pain! How strange it was to feel herself needed, and oh, the joy of
serving him!

She thrilled with the ecstasy of sacrifice; with that maternal
compassion which is a vital element in woman's love for man. Sublimated
beyond passion and self-seeking, and asking only the right to give, she
poured out the treasure of her soul at his feet, though her pride
demanded that he must never know.

When she went into the house, light seemed to enter the shaded room with
her. No one was there, but the open piano waited, ready to receive a
confidence. With a laugh that was half a sob of joy, she sat down, her
fingers readily finding the one thing that suited her mood.

The wild, half-savage music rang through the house in full, deep chords,
but only Rose knew the words, which, in her mind, fitted themselves to
the melody as though she dared to sing them:

"Less than the dust, beneath thy Chariot wheel,
Less than the rust, that never stained thy Sword,
Less than the trust thou hast in me, O Lord,
Even less then these.

"Less than the weed that grows beside thy door,
Less than the speed of hours spent far from thee,
Less than the need thou hast in life of me;
Even less am I."

Upstairs, Isabel yawned lazily, and wondered why Rose should play so
loud, but Aunt Francesca smiled to herself, for she knew that Allison