issed her twice. "Flower of the
Dusk," he had said, with surpassing tenderness, "when I come back, the
dusk will change to dawn. If the darkness lifts I shall see you first,
and so, for a little while, good-bye."

He had gone downstairs quickly and lightly, as one who is glad to go.
When she last saw him, he was walking ahead of the young doctor and the
nurse, straight and eager and almost young again, sustained by the same
boundless hope that had given Barbara strength for her ordeal.

[Sidenote: Dr. Conrad Comes Again]

It was almost two weeks before Doctor Conrad came down. He had been
obliged, lately, to miss several Sundays with Eloise. When Aunt Miriam
came and told Barbara that he was downstairs, she felt a sudden, sharp
pang of disappointment, not for herself, but for him. He had tried so
hard and done so much, and to know that he had failed-- Even in the face
of her own bitter outlook, she could be sorry for him.

But, when he came in, he did not seem to need anyone's sympathy. He was
so magnificently young and strong, so full of splendid vitality.
Barbara's failing courage rose in answer to him and she smiled as she
offered a frail little hand.

"Well, little girl," said Doctor Allan, sitting down on the bed beside
her, "how goes it?"

"Tell me about father," begged Barbara, ignoring the question.

[Sidenote: The Main Trouble]

"Father is doing very well," Allan assured her. "He has recovered nicely
from the operation and we have strong hope for the sight of one eye if
not for both. I can almost promise you partial restoration, but, of
course, it is impossible to tell definitely until later. His heart is
very weak--that seems to be the main trouble now."

Barbara lay very still, with her eyes closed.

"Aren't you glad?" asked Doctor Allan, in surprise.

"Yes," answered Barbara, with difficulty. "Indeed, yes. I was just
thinking."

"A penny for your thoughts," he smiled.

"Are they going to take off the bandages there at the hospital?"

"Why, yes--of course."

"They mustn't!" cried Barbara, sitting up in bed. "Or, if they have to,
I must go there. Doctor Conrad, I must see my father before he regains
his sight."

"Why?" asked Allan. "Don't cry, little girl--tell me."

His voice was very soothing, and, as he spoke, he took hold of her
fluttering hands. The strong clasp was friendly and reassuring.

"Because I've lied to him," sobbed Barbara.

"I've made him think we were rich instead of p