"Tell John to bring Peggy to the door at once, please," directed her mistress.

"Billy!" gasped Aunt Hannah again, as the maid disappeared. Billy was tremblingly putting on the hat she had but just taken off. "Billy, what are you going to do?"

Billy turned in obvious surprise.

"Why, I'm going to Bertram, of course."

"To Bertram! But it's nearly half-past eight, child, and it rains, and everything!"

"But Bertram _wants_ me!" exclaimed Billy. "As if I'd mind rain, or time, or anything else, _now!_"

"But--but--oh, my grief and conscience!" groaned Aunt Hannah, beginning to wring her hands again.

Billy reached for her coat. Aunt Hannah stirred into sudden action.

"But, Billy, if you'd only wait till to-morrow," she quavered, putting out a feebly restraining hand.

"To-morrow!" The young voice rang with supreme scorn. "Do you think I'd wait till to-morrow--after all this? I say Bertram _wants_ me." Billy picked up her gloves.

"But you broke it off, dear--you said you did; and to go down there to-night--like this--"

Billy lifted her head. Her eyes shone. Her whole face was a glory of love and pride.

"That was before. I didn't know. He _wants_ me, Aunt Hannah. Did you hear? He _wants_ me! And now I won't even--hinder him, if he can't--p-paint again!" Billy's voice broke. The glory left her face. Her eyes brimmed with tears, but her head was still bravely uplifted. "I'm going to Bertram!"

Blindly Aunt Hannah got to her feet. Still more blindly she reached for her bonnet and cloak on the chair near her.

"Oh, will you go, too?" asked Billy, abstractedly, hurrying to the window to look for the motor car.

"Will I go, too!" burst out Aunt Hannah's indignant voice. "Do you think I'd let you go alone, and at this time of night, on such a wild-goose chase as this?"

"I don't know, I'm sure," murmured Billy, still abstractedly, peering out into the rain.

"Don't know, indeed! Oh, my grief and conscience!" groaned Aunt Hannah, setting her bonnet hopelessly askew on top of her agitated head.

But Billy did not even answer now. Her face was pressed hard against the window-pane.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII. BERTRAM TAKES THE REINS

With stiffly pompous dignity Pete opened the door. The next moment he fell back in amazement before the impetuous rush of a starry-eyed, flushed-cheeked young woman who demanded:

"Where is he, Pete?"

"Miss Billy!" gasped the old man. Then he saw Aunt Hannah--Aunt Hannah with her bonnet askew, her neck-bow awry, one hand bare, and the other half covered with a glove wrong side out. Aunt Hannah's cheeks, too, were flushed, and her eyes starry, but with dismay and anger--the last because she did not like the way Pete had said Miss Billy's name. It was one matter for her to object to this thing Billy was doing--but quite another for Pete to do it.

"Of course it's she!" retorted Aunt Hannah, testily. "As if you yourself didn't bring her here with your crazy messages at this time of night!"

"Pete, where is he?" interposed Billy. "Tell Mr. Bertram I am here--or, wait! I'll go right in and surprise him."

"_Billy!_" This time it was Aunt Hannah who gasped her name.

Pete had recovered himself by now, but he did not even glance toward Aunt Hannah. His face was beaming, and his old eyes were shining.

"Miss Billy, Miss Billy, you're an angel straight from heaven, you are--you are! Oh, I'm so glad you came! It'll be all right now--all right! He's in the den, Miss Billy."

Billy turned eagerly, but before she could take so much as one step toward the door at the end of the hall, Aunt Hannah's indignant voice arrested her.

"Billy-stop! You're not an angel; you're a young woman--and a crazy one, at that! Whatever angels do, young women don't go unannounced and unchaperoned into young men's rooms! Pete, go tell your master that _we_ are here, and ask if he will receive _us_."

Pete's lips twitched. The emphatic "we" and "us" were not lost on him.

But his face was preternaturally grave when he spoke.

"Mr. Bertram is up and dressed, ma'am. He's in the den. I'll speak to him."

Pete, once again the punctilious butler, stalked to the door of Bertram's den and threw it wide open.

Opposite the door, on a low couch, lay Bertram, his head bandaged, and his right arm in a sling. His face was turned toward the door, but his eyes were closed. He looked very white, and his features were pitifully drawn with suffering.

"Mr. Bertram," began Pete--but he got no further. A flying figure brushed by him and fell on its knees by the couch, with a low cry.

Bertram's eyes flew open. Across his face swept such a radiant look of unearthly joy that Pete sobbed audibly and fled to the kitchen. Dong Ling found him there a minute later polishing a silver teaspoon with a fringed napkin that had been spread over Bertram's tray. In the hall above Aunt Hannah was crying into William's gray linen duster that hung on the hall-rack--Aunt Hannah's handkerchief was on the floor back at Hillside.

In the den neither Billy nor Bertram knew or cared what had become of Aunt Hannah and Pete. There were just two people in their world--two people, and unutterable, incredible, overwhelming rapture and peace.

Then, very gradually it dawned over them that there was, after all, something strange and unexplained in it all.

"But, dearest, what does it mean--you here like this?" asked Bertram then. As if to make sure that she was "here, like this," he drew her even closer--Bertram was so thankful that he did have one arm that was usable.

Billy, on her knees by the couch, snuggled into the curve of the one arm with a contented little sigh.

"Well, you see, just as soon as I found out to-night that you wanted me, I came," she said.

"You darling! That was--" Bertram stopped suddenly. A puzzled frown showed below the fantastic bandage about his head. "'As soon as,'" he quoted then scornfully. "Were you ever by any possible chance thinking I _didn't_ want you?"

Billy's eyes widened a little.

"Why, Bertram, dear, don't you see? When you were so troubled that the picture didn't go well, and I found out it was about me you were troubled--I--"

"Well?" Bertram's voice was a little strained.

"Why, of--of course," stammered Billy, "I couldn't help thinking that maybe you had found out you _didn't_ want me."

"_Didn't want you!_" groaned Bertram, his tense muscles relaxing. "May I ask why?"

Billy blushed.