ok her head and passed to her mirror,
saying, slowly, "God shall smite thee, thou whited wall." She glanced at
the glass, but the redness of its fellow matched the smitten cheek, and
she hurried to the door.

"Barb"--the tone was a deep whine--she stopped without looking back.
"Don't say anything to your mother to startle her. The slightest shock
may kill her."

Barbara entered the mother's chamber. Johanna was standing by a window.
The daughter beamed on the maid, and turned to the bed; but
consternation quenched the smile when she beheld her mother's face.

"Why, mom-a, sweet."

A thin hand closed weakly on her own, and two sunken blue eyes, bright
with distress, looked into hers. "Where is he?" came a feeble whisper.

"Pop-a? Oh, he's coming. If he doesn't come in a moment, I'll bring
him." The daughter's glance rested for refuge on the white forehead.
"Shall I go call him?"

The pallid lips made no reply, the sunken eyes still lay in wait.
Barbara racked her mind for disguise of words, but found none. There was
no escape. Even to avoid any longer the waiting eyes would confess too
much. She met them and they gazed up into hers in still anguish.
Barbara's answered, with a sweet, full serenity. Then without a word or
motion came the silent question,

"Did he strike you?"

And Barbara answered, audibly. "No."

She rose, adding, "Let me go and bring him." Conscience rose also and
went with her. Just outside the closed door she covered her face in her
hands and sank to the floor, moaning under her breath,

"What have I done? What shall I do? Oh God! why couldn't--why _didn't_ I
lie to _him_?" She ran down-stairs on tiptoe.

Her father, with Pettigrew at his side, was offering enthusiasm to a
Geometry class. "Young gentlemen, a swift, perfect demonstration of a
pure abstract truth is as beautiful and delightful to me--to any
uncorrupted mind--as perfect music to a perfect ear."

But hearing that his daughter was seeking him, he withdrew.

The two had half mounted the stairs, when a hurried step sounded in the
upper hall, and Johanna leaned wildly over the rail, her eyes streaming.

"Miss Barb! Miss Barb! run here! run! come quick, fo' de love of God!
Oh, de chariots of Israel! de chariots of Israel! De gates o' glory
lif'n up dey head!"

Barbara flew up the stairs and into her mother's room. Mr. Pettigrew
stood silent among the crystalline beauties of mathematical truth, and a
dozen students leaped to t