not "breathless with
adoration," like the nun; because it was a whole world given to you, not
a mere pang of joy; because you could live and move and be blessedly and
securely at home in it.

She finished the last note of the Largo and sat quiet for a moment. Then
she knew that someone had come into the room behind her. She turned
about, facing with serene, wide brows whatever might be there.

The first meeting with the eyes of the man who stood there moved her. So
he too deeply and greatly loved music! His face was quite other from the
hawk-like, intent, boldly imperious countenance which she had seen
before. Those piercing eyes were softened and quietly shining. The
arrogant lines about the mouth that could look so bitter and skeptical,
were as sweet and candid as a child's.

He smiled at her, a good, grateful, peaceful smile, and nodded, as
though now they understood each other with no more need for words. "Go
on . . . go on!" was all he said, very gently and softly. He sank down in
an arm-chair and leaned his head back in the relaxed pose of listening.

He looked quite and exactly what Marise was feeling.

It was with a stir of all her pulses, a pride, a glory, a new sympathy
in her heart, that she turned back to the piano.

CHAPTER V

A LITTLE GIRL AND HER MOTHER

_An Afternoon in the Life of Elly Crittenden, aet. 8 Years_

April 6.

Elly Crittenden had meant to go straight home from school as usual with
the other children, Paul and Mark, and Addle and Ralph Powers. And as
usual somehow she was ever so far behind them, so far that there wasn't
any use trying to catch up. Paul was hurrying to go over and see that
new old man next door, as usual. She might as well not try, and just
give up, and get home ever so late, the way she always did. Oh well,
Father wasn't at home, and Mother wouldn't scold, and it was nice to
walk along just as slow as you wanted to, and feel your rubber boots
squizzle into the mud. How _good_ it did seem to have real mud, after
the long winter of snow! And it was nice to hear the brooks everywhere,
making that dear little noise and to see them flashing every-which-way
in the sun, as they tumbled along downhill. And it was nice to smell
that smell . . . what _was_ that sort of smell that made you know the
sugaring-off had begun? You couldn't smell the hot boiling sap all the
way from the mountain-sides, but what you did smell made you think of
the little bark-covered sap-