"Strange," answered Betty, with ready sympathy, "Poor child, I hope he will live."
As they reached Mr. Mellor's door, the Army man came out. He met Betty's gaze with a far-away look of intense pre-occupation.
"You will surely send word directly?" asked Mellor.
"Assuredly," he answered, in a husky voice.
As he made his answer, Betty looked once more in the face of the stranger. Again their eyes met. A scarlet flush surmounted to his temples. He turned hastily and made a hurried exit.
Betty stood thoughtful.
"You know him?" asked Mellor, surprised.
"Yes, and no, his eyes are so perfectly familiar. I must have met him somewhere. I can't place him, though."
"Come, you are getting fanciful," said Mellor gently, and he led her to his room.
Upon the bed lay out-stretched the long slim figure of a boy of fourteen. His dark curly hair was a striking contrast to the white handsome face, so death-like in its unconscious state.