There was no lack of attention.  His father and mother, Miss Allison, and the nurse watched every breath, every pulse-beat; and a dozen times in the night his grandmother stole to the door to look anxiously at the wan little face on the pillow.

“It is so strange,” said his mother to the nurse one day.  “He keeps talking about a white flower.  He says that he can’t right the wrong unless he wears it, and that Jonesy will have to be shut up and never find his brother again.  What do you suppose he means?”

The nurse shook her head.  She did not know.  Just then Mrs. Maclntyre heard her name called softly, “Elise,” and her husband beckoned her to come out into the hall.  “I want to show you something in Allison’s room,” he said, leading her down the hall to his sister’s apartment.  On each side of the low writing-desk stood a large photograph, one of Malcolm in his suit of mail, the other of Keith in the costume of jewel-embroidered velvet, like the little Duke of Gloster’s.

“Oh, Sydney!  How beautiful!” she exclaimed, as she swept across the room and knelt down before the desk for a better view.  Leaning her arms on the desk, she looked into Keith’s pictured face with hungry eyes.  “Isn’t he lovely?” she repeated.  “Oh, he’ll never look like that again!  I know it!  I know it!” she sobbed, remembering how white was the little face on the pillow that she had just left.

Mr. Maclntyre bent over her, his own handsome face white and haggard.  He looked ill himself, from the constant watching and anxiety.  “I’d give anything in the world that I own!  Everything!” he groaned.  “I’d do anything, sacrifice anything, to see him as well and sturdy as he looks there!”

Then he caught up the picture.  “What’s this written underneath?” he asked, “It is in Keith’s own handwriting:  ’Live pure speak truth, right the wrong, follow the king.  Else wherefore born?’

“What does it mean, Allison?” he asked, turning to his sister, who was resting on a couch by the window.  “It is written under Malcolm’s picture, too.”

“The dear little Sir Galahads,” she said, “I sent for you to tell you about them.  The boys intended the pictures as a surprise for you and Elise, so we never sent them.  They wanted to tell you themselves about the Benefit and the little waif they gave it for.”

She took a little pin from a jewel-case under the sofa pillows, and reaching over, dropped it in her brother’s hand.  It was a tiny flower of white enamel, with a diamond dewdrop in the centre.

“You may have noticed Malcolm wearing one like it,” she said, and then she told them the story of Jonesy and the bear and all that their coming had led to:  the Benefit, the new order of knighthood, and the awakening of the boys to a noble purpose.

“The boys fully expect you to stand by them in all this, Sydney,” she said, in conclusion, “and play fairy godfather for Jonesy henceforth and for ever.  One night, when Keith came up to confess some mischief he had been into during the day, he said: