“In the darkness, he could not see the garden, but she was still there, bringing divine consolation with her touch, and whispering to him always of the perfect flower so soon to be their own.

“When it blossomed, the man could not see it, but the one who walked beside him told him that it was as pure and fair as they had prayed it might be.  They enjoyed it together for a year, and he saw it through her eyes.

“Then she went to God’s Garden, and he was left desolate and alone.  He cared for nothing and for a time even forgot the flower that she had left.  Weeds grew among the flowers, nettles and thistles took possession of the walks, and strange vines choked with their tendrils everything that dared to bloom.

[Sidenote:  A Perfect Flower]

“One day, he went out into the intolerable loneliness and desolation, and, groping blindly, he found among the nettles and thistles and weeds the one perfect white blossom.  It was cool and soft to his hot hand, it was exquisitely fragrant, and, more than all, it was part of her.  Gradually, it eased his pain.  He took out the weeds and thistles as best he could, but there was little he could do, for he had left it too long.

“The years went by, but the flower did not fade.  Seeking, he always found it; weary, it always refreshed him; starving, it fed his soul.  Blind, it gave him sight; weak, it gave him courage; hurt, it brought him balm.  At last he lived only because of it, for, in some mysterious way, it seemed to need him, too, and sometimes it even seemed divinely to restore the lost.

“Flower of the Dusk,” he said, leaning to Barbara; “what should I have been without you?  How could I have borne it all?”

[Sidenote:  Strength for the Burden]

“God suits the burden to the bearer, I think,” she answered, softly.  “If you have much to bear, it is because you are strong enough to do it nobly and well.  Only the weak are allowed to shirk, and shift their load to the shoulders of the strong.”

“I know, but, Barbara—­suppose——­”

“There is nothing to suppose, Daddy.  Whatever happened would be the best that could happen.  I’m not afraid.”

Her voice rang clear and strong.  Insensibly, he caught some of her own fine courage and his soul rallied greatly to meet hers.  From her height she had summoned him as with a bugle-call, and he had answered.

“The ways of the Everlasting are not our ways,” he said, “but I will not be afraid.  No, I will not let myself be afraid.”

X

In the Garden

[Sidenote:  A Summer Evening]

The subtle, far-reaching fragrance of a Summer night came through the open window.  A cool wind from the hills had set the maple branches to murmuring and hushed the incoming tide as it swept up to the waiting shore.  Out in the illimitable darkness of the East, grey surges throbbed like the beating of a troubled heart, but the shore knew only the drowsy croon of a sea that has gone to sleep.