The Brimming Cup

She finished the last note of the Largo and sat quiet for a moment. Then

she knew that someone had come into the room behind her. She turned

about, facing with serene, wide brows whatever might be there.

The first meeting with the eyes of the man who stood there moved her. So

he too deeply and greatly loved music! His face was quite other from the

hawk-like, intent, boldly imperious countenance which she had seen

before. Those piercing eyes were softened and quietly shining. The

arrogant lines about the mouth that could look so bitter and skeptical,

were as sweet and candid as a child's.

He smiled at her, a good, grateful, peaceful smile, and nodded, as

though now they understood each other with no more need for words. "Go

on . . . go on!" was all he said, very gently and softly. He sank down in

an arm-chair and leaned his head back in the relaxed pose of listening.

He looked quite and exactly what Marise was feeling.

It was with a stir of all her pulses, a pride, a glory, a new sympathy

in her heart, that she turned back to the piano.