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VII FATHER AND SON
VIII "THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRING"
IX A KNIGHT-ERRANT
XI KEEPING THE FAITH
XII AN ENCHANTED HOUR
XIII WHITE GLOVES
XIV THE THIRTIETH OF JUNE
XV "HOW SHE WILL COME TO ME"
XVI HOW ISABEL CAME
XVIII "LESS THAN THE DUST"
XIX OVER THE BAR
XX RISEN FROM THE DEAD
XXI SAVED--AND LOST
XXII A BIRTHDAY PARTY
XXIII "TEARS, IDLE TEARS"
XXIV THE HOUSE WHERE LOVE LIVED
A FALLING STAR
[Illustration: Musical Notation]
The last hushed chord died into silence, but the woman lingered,
dreaming over the keys. Firelight from the end of the room brought red-
gold gleams into the dusky softness of her hair and shadowed her profile
upon the opposite wall. No answering flash of jewels met the questioning
light--there was only a mellow glow from the necklace of tourmalines,
quaintly set, that lay upon the white lace of her gown.
She turned her face toward the fire as a flower seeks the sun, but her
deep eyes looked beyond it, into the fires of Life itself. A haunting
sense of unfulfilment stirred her to vague resentment, and she sighed as
she rose and moved restlessly about the room. She lighted the tall
candles that stood upon the mantel-shelf, straightened a rug, moved a
chair, and gathered up a handful of fallen rose-petals on her way to the
window. She was about to draw down the shade, but, instead, her hand
dropped slowly to her side, her fingers unclasped, and the crushed
crimson petals fluttered to the floor.
Outside, the purple dusk of Winter twilight lay soft upon the snow.
Through an opening in the evergreens the far horizon, grey as mother-of-
pearl, bent down to touch the plain in a misty line that was definite
yet not clear. At the left were the mountains, cold and calm, veiled by
distances dim with frost.
There was a step upon the stair, but the strong, straight figure in
white lace did not turn away from the window, even when the door opened.
The stillness was broken only by the cheerful crackle of the fire until
a sweet voice asked:
"Are you dreaming, Rose?"
Rose turned away from the window then, with a laugh. "Why, I must have
been. Will you have this chair, Aunt Francesca?"
She turned a high-backed rocker toward the fire and Madame Bernard
leaned back luxuriously, stretching her tiny feet to the blaze. She wore
grey satin slippers with high French heels and silver buckles. A bit of
grey silk stocking was visible between the buckle and the hem of her
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