I went back to the front steps, again sank down, put my arms on my

knees, and let my head fall upon my clasped hands. As I sat there alone,

with the dark house yawning behind me in its emptiness, someone sat down

beside me and laid a warm, strong hand on my interlaced and strained

fingers for just about half a second.

"Please forgive me about the apple dumplings and the hard sauce," a

merry, very lovely voice pleaded.

"I went out to Old Harpeth with you when you asked me; but I loathe

going to church--I haven't been in one since I was strong enough to

rebel--and I'm not going to yours," was the apology I graciously offered

in return for that about the apple dumplings. "But I'd pay fifty

dollars for a tenth row seat to hear you sing Tristan in the

Metropolitan any day if I had to go hungry for a week to pay for it," I

added, as I laughed as softly as he had pleaded. All the sorrow and

strain of the last hours had vanished at the touch of his hand, and I

felt like an impish, teasing child.

"I'll sing some of it for you now, if you'll give fifty cents to Mother

Spurlock for the Children's Day Picnic. And it'll be a bargain you are

getting," was the unexpected offer I encountered.

"And a freezer of vanilla ice cream to boot," I assented, generously.

And then something happened to me the like of which I know never

happened to anybody in all the world, and that could happen only the

once to me. Gregory Goodloe drew a little closer to me and bent his

great gold head until his face was just off my left shoulder, and in his

powerful, rich, fascinating voice, which he muted down in a way that

made it sound as if he were singing through a golden cloud, he sang

Tristan's immortal love agony in a way that shut out all the rest of the

universe and left me alone with him in a space swayed by his pleading

until my mortal body shook in actual pain.

"Don't! I can't stand it!" I gasped, as I seized his wrist in my strong

hands and wrung it. "Stop!"

The last tender note breathed itself into the air that seemed to hold it

in a long caress until it died away, and sobs shook me as I held on

desperately to his wrist. I felt that I must be comforted. And I was!

Again the gentle fingers were laid over mine for a still smaller

fraction of a second, and then again the beautiful, clear voice began to

sing to me, just to me, out of the whole world.

"'Abide with me, fast falls the even tide,'" he chanted, and then waited

while my sobs died away and I let go my drowning grasp on his wrist.




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