More and more Barbara threw out her soul towards Anthony. Across the
void of Nothingness she sent it travelling, nor did it return with
empty hands. Something of Anthony had greeted it, though she could
not remember the greeting, had spoken with it, though she could not
interpret the words. Of this at least she was sure, she had been near to
Anthony.

Once she seemed to see him. In the infinite, infinite distance, millions
of miles away, the sky opened as it were. There in the opening was
Anthony talking with one whom she knew for their daughter, the baby that
had died, talking of her. In a minute they were gone, but she had seen
them, she was sure that she had seen them, and the knowledge warmed her
heart.

So there was no error, the Bible was true, more or less; Faith was not
built on running water or on sand. Life was not a mere hellish mockery,
where tiaras turned to crowns of thorn and joy was but an inch rule by
which to measure the alps of human pain. Life was a door, a gateway.
The door dreadful, the gate perilous, if you will, but beyond it lay no
dream, no empty blackness. Beyond it stretched the Promised Land peopled
with the lost who soon would be the found.



Barbara's last illness was rapid. When she began to go she went swiftly.

"Can't you save her?" asked her son of one of the doctors.