ll and waited, breathing hard. A terrible
dread and curiosity came over him. It seemed as if his soul
overreached his body into that other room. Without overhearing a
word, suddenly a knowledge quite foreign to his own imagination
seemed to come to him.

Presently he heard the front door shut, then Charlotte came in alone.
She was very pale, but she had a sweet, exalted look as her eyes met
Barney's.

"Have they gone?" he asked, hoarsely.

Charlotte nodded.

"What--did they want?"

"Never mind," said Charlotte.

"I want to know."

"It is nothing for you to worry about."

"I know," said Barney.

"You didn't hear anything?" Charlotte cried out in a startled voice.

"No, I didn't hear, but I know. The church--don't--think you ought
to--stay here. They are--going to--take it--up. I never--thought of
that, Charlotte. I never thought of that."

"Don't you worry anything about it." Charlotte had never touched him,
except to minister to his illness, since she had been there. Now she
went close, and smoothed his hair with her tender hands. "Don't you
worry," she said again.

Barney looked up in her face. "Charlotte."

"What is it?"

"I--want you--to go--home."

Charlotte started. "I shall not go home as long as you need me," she
said. "You need not think I mind what they say."

"I--want you to go home."

"Barney!"

"I mean what--I say. I--want you to go--now."

"Not now?"

"Yes, now."

Charlotte drew back; her lips wore a white line. She went out into
the front south room, where she had slept. She did not come back.
Barney listened until he heard the front door shut after her. Then he
waited fifteen minutes, with his eyes upon the clock. Then he got up
out of his chair. He moved his body as if it were some piece of
machinery outside himself, as if his will were full of dominant
muscles. He got his hat off the peg, where it had hung for weeks; he
went out of the house and out of the yard.

His sister Rebecca was moving feebly up the road with her little baby
in her arms. She was taking her first walk out in the spring
sunshine. The nurse had gone away the week before. Her face was clear
and pale. All her sweet color was gone, but her eyes were radiant,
and she held up her head in the old way. This new love was lifting
her above her old memories.

She stared wonderingly over the baby's little downy head at her
brother. "It can't be Barney," she said out loud to herself. She
stood still in the roa