her eyes as directed.

A moment passed. No sound came but the rhythmic ticking. The inventor's
face was white. His eyes, dark, held a gleam and a prayer. Another
space, and then very slowly a shadowy line of color played upon the
glass set between the two tubes; color so faint, so delicate, that
Suzanna wondered if she saw clearly.

But the color strengthened, and at last all saw plainly a line of rich
deep purple touched with gold. It remained there triumphant upon the
glass, a royal bar.

Silent moments breathed themselves away, for the test had come and it
had not failed. Suzanna, at last moving her gaze from the color
registered, turned to her father. She saw, with a leap of the heart,
that his eyes were wet. He seemed to have turned to an immovable image,
and yet never did life seem to flow out so richly from him.

Peter broke the quiet. "What does it mean, daddy, that color?" he asked.

Suddenly galvanized, Mr. Procter ran to the stairs outside. His voice
rang out like a bell.

"Jane, come, come!"

Mrs. Procter, in the kitchen, caught the exultant note in his voice. She
was stirring batter for a cake, but she flung down the spoon and ran up
the stairs.

"Oh, Richard, what is it," she cried, as she reached him. His eyes,