* * * * *

[Sidenote:  The Home-Coming]

Eloise went down to the three o’clock train to meet Allan, and was much surprised when Ambrose North came, too.  His eyes were bandaged, but otherwise he seemed as well as ever.  They offered to go home with him, but he refused, saying that he could go alone as well as he ever had.

They strolled after him, however, keeping at a respectful distance, until they saw him enter the grey, weather-worn gate; then they turned back.

“Is he all right, Allan?” asked Eloise, anxiously.

“I hope so—­indeed, I’m very sure he is.  The operation turned out to be an extremely simple one, though it wasn’t even dreamed of twenty years ago.  Barbara’s case was simple too,—­it’s all in the knowing how.  She has made one of the quickest recoveries on record, owing to the fact that her body is almost that of a child.  When you come down to the root of the matter, surgery is merely the job of a skilled mechanic.”

“But you’d be angry if anyone else said that.”

“Of course.”

“When do the bandages come off?”

[Sidenote:  A Case of Conscience]

“I’m going up to-morrow.  They’d have been off over a week ago, but Barbara insisted that she must see him first and ask him to forgive her for deceiving him.  She thinks she’s a criminal.”

“Dear little saint,” said Eloise, softly.  “I wish none of us ever did anything more wicked than that.”

“So do I, but there is an active remnant of a New-England conscience somewhere in Barbara.  I’m not sure that the old man hasn’t it, too.”

“Do you suppose, for a moment, that he won’t forgive her?”

“If he doesn’t,” returned Allan, concisely, “I’ll break his ungrateful old neck.  I hope she won’t stir him up very much, though—­he’s got a bad heart.”

[Sidenote:  Miriam’s Welcome]

Still, the old man showed no sign of weakness as he went briskly up the walk and knocked at his own door.  When Miriam opened it, astonishment made her welcome almost inarticulate, for she had not expected him home so soon.  He gave her the small black satchel that he carried, his coat and hat.

“How is Barbara?” he asked, eagerly.  “How is my little girl?”

“Well enough,” answered Miriam.

“Is she asleep?”

Miriam went to the stairs and called out:  “Barbara!  Oh, Barbara!” There was no answer.

She started upstairs, but he called her back.  “Don’t wake her,” he said.  “Perhaps I can take her supper up to her.”

“Suit yourself,” responded Miriam, shortly.

She did not see fit to tell him that Barbara was up and could walk.  Doctor Conrad could have told him, if he had wanted to—­at any rate, it was not Miriam’s affair.  She bitterly resented the fact that he had not even shaken hands with her when he came home, after his long absence.  She hung up his coat and hat, lighted the fire, as the room was cool, went out into the kitchen, and closed the door.