of songs that would be sung in their branches, as they had been sung
before; of blossoms that would spring at their feet, brightening the
world with gold and white and crimson.

Life! life stirring and waking everywhere, in sky and earth; soft
clouds sweeping across the blue, softening its cold brightness,
dropping rain as they go; sap creeping through the ice-bound stems,
slowly at first, then running freely, bidding the tree awake and be at
its work, push out the velvet pouch that holds the yellow catkin, swell
and polish the pointed leaf-buds: life working silently under the
ground, brown seeds opening their leaves to make way for the tender
shoot that shall draw nourishment from them and push its way on and up
while they die content, their work being done; roots creeping here and
there, threading their way through the earth, softening, loosening,
sucking up moisture and sending it aloft to carry on the great
work,--life everywhere, pulsing in silent throbs, the heart-beats of
Nature; till at last the time is ripe, the miracle is prepared, and

"In green underwood and cover
Blossom by blossom the spring begins."

Marie too, the child-woman, standing in her doorway, felt the thrill of
new life; heard whispers of joy, but knew not what they meant; saw a
radiance in the air that was not all sunlight; was conscious of a
warmth at her heart which she had never known in her merriest days.
What did it all mean? Nay, she could not tell, she was not yet awake.
She thought of her friend, of the silent voice that had spoken so often
and so sweetly to her, and the desire grew strong upon her. If she
died for it, she must play once more on her violin.