“Perhaps. I must think about it.”

“That is right. Only don’t let us begin with suspicion. You did me more than one kindness not knowing I was your brother. And you sent Miss Brown back to Barbara after our father sent me back to London.”

“She was your mare. I knew that is what you would have wanted done.”

“Nevertheless, it was very considerate. I thank you.”

Arthur turned away.

“My dear fellow,” said Richard, “Barbara loved me when I was a bookbinder, and promised to marry me thinking me base-born. I had my sorry time of it then. Your good time is, I trust, coming. I did nothing to bring about the change. It was circumstances beyond either of our control. I thought about leaving everything to you, and simply keeping to my trade. But I saw that I had no right to do so, because duties attend the property which I could not neglect.”

“I believe every word you say, Richard. You are nobler than I!”

— Fifty-Seven —

Barbara’s Dream

Mr. Wylder could not very well object to sir Richard Lestrange on the ground that his daughter had loved him before she knew his position. Within two months they were married. Lady Ann was invited but did not go to the wedding. Arthur, Theodora, and Victoria did. Percy was not at home.

Neither bride nor bridegroom saw any sense in setting out on a journey the moment they were free to be at home together, and they went straight from the church to Mortgrange.

When they entered the hall which had so moved Richard’s admiration the first time he saw it, he stood for a moment lost in thought. When he came to himself, Barbara had left him. But before he had time to wonder where she had gone, such a burst of organ music filled the place as might have welcomed one that had overcome the world. He stood entranced for a minute, then hastened to the gallery. There he found Barbara at the instrument.

“What!” he cried in astonishment. “You play like that!”

“I wanted to be worth something to you, Richard.”

“Oh Barbara, you are a queen at giving! I was well named, for I am Richard indeed!—oh, so rich!”

In the evening they went out into the park as the moon was rising. The sunlight was not quite gone. Her light mingled with the light that gave it her.

“How different the moonlit shadow is,” said Richard, “from the sunny realm of the radiant Christ! Jesus rose again because he was true, and death had no part in him. This world’s day is but the moonlight of his world.”

They wandered along, now talking, now silent, their two hearts lying together in a great peace.

The moon kept rising and brightening, slowly victorious over the pallid light of the dying sun, at last she lifted herself out of the vaporous horizon, ascended over the treetops, and went walking through the unobstructed sky, mistress of the air, queen of the heavens, lady of the eyes of men. Yet she was lady only because she beheld her lord. She saw the light of her light, and told what she saw of him.