. Bal--who had been young
as morning--reached the rich maturity of summer noon.

The thing Somerled would have prevented had happened; but the reins were
out of his hands, and it would do more harm than good to snatch at them.
None of us moved, but we were nearer than any one else to the mother and
daughter, near enough to hear every word they said to each other.

"Oh, mother, it's I--your daughter Barrie, come to find you," the girl
faltered. "You know--Barribel. You named me. I've run away from
Grandma----"

"My goodness--_gracious_!" gasped Mrs. Bal, her brown eyes immense. In
her groping bewilderment, her blank amaze, she looked younger again, her
rather full face very round, almost childish, her dimples deepening in
the peachy flush of her cheeks. She stared at Barrie as if the girl were
a doll come alive--an extremely complicated, elaborate, embarrassing
doll, copied from herself and let loose upon the world. And Barrie did
not take her eyes from the beautiful, surprised face for an instant. In
her wistful suspense she scarcely breathed. "Oh, do love me--do be glad
to see me!" her soul implored through its wide-open windows.

The silence, falling after Mrs. Bal's astonished gasp, lasted but an
instant, though it seemed long to us who waited. To others at a
distance, others who knew nothing of the story, whose sight and hearing
were not morbidly sharpened, the little scene probably meant no more
than a surprise meeting between the well-known actress and a very pretty
girl enough like her to be a sister. But to us who did know the
story--and something of Mrs. Bal--the pause was like the pause in court
while the jury is absent.

Mrs. Bal was thinking, observing, making up her mind. Suddenly she broke
out laughing--a nervous, yet impish laugh, and seized the girl by both
hands. At the same time she bent forward--not down, for Barrie is as
tall as she--kissed the girl on both cheeks, and whispered something.

It was a brief whisper. She could have said no more than half a dozen
words, but they stupefied Barrie. She threw back her head, almost as if
to avoid a blow. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she pressed her lips
together in a spasmodic effort at self-control. The bright rose-red of
excitement was drained from her face; but she did not draw away from her
mother, who still held the girl's hands. All she did was to turn her
head with a bird-like quickness and fling one glance at Somerled.

I don't know whether o