"My mother died on the seventh," said Barbara, slowly,
"by--her--own--hand."

They sat in silence for a long time. Then, speaking of indifferent
things, they tried to get back upon the old friendly footing again, but
failed miserably. There was a consciousness as of guilt, on either side.

Roger tried not to think of it. Later, when he was alone, he would go
over it all and try to reason it out--try to discover if it were true.
Barbara did not need to do this, for, with a woman's quick insight, she
knew.

Secretly, too, both were ashamed, having come unawares upon knowledge
that was not meant for them. Presently, Roger went home, and was glad to
be alone in the free outer air; but, long after he was gone, Barbara sat
in the dark, her heart aching with the burden of her father's doubt and
her dead mother's secret.




VII

An Afternoon Call


The rap at the Norths' front door was of the sort which would impel the
dead to rise and answer it. Before the echo of the imperative summons
had died away, Miriam had opened it and admitted Miss Mattie.