t Barbara Golding, who
was in the schoolroom, piously employed, Agnes said, in putting the
final touches to Janet's trousseau. He went across the square to the
schoolroom, and, looking through the window, saw that she was quite
alone. A few moments later he stood at the schoolroom door with Louis
Bachelor. With his hand on the latch he hesitated. Was it not fairer
to give some warning to either? Too late! He opened the door and they
entered. She was sewing, and a book lay open beside her, a faded, but
stately little figure whose very garments had an air. She rose, seeing
at first only John Osgood, who greeted her and then said: "Miss Golding,
I have brought you an old friend."

Then he stepped back and the two were face to face. Barbara Golding's
cheeks became pale, but she did not stir; the soldier, with an
exclamation of surprise half joyful, half pathetic, took a step forward,
and then became motionless also. Their eyes met and stayed intent. This
was not quite what the young man had expected. At length the soldier
bowed low, and the woman responded gravely. At this point Osgood
withdrew to stand guard at the door.

Barbara Golding's eyes were dim with tears. The soldier gently said, "I
received--" and then paused. She raised her eyes to his. "I received a
letter from you five-and-twenty years ago."

"Yes, five-and-twenty years ago."

"I hope you cannot guess what pain it gave me."

"Yes," she answered faintly, "I can conceive it, from the pain it gave
to me."

There was a pause, and then he stepped forward and, holding out his
hand, said: "Will you permit me?" He kissed her fingers courteously, and
she blushed. "I have waited," he added, "for God to bring this to pass."
She shook her head sadly, and her eyes sought his beseechingly, as
though he should spare her; but perhaps he could not see that.

"You spoke of a great obstacle then; has it been removed?"

"It is still between us," she murmured.

"Is it likely ever to vanish?"

"I--I do not know."

"You can not tell me what it is?"

"Oh, you will not ask me," she pleaded.

He was silent a moment, then spoke. "Might I dare to hope, Barbara, that
you still regard me with--" he hesitated.

The fires of a modest valour fluttered in her cheeks, and she pieced out
his sentence: "With all my life's esteem." But she was a woman, and she
added: "But I am not young now, and I am very poor."

"Barbara," he said; "I am not rich and I am old; but you, you hav