:

"I think she was the most beautiful lady
That ever was in the West Country,
But beauty vanishes, beauty passes,
However rare, rare it be,
And when I am gone, who shall remember
That lady of the West Country?"

And when she sang it was of Cynthia Warfield that all of the Old
Gentlemen dreamed.

When the last note had died away, she went over and stood behind her
uncle. She was little and slim and straight and her soft hair was swept
up high from her forehead. Her eyes above Uncle Rod's head met Nancy's
eyes. The two women smiled at each other.

"To-morrow," Nancy said, and she seemed to say it straight to Anne,
"to-morrow Richard will be here."

Anne caught a quick breath. "To-morrow," she said. "How lovely it will
be!"

But Richard did not come on Christmas Eve. A telegram told of imperative
demands on him. He would get there in the morning.

"We won't light the tree until he comes," was Nancy's brave decision.
"The early train will get him here in time for breakfast."

David drove big Ben down to meet him. Milly cooked a mammoth breakfast.
Anne slipped across the road to the Crossroads school to ring the bell
for the young master's return. The rest of the household waited in the
library. Brinsley was there with a story to tell, but no one listened.
Their ears were strained to catch the first sharp sound of big Ben's
trot. Sulie was there with a red rose in her hair to match the fires
which were warming her old heart. Nancy was there at the window,
watching.

Then the telephone rang. Nancy was wanted. Long distance.

It was many minutes before she came back. Yet the message had been short.
She had hung up the receiver, and had stood in the hall in a whirling
world of darkness.

_Richard was not coming._

He had been sorry. Tender. Her own sweet son. Yet he had seemed to think
that business was a sufficient excuse for breaking her heart. Surely
there were doctors enough in that octopus of a town to take his patients
off of his hands. And she was his mother and wanted him.

She had a sense of utter rebellion. She wanted to cry out to the world,
"This is my son, for whom I have sacrificed."

And now the bell across the street began to ring its foolish
chime--Richard was not coming, _ding, dong_. She must get through the day
without him, _ding, dong_, she must get through all the years!

When she faced the solicitous group in the library, only her whiteness
showed what s