CHAPTER XIX
PAUL AND HAZEL
Meanwhile, at another bed of sickness sat a girl pale and wan from nights and days of anxiety. Hazel Hastings had left the motor girls' tour and hurried to her sick brother with more apprehension stirring her heart than the report of his actual condition warranted. Paul had always been subject to peculiar spells—shocks they were termed—but Hazel knew what collapse meant, or what it might mean, unless—
Brother and sister were to each other what the whole world might be to others. Paul had kept up well under the strain of the hold-up, but when suspicion was pointed at him he collapsed.
Who could be at the back of the defaming scheme to spread the report? Who could have dared to say that he was in league with whoever took those papers from the mailbag?
"Are you better, Paul?" murmured the girl. "You had a lovely sleep."
"Oh, yes," he sighed. "I feel almost good. If only my head would stop throbbing. What time is it?"
"Almost noon, dear, and Clip will soon be here."
"Will she fetch the morning papers? I must see how the thing is going on. They were to go to court this morning."
"Now you must not think of that, you know, Paul," commanded the girl gently. "If you are to grow strong enough to go and take your own part you will have to leave the others alone. There is nothing new, or I should have told you."