In Her Selfless Mood 
     
    
   
   
    
     It was an evening in August, with 
     
     wheat fields ripening to their harvestry— 
     
     a soft violet night made for love, with the 
     
     distant murmur of an unquiet sea on a 
     
     rocky shore sounding through it. Kil- 
     
     meny was sitting on the old bench where 
     
     he had first seen her. She had been play— 
     
     ing for him, but her music did not please 
     
     her and she laid aside the violin with a 
     
     little frown. 
     
    

    
     It might be that she was afraid to play 
     
     —afraid that her new emotions might es— 
     
     cape her and reveal themselves in music. 
     
     It was diffith to prevent this, so long had 
     
     she been accustomed to pour out all her 
     
     feelings in harmony. The necessity for 
     
     restraint irked her and made of her bow 
     
     a clumsy thing which no longer obeyed 
     
     her wishes. More than ever at that in- 
     
     stant did she long for speech—speech that 
     
     would conceal and protect where danger- 
     
     ous silence might betray. 
     
    

    
     In a low voice that trembled with ear— 
     
     nestness Eric told her that he loved her 
     
    
   
   
    
     I95