“Go to the library,” she said. “I will come to you there. I won’t be a minute.”

She went in and closed her door with hardly a sound. Then for the first time Richard realized that one of the other doors might open, and the pale, cold face of the formidable lady look out. If it was her candle he had followed, she would almost have certainly heard when he called Miss Wylder. As quietly as he could, he ran gliding through the passage and corridor and down the stairs. Arriving in the library, he lighted a candle, and, in case anyone should enter, pretended to be looking at books. Within five minutes Barbara was at his side.

“Now,” she said, and stood silent, waiting.

He told her where and in what state he had found the girl and to what a poor place he had carried her, saying he was afraid she would die unless Miss Wylder would help him.

“We need brandy,” she said. “Lady Ann has some in her room. The rest I can manage! Wait here. I will be back in three minutes.”

She went, and Richard waited—without anxiety. Whatever Barbara set her hand to seemed as good as done.

She reappeared in her red cloak, with a basket beneath it.

“Open that bay window, and don’t make a noise. They mustn’t find it undone—we have to get in that way again.”

Richard obeyed scrupulously. It was a French window, and getting out was easy.

“What if they close the shutters?” he asked.

“They don’t always,” she replied. “We must take our chance.”

He was surprised to find her leaving the house with him and leading him to the road toward the gate.

“It’s good of you to come, miss,” he ventured. “Please, give me the basket.”

She gave it to him, saying, “What else did you expect? Did you not want me to come?”

“I never thought of your coming. I only thought you would get the right things for me.”

“You don’t think I would leave the poor girl to the mercy of a man who would tell her there was nobody anywhere to help her out of her troubles.”

“I don’t think I would have told her that.”

“Perhaps. But tell me honestly,” said Barbara, “for I do believe you are an honest man—tell me, are you sure there is no God? Have you gone through all the universe looking for him and failed to find him? Is there no possible chance that there may be a God?”

“I do not believe there is.”

“But are you sure there is not? Do you know it, so that you have a right to say it?

Richard hesitated.

“I cannot say,” he answered, “that I know it as a mathematical fact, or as I know that I must not do what is wrong.”