She drew aside the lace curtain.

There stood Tom Scott!

“Open the door,” he whispered “I—­don’t want to detain you.”

More surprised now than frightened, Dorothy shoved back the heavy bolt and gently opened the huge door.

“I had no idea of startling you,” began Tom, without waiting for her to speak, “but I have been so anxious!  I’ve been watching the house, and when I saw the light flash upstairs I felt as if something must have happened.  The doctor said by midnight—­”

“Oh!” exclaimed Dorothy, now realizing the cause of Tom’s unexpected visit, “I was coming downstairs to see how he was.  If you just wait I’ll peek in at the door and see.  Won’t you step inside?”

“Oh, no, indeed,” Tom replied in an undertone.  “I had no idea of disturbing any one.  I thought just to look around the house and see if all was well.  I am on my way home from the telegraph office.  Aunt Margaret thought of an important message which she insisted had to go out to-night.”

Dorothy turned toward the library.  Scarcely had she rounded the alcove when Tom noticed some one at the top of the stairs.

It was Tavia.

She stood for a moment looking at Tom, then she nodded her head in a friendly way and disappeared as quietly as she had come.

“Awkward,” thought Tom, “but any one would know I am here to hear about Ned.”

Dorothy was coming back now, and she was smiling.

“Sound asleep,” she whispered.

“Good,” breathed Tom.  “Now I won’t keep you another second.  Awfully good of you to let me in.”

“Not at all,” stammered Dorothy.  “I was just a little frightened first.  I will know better than to light up at midnight again.”

“The midnight alarm!” quoted Tom, making his way out.  “Don’t stand in the draft.  It’s cold enough.  Good-night!”

Then he was gone.

Dorothy flew back to her room, agitated, but comforted that Ned was resting.  This knowledge seemed to assure her that he was not seriously injured, and now she took up the Tavia question.

“She must not go home,” Dorothy repeated.  “I will see if she is still up.”

A glimmer of light stole under Tavia’s door.  Dorothy tapped lightly, but opened the door unbidden.  She found her chum bent over pen and paper, but as Dorothy came in Tavia dropped the pen and looked up in surprise.

“Tavia,” began Dorothy, “I came to coax you to stay—­you must not go home to-morrow.  I will telegraph your father.  He was always so—­kind to me.  And when he hears all about it—­about Ned and all—­I am sure he will not be angry.”

“I cannot,” answered Tavia.  “I must go.”

“Oh, please, Tavia, do listen!  If you go, what will you say?  What will you do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Tavia!” pleaded Dorothy, a note of distress in her voice.

The two girls looked into each other’s eyes.  Dorothy’s were brimful, but Tavia’s were too “frozen” for tears.