THE SEVENTH DAY
THE STONE IS ROLLED AWAY
When Christobel recovered consciousness and opened her eyes, she foundherself in bed, in her own room, at home.
Martha bent over her.
The morning light entered dimly, through closed curtains.
In dumb anguish of mind, she looked up into Martha's grim old face.
"Tell me where you have laid him," she said, "and I will take him away."
Martha snorted.
"I've laid your tea-tray on the table beside your bed, Miss," she said;"and when you 'ave finished with it, _I_ will take it away."
Whereupon, Martha lumbered to the large bow-window, drew back all thecurtains with a vigorous clatter of brass rings, and let in a blaze ofmorning sunshine.
Christobel lay quite still, trying to collect her thoughts.
One of her pillows was clasped tightly in her arms.
She lifted her left hand, and looked at it.
No ring encircled the third finger.
"Martha," she called, softly.
Martha loomed large at the side of the bed.
"What is to-day?"
"Wednesday, Miss," replied Martha, too much surprised to becontemptuous.
"Martha--where is Mr. Chelsea?"
"Lord only knows," said Martha, tragically.
"Martha--is he--living?"
"Living?" repeated Martha, deliberately. Then she smiled, her crookedsmile. "Living don't express it, Miss Christobel. Lively's more likeit, when Mr. Guy is concerned. And I reckon, wherever 'e is, e'smakin' things lively somewhere for somebody. You don't look quite thething this morning, Miss. Sit up and take your tea."
She sat up, loosing the pillow out of her arms--the pillow which hadbeen, first her Little Boy Blue, as she drew him to her in thedarkness; then the dead body of Guy Chelsea, as she lifted it on thebreakwater.
She took her tea from Martha's hand, and drank it quickly. She wantedMartha to go.
It was Wednesday! Then the Boy had left her only the day beforeyesterday. His telegram had come last night. The Professor's proposalhad not yet reached her.
Martha lifted the tray and departed.
Then Christobel Charteris rose, and stood at her open window, in themorning sunlight. She looked out upon the mulberry-tree and the longvista of soft turf; in the dim distance, the postern gate in the oldred wall--his paradise, and hers.
She lifted her beautiful arms above her head. The loose sleeves of hernightdress fell away, baring them to the elbows. She might have stood,in her noble development of face and form, for a splendid statue ofhope and praise.
"Ah, dear God!" she breathed, "is it indeed true? Is it possible? Ismy Boy alive? And am I free--free to be his alone? Am I free to givehim all he wants, free to be all he needs?"
She stood long at the window motionless, realizing the mentaladjustment which had come to her during the strenuous hours of thenight.
Her dream had taught her one great lesson: That under no circumstanceswhatever, can it be right for a woman to marry one man, while with herwhole being she loves another. Love is Lord of all. Love reignsparamount. No expectations, past or present, based on friendship orgratitude; no sense of duty or obligations of any kind could make amarriage right, if, in view of that marriage, Love had to stand by withbroken wings.
She felt quite sure, now, that she could never marry the Professor; andhumbly she thanked God for opening her eyes to the wrong she hadcontemplated, before it was too late.
But there still remained the difficult prospect of having to disappointa man she esteemed so highly; a man who had been led to believe shecared for him, and had waited years for him; a man who, for years, hadset his heart upon her. This was a heavy stone, and it lay right inthe path of perfect bliss which she longed to tread with her Little BoyBlue.
Who should roll it away?
Could she feel free to take happiness with the Boy, if she haddisappointed and crushed a deeply sensitive nature which trusted her?
She dressed, and went down to the breakfast-room, her soul filled, inspite of perplexities, with a radiance of glad thanksgiving.
Martha and Jenkins came in to prayers. Martha had now taken to curlingall her wisps. She appeared with many frizzled ringlets, kept in placeby invisible pins.
Martha always came in to prayers, as if she were marching at the headof a long row of men and maids. Jenkins followed meekly, placing hischair at what would have been the tail of Martha's imaginary retinue.According to the triumphant dignity of Martha's entry, Jenkins placedhis chair near or far away. Martha was in great form to-day. Jenkinssat almost at the door. If the door-bell rang during prayers, thefirst ring was tacitly ignored; but if it rang again, Martha signed toJenkins, who tiptoed reverently out, and answered it. No matter howearly in the morning's devotions the interruption occurred, Jenkinsnever considered it etiquette to return. Miss Charteris used to dreada duet alone with Martha. She always became too intensely conscious ofherself and of Martha, to be uplifted as usual by the inspired words ofBible and Prayer-book. The presence of Jenkins at once constituted acongregation.
On this particular morning, no interruptions occurred.
The portion for the day chanced to be the scene at the empty tomb, inthe early dawn of that first Easter Day, as given by Saint Mark.
The quiet voice vibrated with unusual emotion as Miss Charteris read:
"_And very early in the morning, the first day of the week, they cameunto the sepulchre at the rising of the sun. And they said amongthemselves, Who shall roll us away the stone from the door of thesepulchre? And when they looked, they saw that the stone was rolledaway: for it was very great._"
Christobel Charteris paused. She seemed to see the shore atDovercourt, and the brave little figure struggling to carry the heavystone; and, later on when the cannon-ball lay safely in the castlecourt-yard, Little Boy Blue standing erect, with lifted cap, andshining eyes, a picture of faith triumphant.
"_I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not._"
How far were the happenings of this strange night owing to that deadmother's prayers; and to the Boy's unfailing faith, even through thesehard days?
Miss Charteris could read no farther. She closed the Bible. "Let uspray," she said, and turned to the Collect for the week.
"_O God, Whose never-failing providence ordereth all things both inheaven and earth: We humbly beseech Thee to put away from us allhurtful things, and to give us those things which be profitable for us;through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen._"
* * * * *
On the breakfast-table, beside her plate, lay the Professor's letter.She had known it would be there.
She poured out her coffee and buttered her toast.
Then she opened the letter.
"My dear Ann"----
After the nightmare through which she had just passed, this beginningscarcely surprised her. She glanced back at the envelope to make quitesure it was addressed to herself; then read on. It was dated theevening before, from the Professor's rooms in College.
"MY DEAR ANN,--I regret to have been unable to look in upon you thisevening, on my return from town, and my duties will keep me from payingyou a visit until to-morrow, in the late afternoon. Hence this letter.
"Needless to say, I have been thinking over, carefully, the remarkablestatement you saw fit to make to me, concerning the feelings andexpectations of our young friend. It came to me as a genuine surprise.I have always looked upon our friendship as purely Platonic; basedentirely upon the intellectual enjoyment we found in pursuing ourclassical studies together.
"I admit, I cannot bring myself to contemplate matrimony with muchenthusiasm.
"At the same time, your feeling in the matter being so strong, and mysense of gratitude toward my late friend, a thing never to beforgotten; if you are quite sure, Ann--and I confess it seems to mealtogether incredible--that our young friend entertains, toward me,feelings which will mea
n serious disappointment to her, if I fail----"
This brought the letter to the bottom of the first page.
Without reading any farther, Miss Charteris folded it, and replaced itin the envelope.
The indignant blood had mounted to the roots of her soft fair hair.But already, in her heart, sounded a song of wondering praise.
"_And when they looked, they saw that the stone was rolled away: for itwas very great._"
The iron gate of the front garden swung open. Hurried steps flew upthe path. Emma, poor soul, had been told to _fly_; and Emma had flown.She almost fell into the arms of Jenkins, as he opened the hall door.
The note with which Emma had run, at a speed which was now causing her"such a stitch as never was," came from Miss Ann, and was marked"_urgent_" and "_immediate_."
The corners of Christobel's proud mouth curved into a quiet smile asshe took it from the salver. She had expected this note.
"Take Emma downstairs, Jenkins," she said. "Ask Martha to give her acup of coffee, and an egg, if she fancies it. Tell Emma, I wish her tosit down comfortably and rest. The answer to this note will be readyin about half an hour; not before."
Miss Charteris finished her coffee and toast, poured out a fresh cup,and took some marmalade. She did not hurry over her breakfast.
When she had quite finished, she rose, and walked over to thewriting-table. She sat down, opened her blotter, took paper andenvelopes; found a pen, and tried it.
Then she opened Miss Ann's letter, marked "urgent" and "immediate."
"SWEETEST CHILD" (wrote Miss Ann)--"See what Kenrick has done! We--youand I--_so_ understand his dear absent-minded ways. He wrote thisletter to you last night, and, owing to his natural emotion and tensionof mind, addressed it to me! Needless to say, I have read only theopening sentences. Darling Christobel, you will, I feel sure, overlookthe very natural mistake, and not allow it in any way to affect youranswer to my brother's proposal. Remember how difficult it is for_great_ minds to be accurate in the _small_ details of _daily_ life. Ihave known Kenrick to put two spoonfuls of mustard into a cup ofcoffee, stir it round, and drink it, _quite_ unaware that anything waswrong--I have indeed! See how our dear Professor needs a _wife_!
"I feel quite foolishly anxious this morning. Do send me one line ofassurance that all is well. You cannot but be touched by my brother'sletter. From beginning to end, it breathes the faithful devotion of alifetime. Do not misunderstand the natural reticence of one whollyunaccustomed to the voicing of sentiment. I only wish you could hearall he _says_ to me!"
Then followed a few prayers and devout allusions to Providence--whichbrought a stern look to the face of Miss Charteris--and, with a whiffof effusive sentiment, Ann Harvey closed her epistle.
An open letter from the Professor to herself was enclosed; but this,Christobel quietly laid aside.
She took pen and paper, and wrote at once the note for which Emmawaited.
"DEAR ANN,--I enclose a letter from your brother which came, addressedto me, this morning, but was evidently intended for you. I have readonly the first page, which was quite sufficient to make the true stateof affairs perfectly clear to me.
"Providence has indeed interposed, by means of the Professor'sabsent-minded ways, to prevent the wrecking of three lives--mine, yourbrother's, and that of the man I love; to whom I shall be betrothedbefore the day is over.
"I shall not tell the Professor that I have seen a portion of hisletter to you. I think we owe it to him not to do so. He has alwaysbeen a true and honourable friend to me.
"Yours, "C. C."
When Emma had duly departed with this letter and enclosure, MissCharteris breathed more freely. She had been afraid lest, in herrighteous indignation, in her consciousness of the terrible mischief sonearly wrought, she should write too strongly to Miss Ann, thus causingher unnecessary pain.
It was quite impossible, to the fine generosity of a nature such asthat of Christobel Charteris, really to understand the mean,self-centred, unscrupulous dishonesty of an action such as this of MissAnn's. From the calm heights whereon she walked, such small-mindedselfishness of motive did not come within her field of vision. Shecould never bring herself to believe worse of Miss Ann than that, insome incomprehensible way, she had laboured under a delusion regardingherself and the Professor.
Miss Ann disposed of, she turned to the Professor's letter.
It was not the letter of her dream, by any means; nor was it the lettershe had sometimes dreamed he would write.
It was straightforward and simple; and, holding the key to thesituation, she could read between the lines a certain amount ofdismayed surprise, which made her heartily sorry for her old friend.
The Professor touched on their long friendship, his regard for herparents, his sincere admiration for herself; their unity of interestsand congeniality of tastes; his sudden change of fortunes; quoted alittle Greek, a little Sanskrit, and a little Persian; then, fortifiedby these familiar aids to the emotions, offered her marriage, invaliant and unmistakable terms.
Christobel's heart stood still as she realized that not one word inthat letter would have revealed to her the true state of the case.Truly, under Providence, she had cause to bless the Professor's "dearabsent-minded ways."
As she took pen and paper to reply to his letter, her heart felt verywarm toward her old friend. She gave him full credit for the effortwith which he had done what he had been led to consider was the rightthing toward her.
"MY DEAR PROFESSOR" (she wrote),--"I rejoice to hear of your goodfortune. It is well indeed when the great thinkers of the world arerendered independent of all anxious taking of thought as to what theyshall eat, or what they shall drink, or wherewithal they shall beclothed. I like to think of you, my friend, as now set completely freefrom all mundane cares; able to give your undivided attention to thework you love.
"I appreciate, more than I can say, the kind proposition concerningmyself, which you make in your letter. I owe it to our friendship totell you quite frankly that I feel, and have long felt, how great anhonour it would be for any woman to be in a position so to administeryour household as to set you completely free for your greatintellectual pursuits.
"But marriage would mean more than this, and our long friendshipemboldens me to say that I should grieve to see you--owing perhaps topressure or advice from others--burden your life with family ties forwhich you surely do not yourself feel any special inclination.
"And, now, my friend, I must not close my letter without telling youhow great a happiness has come into my lonely life. I am about tomarry a man whom--" Miss Charteris paused, and looked through the openwindow to the softly moving leaves of the old mulberry-tree. A gleamof amusement shone in her eyes, curving her lips into a tender smile.The Boy seemed beside her, slapping his knee and rocking with merrimentat the way she was about to bewilder Miss Ann and the Professor--"a manwhom I have known and loved for over twenty years.
"I am sure you will wish me joy, dear Professor.
"Believe me, always, "Gratefully and affectionately yours, "CHRISTOBEL CHARTERIS."
She rang the bell, and sent the answer to the Professor's letter, byJenkins. She could not wait for the slow medium of the post. Shecould not let him remain another hour in the belief that, in order tosave her from disappointment, he was compelled to marry ChristobelCharteris.
She stood at the breakfast-room window, and watched Jenkins as hehurried down the garden with the note. Going by the lane, and taking ashort cut across the fields, he would reach the Professor's rooms in aquarter of an hour. Until then, life was somewhat intolerable.
The proud blood mantled again over the face, the strong sweet beauty ofwhich the Boy so loved. Her letter to the Professor had not been easyto write. She had had to be true to herself, and true to him, in thelight of what she knew to be his real feeling in the matter; bearing inmind that before long he would almost certainly learn from Miss Annthat she had replied to his proposal after having read h
is sentimentson the subject, so candidly expressed on the first page of his letterto his sister.
To relieve her mind, after this intricate whirl ofcross-correspondence, she took up the _Daily Graphic_, and opened it,casually turning the pages.
Suddenly there looked out at her from the central page, the merry,handsome, daring face of her own Little Boy Blue. He was seated in hisflying-machine steering-wheel in hand, looking out from among manywires. His cap was on the back of his head, his bright eyes lookedstraight into hers; his firm young lips, parted in a smile, seemed tosay; "I jolly well mean to do it!" It was the very picture she hadseen in the Professor's _Daily Mirror_, in her dream of the nightbefore. Below was an account of the flight from Folkestone which hewas about to attempt.
Then she remembered, with a shock of realization, that the flightacross the Channel, round Boulogne Cathedral and back, was to takeplace on that very day. His telegram, of the night before, had said:"I am going to do a big fly to-morrow. Wish me luck." Ah, what if itended as she had seen it end in her dream: great broken wings; a massof tangled wire; and the Boy--_her_ Boy--with matted hair, and woundedhead, asleep beneath the sailcloth!
Her heart stood still.
With their perfect joy so near its fulfilment, she could not let himtake the risk. Was there time to stop him?
She looked at the paper. The start was for 2 p.m. It was now eleveno'clock.
She remembered his last words: "When you want me and send--why, I willcome from the other end of the world."
She never quite knew how she reached the telegraph-office. It seemedalmost as dreamlike as her flight from the top to the bottom of theFolkestone cliffs. But it was not a dream this time; it was desperatereality.
Why do people always break the points of the pencils hanging fromstrings in the telegraph-offices? Surely it is possible to write atelegram without stubbing off the pencil, and leaving it in thatcondition, for the next person in a hurry.
She flew from compartment to compartment, and at last produced her ownpencil, and wrote her telegram in the final section of the row,independent of official broken points.
"_Do not fly to-day. Come to me. I want you._
"_Christobel._"
She addressed it to the hotel from which he had telegraphed on theprevious day; but added to the address: "If not there, send immediatelyto aviation sheds." She had no idea what to call the places, but thissounded well, and seemed an intuition, or an unconscious recollectionof some remark of the Boy's.
She handed it over the counter. "Please see that it goes through atonce," she said.
The clerk knew her. "Yes, Miss Charteris," he replied. He beganreading the message aloud, but almost immediately stopped, and checkedthe words off silently. He glanced at the clock. "It should be therebefore noon, Miss Charteris," he said.
He did not look at her, as he passed her the stamps. He had longthought her one of the finest women who stepped in and out of thepost-office. He had never expected to see her hands tremble. Andfancy _any_ woman--even _she_--being able to tell Guy Chelsea not tofly! He had a bet on, about that flight, with an enthusiastic backerof Chelsea's. He was glad he had taken the odds against its comingoff, before seeing this wire. But--after all! It is easy enough to_ask_ a chap not to fly; but----
He took up a copy of the _Daily Mirror_, and looked at the bravesmiling face. "I jolly well mean to do it!" the young aeronaut seemedto be saying. The clerk laughed, and shook his head. "Hurry up thatwire," he called to the operator. Then he jingled the loose change inhis pockets. "I wonder," he said.
* * * * *
During the hours which followed, Christobel Charteris knew suspense.
Perhaps that strong, self-contained nature could never have fullysounded the depths of its own surrender, without those hours ofuncertainty, when nothing stood between her and the man she loved, butthe possibility that her telegram would fail to reach him; that hewould carry out his dangerous flight; that disaster and death wouldovertake him and wrest him from her, and that he would die--Guy Chelseawould die--without ever knowing of the cup of bliss she was now ready,with utterly loving hand, to hold to his lips.
Having sent her message, there was nothing more she could do, and theburden of inaction seemed almost too great a weight to carry, duringthe hours which must elapse, before his coming could turn uncertaintyinto assurance; restlessness, into peace.
It did not occur to her, as a possibility, that Guy Chelsea would electto fly, after receiving her request. She knew her slightest wish wouldbe law to the Boy's tender loyalty; and though he knew nothing of hercause for anxiety, nor of the complete change of circumstances since heleft her, not forty-eight hours before, she felt sure he would not fly;she felt certain he would come--if--_if_ the message reached him intime.
At two o'clock it came to her, with overwhelming certainty, that hermessage had not reached him, and that he had started on his flight.She seemed to see the great wings mounting--mounting; then skimmingover the sea. She almost heard the hum he had so often described--thehum of the giant insect on which the bird-man flew.
Her own Little Boy Blue was flying through space. O God, what mightnot any minute be bringing! He had said: "One never expects thosethings to happen, and when they do happen, it's over so quickly thatthere is no time for expectation." Was it happening now? Was it goingto be over so quickly, that her cup of bliss would be dashed from herlips untasted? Was she to lose her all, because of a cross-current ora twisted wire?
She was walking up and down the garden now, and paused beside the chairin which she had sat when he had said, only seven days ago: "It wasalways you I wanted; not your niece. Good heavens! How can you havethought it was Mollie, when it was you--you--just only you, all thetime?" And she, half-laughing at him, had asked: "Is this a proposal?"
"My ALL," she said. "Oh, Boy dear, my ALL. If I lose you, I lose myALL."
She walked on slowly, moving to the repetition of those words. Itseemed a comfort to repeat the great fact that, at last, he was this toher. Surely it would reach him, by some sort of wireless telegraphythrough space. Surely it would control cross-currents, keep propellersacting as they should; steering-gear from twisting.
"O God, he is my ALL--he is my ALL!"
* * * * *
The afternoon sun began to glint through the trees.
The jolly little "what-d'-you-call-'ems" lifted pale anxious faces tothe sky.
Clocks all around chimed the hour of four.
Suddenly her limbs weakened. She could walk no longer.
She sank into a chair, beneath the mulberry-tree.
In a few minutes Jenkins would bring out tea. Would Martha havearranged a tea such as the Boy loved, with cups for two, hotbuttered-toast and explosive buns?
What a boy he was, at heart--this man who had won her; what a gay,laughter-loving boy!
She lay back, very still, under the mulberry-tree, and lived againthrough each of the Boy's days, from the first to the sixth.
She kept her eyes closed. The sunlight, glinting through the mulberryleaves, fell in bright patches on her white gown, and on her softgolden hair.
The garden was very still. All nature seemed waiting with the heartthat waited.
"_Little Boy Blue, come blow me your horn!_"
"I shall blow it all right on the seventh day," the Boy had said; "andwhen I do, you will hear it."
This was the seventh day.
Suddenly the horn of a motor tooted loudly in the lane.
She rose, her hands clasped upon her breast, and stood waiting
A shaft of golden sunlight streamed down the garden, and seemed tofocus on the postern gate.
Then the gate swung open and the Boy came in, slamming it behind him.She saw him coming up the lawn toward her, bareheaded; the sunlight inhis shining eyes.
"I couldn't wait for trains," he shouted. "I came by motor. And Ijolly well exceeded the speed-limit all th
e way!"
She moved a few steps to meet him.
"Boy dear," she said, "you always exceed all speed-limits. It is a wayyou have. Exceed them as much as you like, so long as I am with youwhen you do it. But--oh, my Little Boy Blue!--don't fly again; for, ifyou fall and break your wings, indeed you will break my heart."
In a moment she was sobbing on his breast, her arms flung around him.There was nothing broken or limp about his strong young body, pulsatingwith life.
He put his arms about her, holding her in a clasp of close possessivetenderness.
He did not yet understand what had happened; but he knew the great gifthe desired had been given him. He waited for her to speak.
She lifted her face to his.
"Guy," she said; "ah, take me, hold me, keep me! I am altogether yourown. I will explain to you fully, by and by. The stone was verygreat; but lo, as we reached it, the Angel of the Lord had rolled itaway.... No other man has a shadow of claim over me. I am free tosay, to the only man I have ever really loved: Take me; I am yours.Oh, Boy! I am altogether yours."
He bent over her.
The sweet proud lips were parted in utter surrender, and lifted to his.
He paused--just for one exquisite moment, of realization.
She waited his kiss with closed eyes, so she did not see the radianceof his face, as he looked up to the blue sky, flecked with fleetingwhite clouds. But she heard the voice, which from that hour was tomake the music of her life:
"Thank the Lord," said Little Boy Blue.
Then--he kissed her.
* * * * *
"_And the evening and the morning were the seventh day._"
_List of_
MRS. BARCLAY'S NOVELS
By FLORENCE L. BARCLAY
THE ROSARY
Over One Million Copies Sold
_Translated into French, German, Norwegian, Swedish, Polish, Finnish,Dutch, and Spanish._
"The sentiment is never mawkish; it rings true, and throughout thewhole story there is a vein of elevating emotion which should attractlovers of wholesome fiction."--_Times_.
THE MISTRESS OF SHENSTONE
"A youthful sentiment, fresh and romantic, flows through Mrs. Barclay'snew book, and gives to the story some of the delicate odour of lavenderand jessamine, and old-fashioned flowers."--_Daily Graphic_.
THE FOLLOWING OF THE STAR
"A worthy successor to 'The Rosary.' It has the same charm and grip,whilst the plot is again unusual and clever...."--_Evening Standard_.
THROUGH THE POSTERN GATE
"It is a book to turn over in a sunny garden, under shady trees, whenone might look up from the clear print and see a happy prince coming inthrough the green gate to lead one's own self tofairyland."--_Manchester Guardian_.
THE BROKEN HALO
"It is the record of the saving of a soul by charity. The endrepresents the triumph of mortal kindness."--_Standard_.
THE WALL OF PARTITION
"A brisk, readable story with a strong plot, full of incident and sureof a wide appreciation."--_Globe_.
THE UPAS TREE
"The book is full of that mixture of humour, feeling, and religion thatgain for Mrs. Barclay so wide a popularity."--_Church Family Newspaper_.
RETURNED EMPTY
"This is certainly the most arresting tale that the authoress hasproduced since her first huge success."--_Daily Mail_.
SHORTER WORKS
Seven of Mrs. Barclay's Shorter Stories now collected for the firsttime into one volume, and including one which has never before beenprinted in book form.
THE WHITE LADIES OF WORCESTER
3s. 6d. net.
Mrs. Barclay's Last Long Novel.
"It has tenderness, it has a story which never flags, above all it hashumanity."--_Observer_.
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS, Ltd.,
24 Bedford St., Strand, London, W.C. 2, & New York
_SOME PRESS OPINIONS ON THE LATE_
FLORENCE L. BARCLAY
"A writer who appealed to and won the affection of so many of herfellow countrymen and women is no negligible quantity. Indeed there isreason to think that Mrs. Barclay understood the tendency of her agebetter than many contemporary novelists whose technical skill exceededhers."--_Times_.
"Mrs. Barclay's death will be regretted by many thousands ofreaders."--_Morning Post_.
"'The Rosary' and nearly all her other books were inspired by truereligious feeling, which she always managed to infuse into theimagination of her readers."--_Sphere_.
"From the highest to the lowest she commanded an attentivepublic."--_Liverpool Daily Courier_.
"There was a purpose behind all she wrote that lifted her books abovethe common, and enabled her to reach readers who would turn away fromthe 'typical best-seller' in disgust."--_Sunday Times_.
"Mrs. Barclay was not merely a popular authoress. The ideals shepreached were high and noble and tended to elevate herreaders."--_Church Family Newspaper_.
"The underlying quality of Mrs. Barclay's literary art was herwonderful gift of depicting home life, and it was this characteristicwhich made her name loved in countless homes all over theland."--_Lady_.
"She gave wholesale enjoyment to countless thousands, while she wasalso one of the comparatively few popular authoresses who are inthemselves as good as the very best of their books."--_Glasgow Herald_.
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS, Ltd.,
24 Bedford St., Strand, London, W.C. 2, & New York
_BY FLORENCE L. BARCLAY_
THE ROSARY THE MISTRESS OF SHENSTONE THE FOLLOWING OF THE STAR THROUGH THE POSTERN GATE THE UPAS TREE THE BROKEN HALO THE WALL OF PARTITION THE WHITE LADIES OF WORCESTER RETURNED EMPTY SHORTER WORKS
_BY ONE OF HER DAUGHTERS_
THE LIFE OF FLORENCE BARCLAY
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