Kitty made her way to Anna’s room, and tapped gently at the door.  At first there was no reply, then through the keyhole came a whisper.  “Who is there?  You must be very quiet, please.  Anna is asleep.”  It was Tony’s voice, but by the time Kitty had opened the door he was back on his chair by Anna’s sofa, waving a fan gently, as he had been doing for so long that his poor little arms and back ached.  His face was very flushed and weary-looking, but his eyes glanced up bright with satisfaction.

“She is gone to sleep, she’ll be better now;” but at sight of Kitty the fan was dropped and Anna forgotten, and nurse Tony flew across the room and into his sister’s arms.

“Oh, I’m so glad! oh, I’m so glad!” he said again and again and again.  “There wasn’t anybody but me and Dr. Yearsley, and I was frightened ’cause I didn’t know what to do, and everything seemed wrong.  I wish daddy was home; but it won’t be so bad now you are here,” and he snuggled into her arms with a big, big sigh of relief, and put his little hot hands up continually to pat her face and convince himself that she had not vanished again.  And thus they sat, held in each other’s arms and watching the sleeping Anna, until the handle was gently turned, and Betty appeared in the door-way.  A very pale, weary Betty she looked now she was away from her own darkened room.

“Kitty, Dr. Yearsley is looking for you.  I think Aunt Pike is awake and asking for you.”  Then, as Kitty hurried past her, “He says she is a little better, only ever so little; but it is good news, isn’t it?  She will get well, won’t she, Kitty?  Oh, do say ‘yes,’” and Betty, who had never before bestowed any love or thought on her aunt, had as much as she could do to keep her tears back.

It was a very nervous, trembling Kitty who presently entered the large, dim bedroom where Aunt Pike, so helpless and dependent now, lay very still and white on her bed.  Kitty almost shrank back as she first caught sight of her, half fearing the change she should see.  But the only change in the face she had once so dreaded was the expression.

When Dr. Yearsley bent over her, and said cheerfully, “Here she is; here is Kitty,” the white lids lifted slowly, and Aunt Pike’s eyes looked at her as they had never looked before.  Kitty went over very close to her, and kissed her.

“I am so sorry,” she said sympathetically, “that you are ill, Aunt Pike, but so glad you are a little, just a little bit better.”

Mrs. Pike did not answer her; she seemed to have something on her mind that she must speak of, and she could grasp nothing else.  “I—­I have been—­very—­unjust—­to you,” she gasped, speaking with the greatest difficulty.  “You—­should—­have—­told me.”

“No, no,” said Kitty eagerly, bending and kissing her again, “you haven’t.  You didn’t know.  I meant you never to know.”

“Anna—­knew.  She—­should—­”

Kitty bent down, speaking eagerly.  “Anna did more for me—­for us all.  She saved Dan’s life—­in that fire.”