"Tell your dear father, if he still lives, that he has been very good to me, that I appreciate all his kindness, gentleness, patience, and the beautiful love he has given me. Tell him I am sorry I have failed him——"
"Oh, dear God!" he cried. "She fail?"
"That I have not been a better wife," Barbara went on, brokenly. "Tell him I have loved him, that I love him still, and have never loved him more than I do to-day.
"Forgive me, both of you, and love me if you can. Your Mother."
In the tense silence, Barbara folded up both sheets and put them back into the envelope. Still, she did not dare to look at her father. When, at last, she turned to him, sorely perplexed and afraid, he was still sitting at her bedside. He had not moved a muscle, but he had changed. If molten light had suddenly been poured over him from above, while the rest of the room lay in shadow, he could not have changed more.
As by Magic
The sorrowful years had slipped from him, and, as though by magic, Youth had come back. His shoulders were still stooped, his face and hands wrinkled, and his hair was still as white as the blown snow, but his soul was young, as never before.
"Barbara," he breathed, in ecstasy. "She died loving me."
The slender white hand stole out to his, half fearfully. "Yes, Daddy, I've always told you so, don't you know?" Her senses whirled, but she kept her voice even.
"She died loving me," he whispered.