Then he was gone.
Dorothy flew back to her room, agitated, but comforted that Ned was resting. This knowledge seemed to assure her that he was not seriously injured, and now she took up the Tavia question.
"She must not go home," Dorothy repeated. "I will see if she is still up."
A glimmer of light stole under Tavia's door. Dorothy tapped lightly, but opened the door unbidden. She found her chum bent over pen and paper, but as Dorothy came in Tavia dropped the pen and looked up in surprise.
"Tavia," began Dorothy, "I came to coax you to stay—you must not go home to-morrow. I will telegraph your father. He was always so—kind to me. And when he hears all about it—about Ned and all—I am sure he will not be angry."
"I cannot," answered Tavia. "I must go."
"Oh, please, Tavia, do listen! If you go, what will you say? What will you do?"
"I don't know."
"Tavia!" pleaded Dorothy, a note of distress in her voice.
The two girls looked into each other's eyes. Dorothy's were brimful, but Tavia's were too "frozen" for tears.