Mary found Barry down-stairs in the little office, his head in his
hands.
"Dear boy," she said, and touched his bright hair with hesitating
fingers.
He reached up and caught her hand.
"Mary," he said, brokenly, "what's the use? I began wrong--and I guess
I'll go on wrong to the end."
And now she spoke with earnestness, both hands on his shoulders.
"Oh, Barry, boy--if you fight, fight with all your weapons. And don't
let the wrong thoughts go on molding you into the wrong thing. If you
think you are going to fail, you'll fail. But if you think of yourself
as conquering, triumphant--if you think of yourself as coming back to
Leila, victorious, why you'll come that way; you'll come strong and
radiant, a man among men, Barry."
It was this convincing optimism of Mary Ballard's which brought to
weaker natures a sense of actual achievement. To hear Mary say, "You
can do it," was to believe in one's own powers. For the first time in
his life Barry felt it. Hitherto, Mary had seemed rather worrying when
it came to rules of conduct--rather unreasonable in her demands upon
him. But now he was caught up on the wings of her belief in him.
"Do you think I can?" a light had leaped into his tired eyes.
"I know you can, dear boy," she bent and kissed him.
"You'll take care of Leila," he begged, and then, very low, "I'm afraid
I've made an awful mess of things, Mary."
"You mustn't think of that--just think, Barry--of the day when you come
back! How all the wedding bells will ring!"
But he thought of a wedding where there had been no bells. He thought
of Little-Lovely Leila, in her yellow gown on the night of the mad
March moon.
"You'll take care of her," he said again, and Mary promised.
And now the Bishop arrived, and certain old friends of the family. As
Barry and Mary made their way up-stairs, they met Susan with the mail.
There was one long letter for Mary, which she tore open with eagerness,
glanced at it, and tucked it into her girdle, then went on with winged
feet.
Porter, glancing at her as she came in, was struck by the radiance of
her aspect. How lovely she was with that flush on her cheek, and with
her sweet shining eyes!
With due formality and with the proper number of godfathers and
godmothers, little Mary-Constance Ballard Richardson was officially
named.
During the ceremony, Leila sat by her father's side, her hand in his.
In these days the child clung to the strong old soldier. When she had
come back to consciousness on the night that she had fainted on the
threshold of the library, he had asked, "My darling, what is it?"