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Page 14
"And to welcome us home," he added. "They say a fireplace is the heart
of a house, but I think a woman is the soul of it."
"Then the soul of it was there, waiting, wasn't it?"
"But only for a little while," he sighed. "I am very lonely sometimes,
in spite of the boy."
Francesca's blue eyes became misty. "When a door in your heart is
closed," she said, "turn the key and go away. Opening it only brings
pain."
"I know," he answered, clearing his throat. "You've told me that before
and I've often thought of it. Yet sometimes it seems as though all of
life was behind that door."
"Ah, but it isn't. Your son and at least one true friend are outside.
Listen!"
"No," Allison was saying, "I got well acquainted with surprisingly few
people over there. You see, I always chummed with Dad."
"Bless him," said Francesca, impulsively.
"Have I done well?" asked the Colonel, anxiously. "It was hard work,
alone."
"Indeed you have done well. I hear that he is a great artist."
"He's more than that--he's a man. He's clean and a good shot, and he
isn't afraid of anything. Someway, to me, a man who played the fiddle
always seemed, well--lady-like, you know. But Allison isn't."
"No," answered Francesca, demurely, "he isn't. Do I infer that it is a
disgrace to be ladylike?"
"Not for a woman," laughed the Colonel. "Why do you pretend to
misunderstand me? You always know what I mean."
After dinner, when the coffee had been served, Allison took out his
violin, of his own accord. "You haven't asked me to play, but I'm going
to. Who is going to play my accompaniment? Don't all speak at once."
Rose went to the piano and looked over his music. "I'll try. Fortunately
I'm familiar with some of this."
His first notes came with a clearness and authority for which she was
wholly unprepared. She followed the accompaniment almost perfectly, but
mechanically, lost as she was in the wonder and delight of his playing.
The exquisite harmony seemed to be the inmost soul of the violin,
speaking at last, through forgotten ages, of things made with the world
--Love and Death and Parting. Above it and through it hovered a spirit of
longing, infinite and untranslatable, yet clear as some high call.
Subtly, Rose answered to it. In some mysterious way, she seemed set free
from bondage. Unsuspected fetters loosened; she had a sense of
largeness, of freedom which she had never known before. She was
quivering in an ecstasy of emotion when the last chord came.
For an instant there was silence, then Isabel spoke. "How well you
play!" she said politely.
"I ought to," Allison replied, modestly. "I've worked hard enough."
"How long have you been studying?"
"Thirty years," he answered. "That is, I feel as if I had been at work
all my life."
"How funny!" exclaimed Isabel. "Are you thirty?"
"Just," he said.
"Then Cousin Rose and I are like steps, with you half way between us.
I'm twenty and she's forty," smiled Isabel, with childlike frankness.
Rose bit her lips, then the colour flamed into her face. "Yes," she
said, to break an awkward pause, "I'm forty. Old Rose," she added, with
a forced smile.
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