[Sidenote:  The Dominant Chord]

“Yet it is always beautiful, whether you see it grey or blue; whether it is mad with rage or moaning with pain, or only crooning a lullaby as the world goes to sleep.  And in all the wonderful music there is one dominant chord, for the song of the sea, as of the world, is Love.

“Long ago, Barbara—­so long ago that it is written in only the very oldest books, Love was born in the foam of the sea and came to dwell upon the shore.  And so the sea, singing forever of Love, creeps around the world upon an unending quest.  When the tide sweeps in with the cold grey waves, foam-crested, or in shining sapphire surges that break into pearls, it is only the sea searching eagerly for the lost.  So the loneliness and the beauty, the longing and the pain, belong to Love as to the sea.”

“Oh, Daddy,” breathed Barbara, “I want it so.”

“What, dear?  The sea?”

“Yes.  The music and the colour and the vastness of it.  I can hardly wait until I can go.”

There was a long silence.  “Why didn’t you tell me?” asked the old man.  “There would have been some way, if I had only known.”

“I don’t know, Daddy.  I think I’ve been waiting for this way, for it’s the best way, after all.  When I can walk and you can see, we’ll go down together, shall we?”

“Yes, dear, surely.”

“You must help me be patient, Daddy.  It will be so hard for me to lie here, doing nothing.”

“I wish I could read to you.”

“You can talk to me, and that’s better.  Roger will come over some day and read to me, when he has time.”

“He was with me yesterday, while——­”

“I know,” she answered, softly.  “I asked him.  I thought it would make it easier for you.”

[Sidenote:  Father and Daughter]

“My baby!  You thought of your old father even then?”

“I’m always thinking of you, Daddy, because you and I are all each other has got.  That sounds queer, but you know what I mean.”

The calm, strong young woman in blue and white came back into the room.  “She mustn’t talk,” she said, to the blind man.  “To-morrow, perhaps.  Come away now.”

“Don’t take him away from me,” pleaded Barbara.  “We’ll be very good and not say a single word, won’t we?”

“Not a word,” he answered, “if it isn’t best.”

[Sidenote:  Peaceful Sleep]

The afternoon wore away to sunset, the shadows grew long, and Barbara lay quietly, with her little hand in his.  Long lines of light came over the hills and brought into the room some subtle suggestion of colour.  Gradually, the pain came back, so keenly that it was not to be borne, and the kind woman with the bit of silver in her hand leaned over the bed once more.  Quickly, the poppies brought their divine gift of peace again.  And so, Barbara slept.

Then Ambrose North gently loosened the still fingers that were interlaced with his, bent over, and, so gently as not to waken her, took her boy-lover’s kiss from her lips.