"I suppose you think I've been a fool about Edith?" he muttered
ruefully.

"No, it isn't that," I laughed. "Mary, will you tell him?"

But we were in darkness! She had dropped the candle, and down the
stairs the stick came clattering. It landed on the floor and went
rolling across the room. Tim made a dive for it. He groped his way to
the corner where its career had ended. Then he lighted it again.

Behind us stood the doctor, and Mrs. Tip Pulsifer, and Elmer Spiker's
much better half. Mary was at the head of the stairs.

"Come, Tim," she called. "Mr. Weston wants to see you."

"Weston does want to see you very much, Tim," the wounded man said
smiling, lifting a thin hand from the bed for my brother; "I heard you
chattering downstairs, and I thought you were never coming."

"It was Mary's fault," Tim said. "I came back as soon as I could, sir.
Mr. Mills sent me up on the night train--out this afternoon in a livery
rig--here afoot just as fast as Mark would let me--then Mary blocked
the way. Mark was going to tell me something when she dropped the
candle."

"Why, don't you know--" began Weston.

But over my brother's shoulders I shook my head sternly at him and he
stopped and broke into a laugh.