"I used to have little gleams of memory sometimes," she said, "but they were gone again in a minute. I had one the first time I heard Jim sing 'Mandalay,' and for one second I think I almost remembered you, Beverly. Another time I almost remembered was when Mrs. Graham was reading a letter from Marjorie, in which she mentioned your name for the first time. I kept saying 'Randolph, Randolph' over and over to myself for a long time, but after the first minute the words didn't seem to mean anything to me. It wasn't till yesterday when I read that letter, and saw all your names together--Mother's and yours, and Uncle George's and then that part about going to Barbara's grave--that it all came back with a rush, and I was so frightened that I fainted." Later in the day Undine--or Barbara, as I suppose we must call her now--had a long talk with her uncle. Dr. Randolph had insisted on Beverly's going out for a walk. The boy was utterly worn out from excitement and suspense, and his uncle feared he would be really ill if precautions were not taken. So he was sent off for a long tramp over the ranch with Mr. Graham, and the doctor sat down by his little niece's bedside, and tried to draw her thoughts away from painful memories, by talking of Marjorie, and of her own life on the ranch. "They have all been so good to me here, Uncle George," Barbara said, the grateful tears starting to her eyes. "If you could have seen me when I first came! I am sure I looked like a tramp, and I was so miserable I didn't care much what became of me. I don't think many people would have believed my crazy story, but they took me right in without a word, and have treated me just as if I belonged to them ever since. Aren't Mrs. Graham and Miss Jessie lovely?" "They are indeed," said the doctor, heartily. "We owe them a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid. Miss Graham has one of the sweetest faces I have ever seen. Has she been a cripple all her life?" Barbara caught her breath as a sudden recollection flashed into her mind. "Uncle George," she cried excitedly, "aren't you a great surgeon?" "I am a surgeon certainly," said her uncle, smiling, "but I don't know just what you would call a great one; why do you want to know?" "Because," said Barbara, clasping her hands, and regarding the doctor with shining eyes, "now Marjorie can have her wish--the thing she wants more than anything else in the world, and that she and I have been praying for all winter." And in a few rapid words she told the story of Miss Graham's accident, and of Marjorie's hopes. Dr. Randolph said nothing, but he looked much interested, and when Beverly returned from his walk, he left the brother and sister together, and went in quest of Mrs. Graham, with whom he had a long talk. Then Miss Jessie was taken into their confidence, and all through the long afternoon Barbara and Beverly waited in eager anxiety for their uncle's return.