mother's home; how for an hour they sat together
alone in a little room sacred to her, because years
before it was there he confessed his love.
  Seated on a low ottoman, with her golden head
lying on his lap, she had that morning told him,
in her artless way, how much she loved him, and
how hard it sometimes was to make her love for
the creature second to her love for the Creator;
told him she was not faultless, and asked that
when he found how erring and weak she was, he
would bear with her frailties as she would bear
with his; talked with him, too, of Maddy Clyde,
confessing in a soft, low tone, how once or twice
a pang of jealousy had wrung her heart when
she read his praises of his pupil. But she had
conquered that; she had prayed it all away; and
now next to her own sister, she loved Maddy
Clyde. Other words, too, were spoken-words
of guileless, pure affection, too sacred even for
Guy to breathe to Maddy; and then Lucy had
left him, her hart-bounding step echoing through
the hall and up the winding stairs down which she
never came again alive, for when Guy next looked
upon her she was lying white as a water lilv, her
neck and dress and golden hair stained with the
pale red life current oozing from her livid lips.
A blood vessel had been suddenly ruptured, the
physician said, and for her, the fair, young bride,
there was no hope. They told her she must die,
for the mother would have them tell her. Once,



LUCY



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