“Of course you will,” insisted Dorothy, delighted that she had been instrumental in actually saving a life.  “And perhaps Christmas will bring you peace and courage.”

“No, but you have brought it.  When I look at your fair face—­ Don’t you know, that was why I put the ring in your bag?” she asked suddenly.  “I knew your face would clear you before any accuser in the world.”

Dorothy put her finger to her lips.  She did not want Miss Dearing to discuss the painful subject.  But the sick woman was persistent.

“And from that moment some evil genius followed me.  I did it because other detectives had been praised for making arrests, and I had made none.  I could not afford to lose my place, for my mother—­was dying.  She died, thank God, before she knew her daughter had lied for her, had herself actually been accused of stealing—­stealing to earn a dollar!”

“Now, please,” begged Dorothy, “do not talk any more about it.  When you get well I will come in and see you.  My aunt will want a great deal of sewing done.  Perhaps you may be able to come to her.”

It was actually noon-time, and Dorothy had to hurry back to The Cedars.  Miss Pumfret and the captain were still talking about old family affairs, and seemed supremely happy as she left them.  The captain, explained the nurse, was suffering more from neglect than any specific ailment, and he had already responded remarkably to treatment.

“Isn’t it a queer holiday?” Dorothy asked herself once more in the train, getting back to The Cedars.  “And now for Tavia’s troubles.”

Nat met her at the station, all smiles, but otherwise provokingly uncommunicative.

He simply would not tell her a word of what might have occurred in her absence, and she finally gave up asking him to do so.

“All right,” she assured him.  “If Tavia’s gone I’ll blame you, that’s all.”

Roger met her at the door.

“Some one’s waiting for you in the parlor, Doro,” he said, without waiting to “digest” his sister’s greeting.

Dorothy opened the parlor door.  There sat Miss Brooks and little Mary Mahon.

“We came in to wish you a merry Christmas,” said Miss Brooks, with her arm about Mary.  “This is my niece, my sister’s only child.  And I found her through your hospital play.”

In a few words Miss Brooks made it all clear to Dorothy, and repeated the story told Tavia some time before.

“She is not very strong, and I am going to take her south at once,” went on Miss Brooks, while Mary fairly beamed with delight.  She was so splendid in her new fur coat; and to think she really had a relative!

“Aunt Stella,” she ventured, “you never would have found me if Dorothy had not given me that piece.  It was because I acted—­like mamma.”

“And there is something else,” said Miss Brooks, “The matter—­about Miss Travers.  I received a letter this morning from the firm, refunding her money.  Of course, I had urged them to do so.  I would not even address envelopes for a house that would deliberately rob young girls.”