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Show 'l:bc<tlotlcb Eloot ®Ill lllose anb Sfll'er Rose did everything. I merely went over at the last to arrange the flowers, make the tea, and receive the credit." "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 1 '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, "1 got well acquainted with surprisingly few people over there. You see, 1 always chummed with Dad." "Bless him," said Francesca, impulsively. "Have 1 done well?" asked the Colonel, anxiously. "It was hard work, alone." "Indeed you have done well. [ 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 1tbe ll)otce of tbe ll)toltn 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 1 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 1 'm going to. Who is going to play my accompaniment? Don't all speak at once." . :a $plrltof S.Onotno Rose went to the piano and looked over. ~ts music. "I '11 try. Fortunately l 'm famthar with some of this." His first notes came with a clearness and authority for which she was wholly unprepared. She followed the accompamment almost perfectly, but mechanically, lost as _she was in the wonder and delight of hts playmg. 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. |