Joan lay still, looking up at him, her eyes growing larger and deepening with intelligence as her memory returned. Suddenly she cried: "I remember now. Are the men safe?"
"They are recovering," Mr. Hegan tried to say, but his voice failed as he spoke.
"And who saved me?"
"Your brother," answered Bishop Hegan. "Six other men ran to your help, but four gave out, and Tom outstripped the other two by yards of climbing. He caught you just as you were falling, and handed you out to a rescue party on the roof."
Joan looked affectionately at her brother. "I'd have done the same for him," she said, simply. Her glance travelled on to her father's white face and shaking hands. She sat upright suddenly, anxious and inquiring. "Why, father dear, what ever's the matter? You are just as white and jumpity as you can be. I never saw you like this. You haven't had any lunch, have you? Well, I think we all had better go home to eat something. I'm awfully hungry myself. Help me up, Tom." The elders hung back as the two young people drew together.
Bishop Hegan held out his hand—the brothers stood clasping each other.
"God bless my boy!" said Mr. Hegan, feelingly. "He has earned his independence, if ever a man did." The Bishop was openly wiping his eyes.
"God bless my little girl! She may be as romantic as a milkmaid, and talk like a sailor-taught parrot if she chooses, with no more scoldings from me. My dear Tom, it's the Fourth of July. Do you remember how one year ago to-day you were laying down the law to the young rebels?"
"Yes, I remember, and to-day they are playing Washington to my King George."
"Well, not exactly," said the Bishop. "You see, you were imposing nothing unreasonable last year."