“Barbara?” It was Miriam’s voice, calling softly from an upper window.  “You mustn’t stay up late.  Remember to-morrow.”

“All right, Aunty.”  Her answer carried with it no hint of impatience.  “I forgot that we weren’t in the house,” she added, to Roger, in a low tone.

“Must I go?” To-night, for some reason, he could not bear even the thought of leaving her.

“Not just yet.  I’ve been thinking,” she continued, in a swift whisper, “about my mother and—­your father.  Of course we can’t understand—­we only know that they cared.  And, in a way, it makes you and me something like brother and sister, doesn’t it?”

“Perhaps it does.  I hadn’t thought of that.”

[Sidenote:  The Barrier Broken]

All at once, the barrier that seemed to have been between them crashed down and was forgotten.  Mysteriously, Roger was very sure that those four days had held no wrong—­no betrayal of another’s trust.  His father would not have done anything which was not absolutely right.  The thought made him straighten himself proudly.  And the mother of the girl who leaned toward him, with her beautiful soul shining in her deep eyes, could have been nothing less than an angel.

“To-morrow”—­began Roger.

[Sidenote:  “To-morrow is Mine”]

“To-morrow was made for me.  God is giving me a day to be made straight in.  To-morrow is mine, but—­will you come and stay with father?  Keep him away from the house and with you, until—­afterward?”

“I will, gladly.”

Barbara rose and Roger picked up her crutches.  “You’ll never have to do that for me again,” she said, as she took them, “but there’ll be lots of other things.  Will you take in the chairs, please?”

A lump was in his throat and he could not speak.  When he came out, after having made a brief but valiant effort to recover his self-control, Barbara was standing at the foot of the steps, leaning on her crutches, with the moon shining full upon her face.

Roger went to her.  “Barbara,” he said, huskily, “my father loved your mother.  For the sake of that, and for to-morrow, will you kiss me to-night?”

Smiling, Barbara lifted her face and gave him her lips as simply and sweetly as a child.  “Good-night,” she said, softly, but he could not answer, for, at the touch, the white fire burned in his blood and the white magic of life’s Maytime went, singing, through his soul.

XI

Barbara’s “To-morrow”

The shimmering white silence of noon lay upon the land.  Bees hummed in the clover, gorgeous butterflies floated drowsily over the meadows, and far in the blue distance a meadow-lark scattered his golden notes like rain upon the fields.

[Sidenote:  A Cold Shadow]

The world teemed with life, and yet a cold shadow, as of approaching death, darkened the souls of two who walked together in the dusty road that led from the hills to the sea.  The old man leaned heavily upon the arm of the younger, and his footsteps faltered.  The young man’s face was white and he saw dimly, as through a mist, but he tried to keep his voice even.