. The next day she was
safely aboard the train. She stopped overnight at the little hotel in a
nearby town, where once she had been with Aunt Peace, after a memorable
visit to the city. The morning train left at five, and just at ten she
reached her destination, her heart fluttering joyously.

Lynn was certainly at his lesson--there could be no doubt of that. She
fairly flew up the street, fearful lest someone should see her, and
paused at the corner for a look at the old house.

Nothing was changed. It was just as it had been for two centuries and
more. Panic seized her, but she went on boldly, though her cheeks
burned. After all, she was not an intruder--it was her home, not only
through the gift, but by right of possession.

She rang the bell timidly, but no one answered. Then she tried again,
but with no better result, so she turned the knob and the door opened.

She stepped in, but no one was there. "Mrs. Irving!" she called, but
only the echo of her own voice came back to her. The portraits in the
hall stared at her, but it was a friendly scrutiny and not at all
distressing. They seemed to nod to one another and to whisper from their
gilded frames: "Iris has come back."

"Well," she thought, "I can't sit down and wait, for Lynn may come home
from his lesson at any minute. I'll just go upstairs."

The door of Margaret's room was ajar, and Iris peeped in, but it was
empty, like the rest of the house. She stole into Aunt Peace's room,
found her keepsakes, and prepared to depart.

She saw her reflection in the long mirror, and, for the moment, it
startled her. "I feel like a thief," she said to herself, "even though I
am only taking my own."

She went up into the attic, found the box, and came down again. The old
house was so still! Surely it would do no harm if she took just one
sniff at the cedar chest before she went away. She loved the fragrance
of the wood, and it would delay her only a moment longer.

Then, all at once, she paused like a frightened bird. Someone was there!
Someone was walking back and forth in Lynn's room! Scarcely knowing what
she did, Iris crouched on the floor at the end of the chest, trusting to
the kindly shadows to screen her if the door should open.

But no one came. Lynn had taken the Cremona from its case with something
very like a smile upon his face. The brown breasts had the colour of old
wine, and the shell was thin to the point of fragility.

He had feared to touch it,