“Then her mother died, and they built that beautiful window in memory of her, and then her father. Now, she is her own mistress, though an uncle imagines he is, in fact, as well as in law, her guardian. She comes nearer being his. They call her ‘a terror’ at home. Still, men have wanted to marry her, many of them, but she is unchanging in her faith that some day her hero will come back and claim her. What do you suppose her father said to her--his very last words?--‘wait for him until you are twenty-one. It takes a long time for a boy to become famous. I think I know him. He will come if he makes good, and when he does come, remember it’s fifty-fifty.’ She had never told her father of her dream, but he had guessed, and he smiled when he saw he had guessed right, and died with the smile on his face. So she waits, and waits, and waits, at times most unhappy. Do you suppose he will come back, King?” “How could he? How could such a boy come to claim so rich a girl?” he answered earnestly. “It seems to me she would know that the boy was father to the man. Her wealth will always be between them. Besides he may have proved a dismal failure.” “What! He?” Billee looked up indignant. “Why, he just couldn’t fail!” “Do you really think he is bound to come back to her--when he succeeds.” “Certainly! Don’t you?” “I do not! Has she ever seen him again?” “She thinks she has--once. But he did not know it. She is afraid if she sought him, she would lose him.” “She understands him, after all, then.” “But she doesn’t want just _him_. She wants him to make good. Wants him the same independent boy she remembers. She knows, too, that only in stories do New York heiresses marry poor, unknown young men. Money isn’t everything with them, though. There is something better, but they don’t all find it. A good name means a great name in New York and a great name is better than riches with the rich city girl who is free to choose her husband.” “What a girl! What a tragedy should he have learned to love another!” “But he can’t, King! He may not know it, but he can’t escape a love like that. It will pull him from the end of the world. _She is just outside his life and her radiance is across his path. Some day she will just step in and he will recognize her._ _You_ believe in that. _You_ said so. Love isn’t just an emotion; it’s a power. Even God wouldn’t try to tear it to pieces. He made it and--well, I guess He knows there wouldn’t be any immortality without it.” King patted Billee’s shoulder. “Loyal to your ideals, aren’t you? Good! When our ideals perish, the kernel’s out of the shell, the juice out of the grape! “And such, then, is the story of the little girl whose face is in the window.” “Yes, but wasn’t it a miracle that Mr. Church, a very ordinary man, I am told, should have dreamed just such a dream, and have guessed those little faces into it?” “Mr. Church did not dream it,” said King very gently. The girl’s wondering eyes turned slowly toward him.