eing
tightened to harmonise with the piano. Swiftly upon the discordant note,
the voice of a violin, strong, clear, and surpassingly sweet, rose in an
_Ave Maria_.

Margaret started to her feet. "What is it?" she whispered, hoarsely.

"Mother," said Lynn, in a low tone, "don't. It is only Herr Kaufmann. We
asked him to play."

"The Cremona!" she muttered. "The Cremona--here--to-day!"

She lay back in her chair with her eyes closed and her mouth quivering.
Lynn held her hand tightly, and Iris breathed hard. Doctor Brinkerhoff
listened intently, his heart rejoicing in the beauty of it, because it
was done for her.

Deep chords, full and splendid, sounded an ultimate triumph over Death.
The music counselled acceptance, resignation, because of something that
lay beyond--indefinite, yet complete restitution, when the time of its
fulfilment should be at hand. Beside it, the individual grief sank into
insignificance--it was the sorrow of the world demanding payment for
itself from the world's joy.

Something vast and appealing took the place of the finite passion,
seeking hungrily for its own ends, and in the greatness of it, with
heart uplifted, Margaret forgave the dead.

XIII

To Iris

"Daughter of the Marshes, the winds have told me you are sad. If
I could, I would bear it for you, but there is no way by which
one of us may take another's burden.

"I wish I might come to you, but now, when you are troubled,
I will not ask you for a signal, even for a flower on the
gate-post. I would always have you happy, dear, if my love could
buy it from the Fates--those deep eyes of yours should never be
veiled by the mist of tears.

"Do you know where the marsh is, Iris? You have lived in East
Lancaster for many years, so the gossips tell me, yet I doubt
whether you could find it unless someone showed you the way. To
reach it, you must follow the river, through all its turns and
windings, for many a weary mile.

"Up in those distant hills, so far that I have never found
it, the river begins--perhaps in some tiny pool of crystal
clearness. It sings along over its rocky bed until it reaches a
low, sandy plain, and here is the marsh. I was there the other
day, just at sunset; my heart thrilled with the beauty of it
because it is the beauty of you.

"How shall I tell you of the wonder of the marshes, those wide,
watery plains embr