This was Anthony's last outing, but he lived till Christmas Eve, his
son's eighth birthday. That morning the boy was brought into his room
to receive some present that his father had procured for him, and
warned that he must be very quiet. Quiet, however, he would not be; his
tumultuous health and strength seemed to forbid it. He racketed about
the room, teasing the spaniel which lay by the side of the bed, until
the patient beast growled at him and even bit, or pretended to bite
him. Thereon he set up such a yell of pain, or anger, or both, that his
father struggled from the bed to see what was the matter, and so brought
on the haemorrhage which caused his death.

"I am afraid you will have trouble with that child, Barbara," he gasped
shortly before the end. "He seems to be different from either of us; but
he is our son, and I know that you will do your best for him. I leave
him in your keeping. Good night, dearest, I want to go to sleep."



Then he went to sleep, and Barbara's heart broke.



CHAPTER VII

BARBARA'S SIN

The months following Anthony's death were to Barbara as a bad dream.
Like one in a dream she saw that open, wintry grave beneath the tall
church tower about whose battlements the wind-blown rooks wheeled on