the grey, mysterious door of the Unknown! There
was no hint of weakness in the face, but Constance had died rather than
to take the chance of betraying the man who held her pledge. Barbara's
young soul answered in passionate loyalty to the wistfulness, the
hunger, and the unspoken appeal.

"He shall never know, Mother, dear," she said aloud. "I promise you
that he shall never know."

[Sidenote: Like her Mother]

The shadows grew longer, and, at length, Barbara put the picture down.
If she had on the gown, and twisted her braids around her head, she
would look like her mother even more than now. She had a fancy to try
it--to go downstairs and see what Aunt Miriam would say when she came
in. Her eyes sparkled with delight when she drew on the long white
stockings of finest silk and put on the white slippers with the
tarnished silver buckles.

The gown was too long and a little too loose, but Barbara rejoiced in
the faded brocade and in the rustle of the silk petticoat that cracked
in several places when she put it on, the fabric was so frail. The
ivory-tinted lace set off her shoulders beautifully, but she could only
guess at the effect from the brief glimpses the tiny mirror gave her.
She put on the amethyst brooch, hung the fan upon its chain and put it
around her neck. Then she wound her braids around her head and fastened
them securely with the gold hairpins. With the aid of the small-gold
mirror, she put the comb in place, and loosened the soft hair on either
side, so that it covered the tops of her ears.

She walked back and forth a few times, the full length of the attic,
looking back to admire the sweep of her train. Then she sat down upon
the decrepit sofa, trying to fancy herself a stately lady of long ago.
The room was very still, and, without knowing it, Barbara had wearied
herself with her unaccustomed exertion. Her white woollen gown and soft
low shoes lay in a little heap on the floor near the window. She must
not forget to take them when she went down to look in the mirror.

Presently, she stretched herself out upon the sofa, wondering, drowsily,
whether her mother would have lain down to rest in that splendid
brocade. She did not intend to sleep, but only to rest a little before
going downstairs to surprise Aunt Miriam. Nevertheless, in a few minutes
she was fast asleep and dreaming.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: The Home-Coming]

Eloise went down to the three o'clock tr