Flower of the Dusk | Page 2

door before he knocked, but it was Barbara
who spoke to him first.
"You're late, Father, dear."
"Am I, Barbara? Tell me, was there a sunset to-night?"
"Yes, a glorious one."
[Sidenote: Seeing with the Soul]

"I thought so, and that accounts for my being late. I saw a beautiful
sunset--I saw it with my soul."
"Give me your coat, Ambrose." The older woman stood at his side,
longing to do him some small service.
"Thank you, Miriam; you are always kind."
The tiny living-room was filled with relics of past luxury. Fine pictures,
in tarnished frames, hung on the dingy walls, and worn rugs covered
the floor. The furniture was old mahogany, beautifully cared for, but
decrepit, nevertheless, and the ancient square piano, outwardly, at least,
showed every year of its age.
Still, the room had "atmosphere," of the indefinable quality that some
people impart to a dwelling-place. Entering, one felt refinement,
daintiness, and the ability to live above mere externals. Barbara had,
very strongly, the house-love which belongs to some rare women. And
who shall say that inanimate things do not answer to our love of them,
and diffuse, between our four walls, a certain gracious spirit of
kindliness and welcome?
In the dining-room, where the table was set for supper, there were
marked contrasts. A coarse cloth covered the table, but at the head of it
was overlaid a remnant of heavy table-damask, the worn places
carefully hidden. The china at this place was thin and fine, the silver
was solid, and the cup from which Ambrose North drank was Satsuma.
On the coarse cloth were the heavy, cheap dishes and the discouraging
knives and forks which were the portion of the others. The five damask
napkins remaining from the original stock of linen were used only by
the blind man.
[Sidenote: A Comforting Deceit]
For years the two women had carried on this comforting deceit, and the
daily lie they lived, so lovingly, had become a sort of second nature.
They had learned to speak, casually, of the difficulty in procuring

servants, and to say how much easier it was to do their own small tasks
than to watch continually over fine linen and rare china intrusted to
incompetent hands. They talked of tapestries, laces, and jewels which
had long ago been sold, and Barbara frequently wore a string of beads
which, with a lump in her throat, she called "Mother's pearls."
Discovering that the sound of her crutches on the floor distressed him
greatly, Barbara had padded the sharp ends with flannel and was
careful to move about as little as possible when he was in the house.
She had gone, mouse-like, to her own particular chair while Miriam
was hanging up his coat and hat and placing his easy chair near the
open fire. He sat down and held his slender hands close to the grateful
warmth.
"It isn't cold," he said, "and yet I am glad of the fire. To-day is the first
day of Spring."
"By the almanac?" laughed Barbara.
"No, according to the almanac, I believe, it has been Spring for ten days.
Nature does not move according to man's laws, but she forces him to
observe hers--except in almanacs."
[Sidenote: Kindly Shadows]
The firelight made kindly shadows in the room, softening the
unloveliness and lending such beauty as it might. It gave to Ambrose
North's fine, strong face the delicacy and dignity of an old miniature. It
transfigured Barbara's yellow hair into a crown of gold, and put a new
gentleness into Miriam's lined face as she sat in the half-light, one of
them in blood, yet singularly alien and apart.
"What are you doing, Barbara?" The sensitive hands strayed to her lap
and lifted the sheer bit of linen upon which she was working.
"Making lingerie by hand."
"You have a great deal of it, haven't you?"

"Not as much as you think, perhaps. It takes a long time to do it well."
"It seems to me you are always sewing."
"Girls are very vain these days, Father. We need a great many pretty
things."
"Your dear mother used to sew a great deal. She--" His voice broke, for
even after many years his grief was keenly alive.
"Is supper ready, Aunt Miriam?" asked Barbara, quickly.
"Yes."
"Then come, let's go in."
Ambrose North took his place at the head of the table, which, purposely,
was nearest the door. Barbara and Miriam sat together, at the other end.
"Where were you to-day, Father?"
[Sidenote: At the top of the World]
"On the summit of the highest hill, almost at the top of the world. I
think I heard a robin, but I am not sure. I smelled Spring in the maple
branches and the cedar, and felt it in the salt mist