After their marriage Anthony and Barbara hired a charming little
Georgian house at Chelsea near to the river. The drawback to
the dwelling was that it stood quite close to a place of public
entertainment called "The Gardens," very well known in those days as
the nightly haunt of persons who were not always as respectable as they
might have been. During their sojourn in London they never entered these
Gardens, but often in the summer evenings they passed them when out for
the walks which they took together, since Anthony spent most of his days
at the Temple, studying law in the chambers of a leading barrister. Thus
their somewhat fantastic gateway became impressed upon Barbara's mind,
as did the character of the people who frequented them. As, however,
their proximity reduced the rent of their own and neighbouring houses
by about one-half, personally they were grateful to these Gardens, since
the noise of the bands and the dancing did not trouble them much, and
those who danced could always be avoided.

When they had been married nearly a year a little daughter was born to
them, a sweet baby with violet eyes like to those of Barbara. Now indeed
their bliss was complete, but it was not fated that it should remain,
since the hungry sea took its sacrifice. The summer was very hot in
London, and many infants sickened there of some infantile complaint,
among them their own child. Like hundreds of others, it died when only a
few months old and left them desolate.

Perhaps Anthony was the more crushed of the two, since here Barbara's
vivid faith came to her aid.

"We have only lost her for a little while," she said, choking back her
tears as she laid some flowers on the little grave. "We shall find her