ng for something that he misses," Miss Moines explained,
wonderingly. "What do you suppose it can be?"

"He wants--_her_."

Barbara found her at the street door, pleading with Steptoe, who
actually held her by the arm. The loud whisper down the stairs was a
cry as well as a command.

"Come!"

At the bedroom door they parted. With a light instinctive push Barbara
forced Letty to go back to the spot on which she had stood earlier.
She herself went to the other side of the bed, only to find that the
head, in which the eyes were closed again, was now turned that way.

As if aware that some mysterious decision was approaching Miss Moines
kept herself in the background. Steptoe had hardly advanced from the
threshold. Neither of the women by the bedside seemed to breathe.

When the eyes opened for the third time the intelligence in them was
keener. On Barbara they rested long, quietly, kindly, till memory came
back.

With memory there was again that restless stirring, that complaining
moan. Once more, slowly, distressfully, the head turned on the
pillow.

On Letty the long, quiet, kindly regard lay as it had lain on Barbara.
They waited; but in the look there was no more than that.

From two hearts two silent prayers were going up.

"Oh, God, end it somehow--and let me have _peace_!"

"Oh, God, make him live again--and give them to each other!"

Then, when no one was expecting it, a faint smile quivered on the
lips, as if the returning mind saw something long desired and
comforting. Faintly, feebly, unsteadily, the hands were raised toward
the dust flower. The lips moved, enough to form dumbly the one word,
"Come!"

The invitation was beyond crediting. Letty trembled, and shrank back.

But from the support of the pillow the whole figure leaned forward.
The hands were lifted higher, more firmly and more longingly. Strength
came with the need for strength. A smile which was of life, not death,
beamed on the features and brought color to the face which had all
these hours seemed carved in stone.

"He'll do now," the nurse threw off, professionally. "He'll be up in a
few days."

It was Barbara who gave the sign to both Steptoe and Miss Moines. By
the imperiousness of her gesture and her uplifted head she swept them
out before her. If she was leaving all behind her she was leaving it
superbly; but she wasn't leaving all. Back of her tumultuous passions
a spirit was crying to her spirit, "Now you'll get what you