“Little girl,” said Allan, in his deep, tender voice; “dear little girl.  Nobody on earth could blame you for doing that, least of all your father.  If he’s half the man I think he is, he’ll only love you the more for doing it.”

Barbara looked up at him, her deep blue eyes brimming with tears.  “Do you think,” she asked, chokingly, “that he ever can forgive me?”

[Sidenote:  A Promise]

Allan laughed.  “In a minute,” he assured her.  “Of course he’ll forgive you.  But I’ll promise you that you shall see him first.  As far as that is concerned, I can take the bandages off myself, after he comes home.”

“Can you really?  And will you?”

“Surely.  Now don’t fret about it any more.  Let’s see how you’re getting on.”

In an instant the man was pushed into the background and the great surgeon took his place.  He went at his work with the precision and power of a perfect machine, guided by that unspoken sympathy which was his inestimable gift.  He tested muscles and bones and turned the joint in its socket.  Barbara watched his face anxiously.  His forehead was set in a frown and his eyes were keen, but the rest of his face was impassive.

“Sit up,” he said.  “Now, turn this way.  That’s right—­now stand up.”

Barbara obeyed him, trembling.  In a minute more he would know.

“Stand on this side only.  Now, can you walk?”

“No,” answered Barbara, in a sad little whisper, “I can’t.”  She reached for her faithful crutches, which leaned against the foot of the bed, but Doctor Allan snatched them away from her.

“No,” he said, with his face illumined.  “Never again.”

[Sidenote:  New Hopes]

Barbara gasped.  “What do you mean?” she asked, terror and joy strangely mingling in her voice.

“Never again,” Doctor Allan repeated.  “You’re never to have your crutches again.”

Barbara gazed at him in astonishment.  She stood there in her little white night-gown, which was not long enough to cover her bare pink feet, with a great golden braid hanging over either shoulder and far below her waist.  Her blue eyes were very wide and dark.

“Am I going to walk?” she asked, in a queer little whisper.

“Certainly, except when you’re riding, or sitting down, or asleep.”

“I can’t believe it,” she answered, with quivering lips.  Then she threw her arms around Doctor Allan’s neck and kissed him with the sweet impulsiveness of a child.

“Thank you,” he said, softly.  “Now we’ll walk.”

[Sidenote:  Walking Again]

He put his arm around her and Barbara took a few stumbling steps.  Aunt Miriam opened the door and came in.

“Look,” cried Barbara.  “I’m walking.”

“So I see,” replied Miriam.  “I heard the noise and came up to see what was the matter.  I thought perhaps you wanted something.”  She retreated as swiftly as she had come.  Allan stared after her and seemed to be on the verge of saying something very much to the point, but fortunately held his peace.