billy.  “Then I do hope for her sake that Dinah will buck up and get well.”

“Thanks, old chap.”  Scott held out a friendly hand.  “I’m sorry you’re having such a rotten time.  Come along to me any time when you’re feeling bored!  I shall be only too pleased when I’m at liberty.”

“You’re a brick, sir,” said Billy.  “And I say, you’ll send for me, won’t you, if—­if—­” He broke off.  “You know, as I said before, Dinah and I are pals,” he ended wistfully.

“Of course I will, lad.  Of course I will.”  Scott wrung his hand hard.  “But we’ll pull her through, please God!  We must pull her through.”

“If anyone can, you will,” said Billy with conviction.

Like Dinah, he had caught a glimpse in that brief conversation of the soul that inhabited that weak and puny form.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE WAY BACK

It was three days later that Dinah began at last the long and weary pilgrimage back again.  Almost against her will she turned her faltering steps up the steep ascent; for she was too tired for any sustained effort.  Only that something seemed to be perpetually drawing her she would not have been moved to make the effort at all.  For she was so piteously weak that the bare exertion of opening her eyes was almost more than she could accomplish.  But ever the unknown influence urged her, very gently but very persistently, never passive, never dormant, but always drawing her as by an invisible cord back to the world of sunshine and tears that seemed so very far away from the land of shadows in which she wandered.