e had been peace--but only for a little while. Constance
still came, though intermittently, and reproached Miriam for betraying
her trust.

[Sidenote: The One Betrayal]

As Barbara's twenty-second birthday approached, Miriam sometimes
wondered whether Constance would not cease to haunt her after the other
letter was delivered. She had been faithful in all things but
one--surely she might be forgiven the one betrayal. The envelope was
addressed, in a clear, unfaltering hand: "To My Daughter Barbara. To be
opened upon her twenty-second birthday." In her brief note to Miriam,
Constance had asked her to destroy it unopened if Barbara should not
live until the appointed day.

She had said nothing, however, about the other letter--had not even
alluded to its existence. Yet there it was, apparently written upon a
single sheet of paper and enclosed in an envelope firmly sealed with
wax. The monogram, made of the interlaced initials "C.N.," still
lingered upon the seal. For twenty years and more the letter had waited,
unread, and the hands that once would eagerly have torn it open were
long since made one with the all-hiding, all-absolving dust.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: At Supper]

At supper, Ambrose North still had his fine linen and his Satsuma cup.
Miriam sat at the other end, where the coarse cloth and the heavy dishes
were. She used the fine china for Barbara, also, washing it carefully
six times every day.

The blind man ate little, for he was lonely without the consciousness
that Barbara sat, smiling, across the table from him.

"Is she asleep?" he asked, of Miriam.

"Yes."

"She hasn't had her supper yet, has she?"

"No."

"When she wakes, will you let me take it up to her?"

"Yes, if you want to."

"Miriam, tell me--does Barbara look like her mother?" His voice was full
of love and longing.

"There may be a slight resemblance," Miriam admitted.

"But how much?"

[Sidenote: The Same Old Question]

A curious, tigerish impulse possessed Miriam. He had asked her this same
question many times and she had always eluded him with a vague
generalisation.

"How much does she resemble her mother?" he insisted. "You told me once
that they were 'something alike.'"

"That was a long time ago," answered Miriam. She was breathing hard and
her eyes glittered. "Barbara has changed lately."

"Don't hide the truth for fear of hurting me," he pleaded. "Once for all
I ask you--does B