again, "is very strange."

It was a long time before he spoke again. "I have had mine fame," he
said. "I have played to great houses both here and abroad, and women
have thrown red roses at me and mine violin. There has been much in the
papers, and I have had many large sums, which, of course, I have always
given to the poor. One should use one's art to do good with and not to
become rich. I have mine house, mine clothes, all that is good for me to
eat, mine sister and mine--" he hesitated for an instant, and Lynn knew
he was thinking of the Cremona. "Mine violins," he concluded, "mine
little shop where I make them, and best of all, mine dreams."

Iris came back and Fraeulein Fredrika followed her. "If you will give me
all the little shells," she was saying, "I will stick them together with
glue and make mineself one little house to sit on the parlour table. It
will be most kind." Her voice was caressing and her face fairly shone
with joy.

"I will light the lamp," she went on. "It is dark here now." Suiting the
action to the word, she pulled down the lamp that hung by heavy chains
in the centre of the room, and the gilded potato-masher swung back and
forth violently.

"No, no, Fredrika," said the Master. "It is not a necessity to light the
lamp."

"Herr Irving," she began, "would you not like the lamp to see by?"

"Not at all," answered Lynn. "I like the twilight best."

"Come, Fraeulein," said Iris, "sit over here by me. Did I tell you how
you could make a little clothes-brush out of braided rope and a bit of
blue ribbon?"

"No," returned the Fraeulein, excitedly, "you did not. It will be most
kind if you will do it now."

The women talked in low tones and the others were silent without
listening. The street was in shadow, and here and there lanterns flashed
in the dark. Down in the valley, velvety night was laid over the river
and the willows that grew along its margin, but the last light lingered
on the blue hills above, and a single star had set its exquisite lamp to
gleaming against the afterglow.

The wings of darkness hovered over the little house, and yet no word was
spoken. It was an intimate hush, such as sometimes falls between lovers,
who have no need of speech. Lynn and Iris looked forward to the future,
with the limitless hope of Youth, while the others brooded over a past
which had brought each of them a generous measure of joy and pain.

The full moon came out from behind the clouds and flo