mountain which rose beyond everything, changed ever with the change in
her veil of mist or fog or rain-rift. The third panel, lying far to
the right, showed first dim mountain ranges and the mouths of mighty
rivers, and then, nearer by, masts, stacks and shipping, fringing the
city roofs.

North into this garden ran a small wing of the Tiffany house. Upon the
death of Alice Gray, Mattie Tiffany had set it apart for Eleanor the
baby. When, after her years with Billy Gray, Eleanor came back, Mattie
had refurnished it for the grown baby. The upper story held her
bedroom and her closets. Below was her own particular living-room.
This opened by a vine-bordered door into the garden, into that path
which led up to the bay view.

* * * * *

Judge Tiffany, sitting within the front window to watch the shimmer of
a pleasant Sunday afternoon on the city roofs below, perceived that
his wife had walked three times to that garden wall which looked down
along the drop of Broadway to the Spanish Church.

The second time that he perceived this phenomenon, his eyes showed
interest; the third he smiled with inner satisfaction and rose to meet
her return as though by accident. He was leaning upon a cane, getting
ease of the sciatica which plagued him.

The Judge had aged during the two years since he opened these events.
He had settled now into the worldly state of a man who rests content
with the warming sun and the bright air which feed life. But the inner
soul, whose depth was his philosophy, whose surface his whimsical
humor--that still burned in his dark blue eyes. Those eyes glistened a
little as he went on to this, his daily sport.

He met her on the piazza. She had raked the rise of Broadway, which
one mounted by two blocks of hen-coop sidewalks; and now she was
inspecting the cross street.

"All the Sherlock Holmes in me," said Judge Tiffany, "tells me that
Miss Eleanor Gray is going to have a caller, and that Mrs. Edward C.
Tiffany is in a state of vicarious perturbation.

"Further," continued Judge Tiffany, dropping his hand upon her arm
with that affectionate gesture which drew all sting his words might
have carried, "this is no common caller. For that young civil engineer
and Mr. Perham the painter and Ned Greene, Mrs. Tiffany never blushes;
but these new attentions to her niece--well, I hope my approach drew
as much blood from her heart to her countenance twenty-five years
ag