A Prisoner of Love 
     
    
   
   
    
     Presently he found himself before the 
     
     Gordon house. It was an old building 
     
     with sharp eaves and dormer windows, its 
     
     shingles stained a dark gray by long ex— 
     
     posure to wind and weather. Faded green 
     
     shutters hung on the windows of the lower 
     
     story. Behind it grew a thick wood of 
     
     spruces. The little yard in front of it was 
     
     grassy and prim and flowerless; but over 
     
     the low front door a luxuriant early~ 
     
     flowering rose Vine clambered, in a riot 
     
     of blood-red blossom which contrasted 
     
     strangely with the general bareness of its 
     
     surroundings. It seemed to fling itself 
     
     over the grim old house as if intent on 
     
     bombarding it with an alien life and joy- 
     
     ousness. 
     
    

    
     Eric knocked at the door, wondering if 
     
     it might be possible that Kilmeny should 
     
     come to it. But a moment later it was 
     
     opened by an elderly woman—a woman 
     
     of rigid lines from the hem of her lank, 
     
     dark print dress to the crown of her head, 
     
     covered with black hair which, despite its 
     
    
   
   
    
     IS7