garden I used to play in--I shall never, never
forget what that fragrance was like after a rain! And now that
my sun is shining again--after the rain--you may imagine what
those white lilacs breathe of to me.

With the best of good wishes,

ANNE LINTON.

Jordan King read this note through three times before he folded it back
into its original creases. Then he shut it away in a leather-bound
writing tablet which lay by his side. "Franz," he said, addressing the
youth who was at this hour of the day his sole attendant, "can you play
Schubert's '_Fruehlingstraum_'?"

He had to repeat this title several times, with varying accents, before
he succeeded in making it intelligible. But suddenly Franz leaped to an
understanding.

"Yess--yess--yess--yess--sair," he responded joyously, and made a dive
for his violin case.

"Softly, Franz," warned his master. As this was a word which had thus
far been often used in his education, on account of the fact that the
hospital did not belong exclusively to King--strange as that might seem
to Franz who worshipped him--it was immediately comprehended. Without
raising the tones of his instrument, Franz was able presently to make
clear to King that the music he was asked to play was of the best at his
command.

"No wonder she likes that," was King's inward comment. "It's a strange,
weird thing, yet beautiful in a haunting sort of way, I imagine, to a
girl like her, and I don't know but it would be to me if I heard it many
times--while I was smelling lilacs in the rain," he added, smiling to
himself.

That hint of a garden had rather taken hold of his imagination. More
than likely, he said to himself, it had been her own garden--only she
would not tell him so lest she seem to try to convey an idea of former
prosperity. A different sort of girl would have said "our garden."

* * * * *

Next morning, at the time of Mrs. Burns's visit to the hospital, King
sent Franz to play for Miss Linton. With her breakfast tray had come his
second note telling her of this intention, so she had two hours of
anticipation--a great thing in the life of a convalescent. With every
bronze lock in shining order, with the little wrap of apricot pink silk
and lace about her shoulders, with an extra pillow at her back, Miss
Anne Linton awaited the coming of the "Court Musician," as King had
called him.

"It's a very good thing Jord can't see her at