at
divide us now, one day we shall meet again,
purged, mayhap, of earthly longing for earthly
love.

"'But Heaven, for me, would be the hour I held you
close again. I should ask nothing more than to
tell you once more, face to face and heart to
heart, the words I write now: I love you--I love
you--I love you.'"

[Sidenote: A Discovery]

Roger put down the book and stared fixedly at the fire. Barbara's face
was very pale and the light had gone from her eyes.

"Roger," she said, in a strange tone, "Constance was my mother's name.
Do you think----"

He was startled, for his thought had not gone so far as her intuition.
"I--do--not--know," he said.

"They knew each other," Barbara went on, swiftly, "for the two families
have always lived here, in these same two houses where you and I were
born. It was only a step across the road, and they----"

[Sidenote: A Barrier]

She choked back a sob. Something new and terrible seemed to have sprung
up suddenly between her and Roger.

The blood beat hard in his ears and his own words sounded dull and far
away. "It is dated June third," he said.

"My mother died on the seventh," said Barbara, slowly,
"by--her--own--hand."

They sat in silence for a long time. Then, speaking of indifferent
things, they tried to get back upon the old friendly footing again, but
failed miserably. There was a consciousness as of guilt, on either side.

Roger tried not to think of it. Later, when he was alone, he would go
over it all and try to reason it out--try to discover if it were true.
Barbara did not need to do this, for, with a woman's quick insight, she
knew.

Secretly, too, both were ashamed, having come unawares upon knowledge
that was not meant for them. Presently, Roger went home, and was glad to
be alone in the free outer air; but, long after he was gone, Barbara sat
in the dark, her heart aching with the burden of her father's doubt and
her dead mother's secret.

VII

An Afternoon Call

The rap at the Norths' front door was of the sort which would impel the
dead to rise and answer it. Before the echo of the imperative summons
had died away, Miriam had opened it and admitted Miss Mattie.

[Sidenote: Bein' Neighbourly]

"I was sewin' over to my house," announced the visitor, settling herself
comfortably, "and I surmised as how you might be sewin' over here, so
I thought we might as