‘No,’ said Barbara, frightened as she well might be at the presence of strangers at this curious scene, and at the scene itself. ‘Uncle had business in London, and he brought me with him this afternoon. We heard that you had written the music to a play, and we went to hear it. We--we thought you would be conducting, and that I should see you there.’ Little Barbara put up her hands and began to cry. ‘Sir,’ said Carl to the manager, ‘I ask you, as the first step towards the understanding of this business, to admit that the likeness between this young lady and Mademoiselle Hélène is very remarkable and close.’ ‘Very remarkable!’ said the manager. ‘Wonderful!’ said Mr. Holt. ‘Me and my niece have been a-laughing at it and a-noticing of it all the evening,’ said Barbara’s uncle. Carl told the story. ‘I’ll have it in the papers,’ said Milford the manager. ‘Stunning good advertisement; Eh? No names, of course. Oh dear, no; no names!’ Then the manager and the dramatist suddenly felt themselves de trop, and Carl, catching the infection, went with them. ‘Can you forgive me for doubting you?’ said Christopher. ‘It was I who suffered by it.’ ‘Poor Chris!’ said Barbara, and quite regardless of her uncle she put her arms round her lover’s neck and kissed him like the tenderhearted, unsophisticated child she was. ‘Am I cruel Barbara now?’ she asked, nestling to him, and looking up with a smile half audacious, half appealing. ‘No,’ said Christopher a little sheepishly. But as she slipped away from him he recovered himself and took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly. And so, shortly thereafter--to finish in the style of the best of all story-tellers who entertained us in our childhood--they married, and lived happily. End of Project Gutenberg’s Cruel Barbara Allen, by David Christie Murray