She played till the tears were on her cheeks, it seemed
as if the sorrowful echoes had found in her soul the conditions for
their reproduction. When she went back to her own room the influence
of the one she had left followed her like a shadow.
"How can I bring one room into another?" she asked herself, and she
flung wide the large windows and let the sunshine flood the pink
chintzes and the blooming roses of her own apartment. There was a tap
at the door, and Elizabeth entered.
"I have brought you a cup of tea, Phyllis. Shall I drink mine beside
you?"
"I shall enjoy both your company and the tea. I think I have been in
an unhappy room and caught some of its spirit--the room with the old
spinet in it."
"Aunt Lucy's room. Yes, she was very unhappy. She loved, and the man
was utterly unworthy of her love! She died slowly in that room--a
wasted life."
"Ah, no, Elizabeth! No life is waste in the great Worker's hands. If
human love wounds and wrongs us, are we not circled by angels as the
stars by heaven? Our soul relatives sorrow in our sorrow; and out
of the apparent loss bring golden gain. I think she would know this
before she died."
"She died as the good die, blessing and hoping."
Elizabeth looked steadily at Phyllis. She thought she had never seen
any face so lovely.
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