"Poor little wilful girl! Did she get hurt, then, trying to have her own
way? Come in here, jade, and I'll fix it up for you," the deeper tones
declared.
Footsteps again; a door closed. Silence succeeded for a minute; then the
Schumann music began again, a violin accompanying. And suddenly,
directly opposite the settee, a door swung slowly open, the hand upon
the knob invisible. A picture was presented to the stranger's eyes as if
somebody had meant to show it to him. He could but look. Anybody, seeing
the picture, would have looked and found it hard to turn his eyes away.
For it was the heart of the house, right here, so close at hand that
even a stranger could catch a glimpse of it by chance. A great,
wide-throated fireplace held a splendid fire of burning logs, the light
from it illumining the whole room, otherwise dark in the October
twilight. Before it on the hearth-rug were silhouetted, in distinct
lines against its rich background, two figures. One was that of a woman
in warm middle life, sitting in a big chair, her face full of both
brightness and peace; at her feet knelt a young girl, her arm upon her
mother's knees, her face uplifted.
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