ONCE, long ago--in Rome--she tried to influence me that way.
WHEN she came back I was tired. I gave in. Let's not talk about it.
THE physician looked at Hale with the look of a kind big brother.
THIS is the last day for me. Tomorrow at this time many hours will have passed since the iron door of my cell was unlocked and I was taken along the corridors of the prison and across the yard to the place of execution. Already I shall know for myself what lies on the other side, I shall have ceased forever, I hope, to count the bars of my iron door, my sole occupation and the one thing which keeps me from thinking too much of the past, so bitter.
WHY did they come today. Did they think they would ease my pain, did they think it was charity to play for us, here in the prison.
AT first their music only irritated me and kept me from counting properly the iron bars. Then it enraged me, that woman with the soprano voice--
SUDDENLY the pain, worse than any I had ever known,--remorse, sorrow, longing,--crowded into my soul. I felt as if I should die.
A MAN at the piano was playing the melody my mother most often played. My agony was beyond bearing. Repentance again swept over me, and eased me. It had been many years since I had heard that old-fashioned tune. At the first chord on the piano a flood of memories rushed back to me.
I WAS once more a boy, in the library at home--lighted lamps and the curtains drawn--a fire blazed and crackled
MY younger brothers sat on the floor near it, amusing themselves by fancying they saw monsters and castles in the depths of the flames.
SHE is there now-- before me at the piano, and I hear that melody.
AND who is that boy sitting there, --the hope and pride of his family. He is reading some book of Roman exploits and deeds of bravery--
LONG since the musicians have returned to their homes,
FORGIVE, Great Master, forgive Thy wandering sheep! I have strayed, my Lord, far--
IT was a large house on the outskirts of the town.
IN the living room a fire blazed. Soft shaded lights--a contrast to the blizzard raging outside.
A SMALL gathering of people for informal afternoon tea.
LYDIA STUART had come in rather late. She sat comfortably on a huge divan near the fire.
A PICTURESQUE magnetic figure, dressed in purple, with beautiful warm furs.