We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.
Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.
EARL DEAN WAS DIRECTING HIS WONDROUS SYMPHONY
her face — the fragile, tender fingers that touched his hair with evanescent caresses. She had great need of money! The realization came poignantly home. Else would her radiant, prisoned spirit break its threadlike mooring. "She must go," he muttered to himself, "but her love will stay, and our spirit will be one in the Symphony of Souls."
He came for her the following day — her mother's father — a courtly, white-haired man, with face whose sternness had been softly blurred by time. He was a man whose proud soul had been many times misjudged. Behind the artifice of words — the mask of deeds — he had been misunderstood. When his daughter, his most dearly beloved of earthly things, had left him for the man on whose profligate face not a trace of her father's gentle breeding showed, he had been cruelly hurt. And around the death-wound in his heart and pride he had builded him a fortress of anger and contempt. Now time, the great clarifier, had toppled over
{Continued
the fortress, and the man-heart of him beat in an agonized sympathy with the pitiful blindnesses, the tragic mistakes of all erring humanity — chiefly with the little daughter who had thrown her life away.
A great sob welled in his throat when Earl led the little Elaine to him and placed her hand in his. The pain in her blind eyes was her mother's pain — the pain of all those wronged — the unearned pain of the pure in heart. And thus, bearing that sorrow of his own little daughter in her darkened eyes, he took her home, striving to build over the bleeding wound of the years a mausoleum of golden ease.
She had not wanted to go, but Earl had told her, with the simplicity of truth they ever employed, just why she must.
' ' It will not be for long, ' ' he promised her ; ' ' then I shall come to you again. Your memory will always be seeking a melody in me. It shall be when I have given to the world our love in a heaven of song." on page 158) 56