your mother went away the same day."
"Yes, we went in the morning," Isabel continued, "and you were to
come in the afternoon. I remember pleading with my mother to let me
stay long enough to see 'Cousin Wose.'"
"Fifteen years!" Madame repeated. "Allison went abroad, then, to study
the violin, and the house has been open only once since. Richard came
back for a Summer, to attend to some business, then returned to Europe.
How the time goes by!"
The letter fell to the floor and Francesca sat dreaming over the interlude
of years. Colonel Kent had been her husband's best friend, and after the
pitiless sword had cleaved her life asunder, had become hers. At forty
the Colonel had married a young and beautiful girl. A year later
Francesca had gone to him with streaming eyes, carrying his new- born
son in her arms, to tell him that his wife was dead.
Drawn together by sorrow, the two had been as dear to each other as
friends may be but seldom are. Though childless herself, Francesca had
some of the gifts of motherhood, and, at every step, she had aided and
counselled the Colonel in regard to his son, who had his mother's eyes
and bore his mother's name. Discerning the boy's talent, long before his
father suspected it, she had chosen the violin for him rather than the
piano, and had herself urged the Colonel to take him abroad for study
though the thought of separation caused her many a pang.
When the two sailed away, Francesca had found her heart strangely
empty; her busy hands strangely idle. But Life had taught her one great
lesson, and when one door of her heart was closed, she opened another,
as quickly as possible. So she sent for Rose, who was alone in the
world, and, for fifteen years, the two women had lived happily together.
As she sat there, thinking, some of her gay courage failed her. For the
moment her mask was off, and in the merciless sunlight, she looked old
and worn. Rose, looking at her with tender pity, marvelled at the
ignorance of man, in asking a frail little old lady to open and make
habitable, in less than a fortnight, a house of fifteen large rooms.
"Aunt Francesca," she said, "let me open the house. Tell me what you
want done, and Isabel and I will see to it."
"Certainly," agreed Isabel without enthusiasm. "We'll do it."
"No," Madame replied stubbornly. "He asked me to do it."
"He only meant for you to direct," said Rose." You surely don't think
he meant you to do the scrubbing?"
Madame smiled at that, and yielded gracefully. "There must be infinite
scrubbing, after all these years. I believe I'll superintend operations
from here. Then, when it's all done, I'll go over and welcome them
home."
"That is as it should be. Isabel and I will go over this afternoon, and
when we come back, we can tell you all about it."
"You'd better drive--I'm sure the paths aren't broken."
So, after luncheon, the two started out with the keys, Madame waving
them a cheery good-bye from the window.
"Everything about this place seems queer to me," said Isabel. "It's the
same, and yet not the same."
"I know," Rose answered. "Things are much smaller, aren't they?"
"Yes. The rooms used to be vast and the ceilings very far away. Now,
they're merely large rooms with the ceilings comfortably high. The
garden used to seem like a huge park, but now it's only a large garden.
There used to be a great many steps in the stairway, and high ones at
that. Now it's nothing compared with other flights. Only Aunt
Francesca remains the same. She hasn't changed at all."
"She's a saint," said Rose with deep conviction, as the carriage turned
into the driveway.
The house, set far back from the street, was of the true Colonial type,
with stately white pillars at the dignified entrance. The garden was a
tangled mass of undergrowth--in spite of the snow one could see that--
but the house, being substantially built, had changed scarcely at all.
"A new coat of paint will freshen it up amazingly," said Rose, as they
went up the steps. She was thrilled with a mysterious sense of
adventure which the younger woman did not share. "I feel like a
burglar," she continued, putting the key into the rusty lock.
"I feel cold," remarked Isabel, shivering in her furs.
At last the wide door swung on its creaking hinges and they went into
the loneliness and misery of an empty house. The dust of ages had
settled upon everything and penetrated every nook and cranny. The
floors groaned dismally, and the scurrying feet of mice echoed through
the
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