Sun was tinting the lavender sands to rose and gilding the water with its first flecks of gold when she saw Marcia standing at the foot of her bed.

"Mr. Heath has a high fever and can scarcely speak aloud," explained she. "I'm afraid he is quite ill. I wish you'd call up Doctor Stetson."

"Mercy on us!"

The girl, drowsy and heavy-eyed, sprang out of bed.

"I'll be down in just a minute," she exclaimed. "How do you happen to be up so early?"

"I've been up off and on all night," answered Marcia. "Mr. Heath was restless and thirsty. About midnight I heard him tossing about, and[91] thinking he might be hungry, I heated some broth and took it to him."

[91]

"I didn't hear you. I must have been dead to the world. Why didn't you speak?"

"There was no need of it. You were tired."

"No more than you."

"I was wakeful, anyway. I don't know why. Perhaps I had him on my mind. If so, it is fortunate, for he did not call."

"I'm dreadfully sorry he feels so miserable."

"He won't admit it. He declares he is going back to New York today."

"But he can't—he mustn't."

"He is determined to. He says he has something very important to attend to. Of course I have no authority over him but perhaps Doctor Stetson can exert some. That is why I am anxious to reach him before he goes out," explained Marcia, moving toward the door.

"I will call him right away."

"I'll go down and start breakfast, then. Mr. Heath is dozing. He has promised not to get up for at least an hour. We must have the doctor here within that time."

"I'll tell him to hurry."

Marcia tiptoed down the stairs.

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