from its massive portal to its highest turret, awakened a
response in her beauty-loving little soul that thrilled her like music.

She went softly through the great door and up the stair-case, pausing
for a moment on the landing to look at the coat-of-arms in the stained
glass window. It was a copy of the window in the old ancestral castle in
England, that belonged to Madam Chartley's family. Mary already knew the
story of its traditional founder, the first Edryn who had won his
knighthood in valiant deeds for King Arthur. In the dim light the
coat-of-arms gleamed like jewels in an amber setting, and the heart in
the crest, the heart out of which rose a mailed hand grasping a spear,
was like a great ruby.

"I keep the tryste," whispered Mary, reading the motto of the scroll
underneath. "No wonder Madam Chartley grew up to be so patrician.
Anybody might with a window like that in the house."

Some one began striking loud full chords on a piano in one of the rooms
below; some one with a strong masterful touch. Mary was sure it was a
man. By leaning over the banister until she almost lost her balance, she
caught a glimpse of a pair of black coat-tails swinging awkwardly over a
piano bench. Herr Vogelbaum, the musical director, must have arrived.
Probably she would meet him at dinner. That was something to look
forward to--an artist who had played before crowned heads and had been
lionized all over Germany. And then the chords rolled into something so
beautiful and inspiring that Mary knew that for the first time in her
life she was hearing really great music, played by a master. She sat
down on the steps to listen.

The self-conscious feeling that she was acting a part in a play came
back afresh, and made her hastily pull down her skirts and assume a
listening attitude. Thinking how effective she would look on a stage she
leaned back against the carved banister, clasping her hands around her
knees, and gazing up at the ruby heart in the stained glass window above
her. But in a moment both self and pose were forgotten. She had never
dreamed that the world held such music as the flood of melody which
came rolling up from below. It seemed to lift her out of herself and
into another world; a world of nameless longings and exalted ambitions,
of burning desire to do great deeds. Something was calling her--calling
and calling with the compelling note of a far-off yet insistent trumpet,
and as she gazed at the mailed hand with