can see, I shall draw a large check, and we will start at the
first possible moment. The greatest blessing of money, I think, is the
opportunity it gives for travel. I have been glad, too, so many times,
that we are able to afford all these doctors and nurses. Think of the
poor people who must suffer always because they cannot command services
which are necessarily high-priced."

Barbara's senses reeled and the cold, steel fingers clutched more
closely at the aching fibre of her heart. Until this moment, she had not
thought of the financial aspects of her situation--it had not occurred
to her that Doctor Conrad and the blue and white nurses and even the
red-haired young man would expect to be paid. And when her father went
to the hospital--"I shall have to sew night and day all the rest of my
life," she thought, "and, even then, die in debt."

[Sidenote: The Lie]

But over and above and beyond it all stood the Lie, that had lived in
her house for twenty years and more and was now to be cast out,
if--Barbara's heart stood still in horror because, for the merest
fraction of an instant, she had dared to hope that her father might
never see again.

"I could not have gone alone," the old man was saying, "and even if
I could, I should never have left you, but now, I think, the time is
coming. I have dreamed all my life of the strange countries beyond the
sea, and longed to go. Your dear mother and I were going, in a little
while, but--" His lips quivered and he stopped abruptly.

[Sidenote: Three Things]

"What would you see, Daddy, if you had your choice? Tell me the three
things in the world that you most want to see." With supreme effort,
Barbara put self aside and endeavoured to lead him back to happier
things.

"Three things?" he repeated. "Let me think. If God should give me back
my sight for the space of half an hour before I died, I should choose to
see, first, your dear mother's letter in which she says that she died
loving me; next, your mother herself as she was just before she died,
and then, dear, my Flower of the Dusk--my baby whom I never have seen.
Perhaps," he added, thoughtfully, "perhaps I should rather see you than
Constance, for, in a very little while, I should meet her past the
sunset, where she has waited so long for me. But the letter would come
first, Barbara--can you understand?"

"Yes," she breathed, "I understand."

The hope in her heart died. She could not ask for the letter. He took i