n o'clock.
But, in two hours, she could have made little progress with her
embroidery, and she chose to take for herself two hours of life, out of
what might prove to be the last night she had to live.

When Roger opened the gate, Barbara took her crutches and rose out of
her low chair.

"Don't," he said. "I'm coming to you."

She had brought out another chair, with great difficulty, in
anticipation of his coming. Her own was near the moonflower that climbed
over the tiny veranda and was now in full bloom. The white, half-open
trumpets, delicately fragrant, had more than once reminded him of
Barbara herself.

"What a brute I'd be," thought Roger, with a pang, "if I had
disappointed her."

"I'm so glad," said Barbara, giving him a cool, soft little hand. "I
began to be afraid you couldn't come."

"I couldn't, just at first, but afterward it was all right. How are
you?"

"I'm well, thank you, but I'm going to be made better to-morrow. That's
why I wanted to see you to-night--it may be for the last time."

Her words struck him with chill foreboding. "What do you mean?"

"To-morrow, some doctors are coming down from the city, with two nurses
and a few other things. They're going to see if I can't do without
these." She indicated the crutches with an inclination of her golden
head.

"Barbara," he gasped. "You mustn't. It's impossible."

"Nothing is impossible any more," she returned, serenely.

"That isn't what I meant. You mustn't be hurt."

[Sidenote: A Wonderful World]

"I'm not going to be hurt--much. It's all to be done while I'm asleep.
Miss Wynne, a lady from the hotel, brought Doctor Conrad to see me.
Afterward, he came again by himself, and he says he is very sure that it
will come out all right. And when I'm straight and strong and can walk,
he's going to try to have father made to see. A fairy godmother came in
and waved her wand," went on Barbara, lightly, "and the poor became rich
at once. Now the lame are to walk and the blind to see. Is it not a
wonderful world?"

"Barbara!" cried Roger; "I can't bear it. I don't want you changed--I
want you just as you are."

"Such impediments as are placed in the path of progress!" she returned.
Her eyes were laughing, but her voice had in it a little note of
tenderness. "Will you do something for me?"

"Anything--everything."

"It's only this," said Barbara, gently. "If it should turn out the
other way, will you keep father from being lonely? Miss W