y's words were final. He
did not for the most fleeting atom of time give credence to the idea
that she meant to break with him entirely and for good.

* * * * *

Sophy waited for Amaldi in the "little music-room." It was nearly
September. In the last two days the mornings and evenings had grown
chilly, so she had had a log fire kindled in the big chimney-place. The
shadows leaped elfishly upon the bare, clear walls, as though shaken
with silent laughter. The fire-gleams flickered over the glossy case of
the piano until it glowed like a black opal. White chrysanthemums thrust
their pretty dishevelled heads into the dance of gloom and shine. The
room was fresh with their bitter-sweet, autumn scent.

Sophy loved this room. She looked around it with regret, as she stood
waiting for Amaldi. Bit by bit she had thought it out. She had spent
many hours alone in it. Here Amaldi had made that wonderful music for
her. She tried to recall it as she waited for him. Phrases came ...
melted away. It was like trying to hold snow-crystals in one's hands.
Then his words came back to her:

".... By the window of a Castle on the North Sea, sits a beautiful, ill
woman.... Love brought her to the Castle ... then Love died ... but
Love's ghost wanders through the empty halls...."

Had Amaldi really guessed?... Did he know?... Had he known when he said
those words--when he played that music to her? She stood gazing into the
spark-broidered violet of the flames from the driftwood fire. How much
had he divined? Somehow, she felt that he knew.

And she did not mind his knowing. It would make him understand all that
was to follow.... How strange that, after all her passionate, wild
dreams, friendship and not love should be what life had to give her!

As Amaldi came towards her through the firelight, she thought that his
face looked set and rather strange. She said as she gave him her hand:

"I sent for you because I didn't want to write 'good-by.' It may be a
long time before we see each other again."

"May I know how long?" he asked, in a low voice.

"I don't know that myself," she answered. "Perhaps a year ... perhaps
longer. It ... it depends. But ... afterwards, I shall be in England
with Bobby."

"Ah!" said Amaldi.

They stood silent, looking into the fire. Then he said abruptly:

"May I write to you?"

"Of course, Amaldi." Her lip quivered suddenly. She added in a rather
uncertain voice:

"I