t refused to reckon with the barrier of a grave, but
triumphantly went past it to clasp the dead Beloved closer still.

[Sidenote: A Vague Dream]

Of late, she had been thinking much of her mother. Until Roger had found
his father's letter, and she had received her own, upon her
twenty-second birthday, she had felt no sense of loss. Constance had
been a vague dream to her and little more, in spite of her father's
grieving and her instinctive sympathy.

With the letters, however, had come a change. Barbara felt a certain
shadowy relationship and an indefinite bereavement. She wondered how her
mother had looked, what she had worn, and even how she had dressed her
hair. Since her father had gone to the hospital, she had wondered more
than ever, but got no satisfaction when she had once asked Aunt Miriam.

She finished the garment upon which she was working, threaded the narrow
white ribbon into it, folded it in tissue paper and put it into the
chest. It was the last of the second set and Eloise had ordered six.
"Four more to do," thought Barbara. "I wonder whether she wants them all
alike."

The afternoon shadows had begun to lengthen, and it was Saturday. It was
hardly worth while to begin a new piece of work before Monday morning,
especially since she wanted to ask Eloise about a new pattern. Doctor
Conrad was coming down for the weekend, and probably both of them would
be there late in the afternoon, or on Sunday.

"How glad he'll be," said Barbara, to herself. "He'll be surprised when
he sees how well I can walk. And father--oh, if father could only come
too." She was eager, in spite of her dread.

[Sidenote: In the Attic]

Simply for the sake of exercise, Barbara climbed the attic stairs and
came down again. After she had rested, she tried it once more, but was
so faint when she reached the top that she went into the attic and sat
down in an old broken rocker. It was the only place in the house where
she had not been since she could walk, and she rather enjoyed the
novelty of it.

A decrepit sofa, with the springs hanging from under it, was against the
wall at one side, far back under the eaves. It was of solid mahogany and
had not been bought by the searchers for antiques because its
rehabilitation would be so expensive. That and the rocker in which
Barbara sat were the only pieces of furniture remaining.

There were several trunks, old-fashioned but little worn. One was Aunt
Miriam's, one was her father'