There could be no doubt that Mr. Reynolds was very ill. A white-uniformed nurse was installed at the cottage, the doctor came daily, looking ever graver and graver, while there were worried wrinkles in Miss Miranda’s forehead and she began to look very thin and white. Mrs. Bassett, the farmer’s wife, coming over to pay her promised visit and finding her dear friend in such trouble, arranged hastily that some one else should take care of her own household and installed herself in the kitchen so that Miss Miranda should be free to wait upon her father. The old man lay, for the greater part of the time, in a dull stupor, waking only now and again to partial consciousness.

Elizabeth and David gave all the help that they could, but it seemed that there was little to be done. Many nights Betsey spent at the cottage when she guessed that Miss Miranda felt lonely and depressed, although her friend’s cheerful spirit would never admit failing courage.

“He will be better to-morrow,” she would keep saying when it was found impossible to declare that he was better to-day.

Betsey had another burden on her mind, the close approach of her college examinations. She happened to be of the sort that takes examinations with difficulty, that cannot keep from worry, excitement and misgivings beforehand. David’s, of course, were coming also, and were far more formidable than hers. The Scientific School which he was entering had rigid requirements and offered a test of knowledge in which not even the boy’s native wit and his hard study could be certain of success. There had been so many ups and downs in his education, he had worked with so little guidance, that there was no denying that the odds were against him. He said little of his worries, however, merely toiled away as the day came ever nearer.

He and Elizabeth were apt to sit on the doorstep of the cottage to do their lessons during these long spring evenings that were beginning to change to summer ones. One reason for their doing so was that Miss Miranda liked to have them near, but it was not to be denied that there was another one. Neither one of them said much of that strange light that they had seen moving about the ruins of the old house, but both had clear remembrance of it and, until they had opportunity to investigate it thoroughly, had no special desire to sit at dusk beside the starry pool.

Miss Miranda came out one evening to talk with them on the stone step and to hear how their work was faring. When questioned about her father she was still able to answer cheerfully, although it was plain that it cost some effort to do so.

“The doctor says that he may be ill a long time,” she said at last. “He had been working hard, too hard for any one who is so old, and for the last few months, when he came near to the end of his experiments, he had been under the pressure of great excitement. And I think, though he would never say so, that sometimes the very weariness and suspense made him wonder if the invention was to be a success. I know that he had written to one of his scientific friends, the chief mechanical engineer for a great construction company, to come and inspect the new machine and that he was more disappointed than he could quite hide, that there had been no answer. He used to ask me several times a day about the letters. So when Donald came—”

The mention of letters had brought to Betsey such a sudden recollection that she interrupted.

“There were some letters that night; your cousin brought them, and they were never opened. Perhaps one of them is what your father hoped for. I think they are still lying on the table in his shop.”

She sped away to fetch them with great eagerness and came back with the handful of correspondence, much of it evidently mere advertisements, but with one slim envelope that had possibilities. There was no chance that the stricken man upstairs could read it, so that Miss Miranda, without hesitation, tore the envelope open. Betsey and David watched her face intently as she read.

“It is what he wished for,” she told them when she had finished. “Mr. Garven, the man to whom he wrote, seems to be much interested and even excited about the new machine, for he says that the gas turbine principle is one over which many people have been working, but no one with any success. He says that he will come to see it at any time that my father appoints.” She refolded the letter slowly. “It is rather bitter,” she added, with a trifle of a catch in the voice that had been so brave and steady until now, “rather bitter that this should have come by Donald’s hand and just too late!”

“But it is not too late,” Betsey protested with vehemence. “David can show this man the machine, he has helped your father and knows just how it should run. And I am sure that the news that the invention has been tested and proved a success would help to make Mr. Reynolds well again. Oh, do try it—do try it.”

She was bouncing up and down on the doorstep in her enthusiasm over the plan. To her great delight David supported the idea heartily.

“There is no reason why any one who knows about such things should not see in a moment that the machine is a success,” he declared. “And it would surely do all of us good to find that your cousin was wrong.”

“It might be so,” Miss Miranda agreed slowly. Elizabeth and David could actually hear the rising hope in her voice. “We can at least try. Oh, if it could only mean that things could right themselves at last!”

A telegram was dispatched by David that very night and an anxious period of waiting was spent thereafter at the white cottage.

“He is to come on Monday afternoon, that’s the day before our examinations begin,” Betsey told David when the final message from Mr. Garven had been received. She was so openly excited and impatient that it seemed impossible to endure quietly the slow passing of four days.

“It will help us to forget the examinations are so near,” returned David.

He was not often willing to admit his reluctance to see approach that day when he was to try his fate, but it was plain that he could not think of it with much pleasure or confidence. It meant too much to him, and the obstacles to his proper preparation had been too great.

Monday came, Monday morning, seeming to be divided by the space of a year from Monday afternoon. Even Miss Miranda was openly nervous and as for Betsey, she could scarcely contain herself in her agony of suspense. If the scientist who was coming could actually pronounce the invention a success it would mean not only the remedying of present troubles that lay heavy on the household, but it would mark the end of a long period of struggle, self-denial and alternations of hope and discouragement.

David met Mr. Garven at the train, with the two assistants who had come with him, for this examination of a new invention, produced by a man of the reputation and skill of Mr. Reynolds, was no small thing. Betsey scanned them anxiously as they entered the house and observed that Mr. Garven was gray-haired, with a clever, alert face, possibly the same age as Miss Miranda’s father, but with more of briskness and vigor. The time seemed endless to her as they sat talking to their hostess in the living room, but in reality it was brief, for it was plainly the wish of every one that the business in hand be reached at once.

Miss Miranda was very quiet, but Elizabeth could see that her hand trembled as she opened the door of the shop.

“David will show you everything,” she told them. It was evident that she spoke briefly because she was too nervous to say more. She and Elizabeth lingered by the door while David led the visitors forward.

For the first time Betsey noticed the unusual order of the place. Always before, when Mr. Reynolds and David worked there, the shelves and benches had been covered with tools and drawings and the table piled with papers. She knew that no person had recently put the room to rights, for no one, not even David, dared move anything for fear of misplacing it. Yet now the shop was so bare and tidy that it seemed Mr. Reynolds himself must have set things in final order, meaning truly never to work there again.

Along the walls were ranged the earlier machines from which the great idea had developed, while at the far end of the room stood the final model, the perfected dream of ten years’ toil. It was the same one that had run wild and attempted to ruin itself on that day when Betsey and David came to the rescue. The strangers bent over it examining every crank and bolt with silent, intent interest. There was nothing said for a long time. It was one of the assistants who, bursting out at last, broke the silence.