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Page 7
"I've forgotten."
"Don't you remember? Mother brought me here once when I was a little
tot. We stayed about a week and the roses were all in bloom. I can see
the garden now. Allison used to come over sometimes and tell me fairy
stories. He told me that the long, slender gold-trimmed bottles filled
with attar of roses came from the roots of the rose bushes--don't you
remember? And I pulled up rose bushes all over the garden to find out."
"Dear me, yes," smiled Aunt Francesca. "How time does fly!"
"You were very cross with Allison--that is, as cross as you ever could
be. It seemed so queer for you to be angry at him and not at me, for I
pulled up the bushes."
"You were sufficiently punished, Isabel. I believe the thorns hurt your
little hands, didn't they?"
"They certainly did," responded the girl, with a little shudder at the
recollection. "I have a scar still. That was--let me see--why, it was
fifteen years ago!"
"Just before I came to live with Aunt Francesca," said Rose. "You and
your mother went away the same day."
"Yes, we went in the morning," Isabel continued, "and you were to come
in the afternoon. I remember pleading with my mother to let me stay long
enough to see 'Cousin Wose.'"
"Fifteen years!" Madame repeated. "Allison went abroad, then, to study
the violin, and the house has been open only once since. Richard came
back for a Summer, to attend to some business, then returned to Europe.
How the time goes by!"
The letter fell to the floor and Francesca sat dreaming over the
interlude of years. Colonel Kent had been her husband's best friend, and
after the pitiless sword had cleaved her life asunder, had become hers.
At forty the Colonel had married a young and beautiful girl. A year
later Francesca had gone to him with streaming eyes, carrying his new-
born son in her arms, to tell him that his wife was dead.
Drawn together by sorrow, the two had been as dear to each other as
friends may be but seldom are. Though childless herself, Francesca had
some of the gifts of motherhood, and, at every step, she had aided and
counselled the Colonel in regard to his son, who had his mother's eyes
and bore his mother's name. Discerning the boy's talent, long before his
father suspected it, she had chosen the violin for him rather than the
piano, and had herself urged the Colonel to take him abroad for study
though the thought of separation caused her many a pang.
When the two sailed away, Francesca had found her heart strangely empty;
her busy hands strangely idle. But Life had taught her one great lesson,
and when one door of her heart was closed, she opened another, as
quickly as possible. So she sent for Rose, who was alone in the world,
and, for fifteen years, the two women had lived happily together.
As she sat there, thinking, some of her gay courage failed her. For the
moment her mask was off, and in the merciless sunlight, she looked old
and worn. Rose, looking at her with tender pity, marvelled at the
ignorance of man, in asking a frail little old lady to open and make
habitable, in less than a fortnight, a house of fifteen large rooms.
"Aunt Francesca," she said, "let me open the house. Tell me what you
want done, and Isabel and I will see to it."
"Certainly," agreed Isabel without enthusiasm. "We'll do it."
"No," Madame replied stubbornly. "He asked me to do it."
"He only meant for you to direct," said Rose. "You surely don't think he
meant you to do the scrubbing?"
Madame smiled at that, and yielded gracefully. "There must be infinite
scrubbing, after all these years. I believe I'll superintend operations
from here. Then, when it's all done, I'll go over and welcome them
home."
"That is as it should be. Isabel and I will go over this afternoon, and
when we come back, we can tell you all about it."
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