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MADELEINE'S CHRISTMAS
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His eyes sought the picture above the fireplace; with the light of the flames quivering across it, it seemed to be really smiling at him ; the eyes appeared actually to twinkle as he gazed. With a sigh, he bent and lifted his violin, his never-failing solace. But it failed him this time. He could not play. His eyes were again upon the picture. A tear trickled down his cheek. A low sob escaped his lips. Then, with a groan, he pulled himself together, and tried to laugh. But his voice sounded hollow and unnatural. His eyes again rested on the portrait, first musingly, then sadly, then angrily. He dug his nails into his palms with rage. Seizing the picture, he dashed it to the floor and raised his heel* to crush it.
' ' Vile woman ! Wretched, heartless mother ! I crush you to earth, as you deserve ! I tread upon you ! I curse you! You have ruined my life, and left your
child motherless ! May the just wrath of heaven fall upon your head, as my heel does now, and grind "
A soft voice interrupted, and the musician was suddenly brought to himself. Ashamed, he gently lifted the picture and placed it back on the mantel.
"I want to get up a little while, papa. Please let me, it's Christmas Eve," said the voice.
Hearing no refusal, she danced across the floor, and leaned happily against his knee.
FROM HER ATTIC BED THE WOMAN HEARS THE FAMILIAR STRAINS
' ' Now play for me, ' ' she demanded. "No, dont start like that — you have got to play for me. Play the one you were playing before you went out — the one I like the best of all. ' '
The musician hesitated, and the child saw that old, dreamy look come back to his eyes.
Again his bow swept the strings, and again his eyes sought the picture. The light flickered softly across it — surely the lips were actually smiling! His gaze never wavered from the fair, pictured face as the music flowed on, and the childish voice began to sing :
Just a song at twilight, when the lights are low,
And the flickering shadows softly eonie and go.
Was it all the firelight's reflection ? Was not the lovely face beginning to sway toward him? Were not the lips opening, as if to sing the old, loved air? He felt dazed, unnatural. He bent forward a bit, staring at the picture, while the child's uplifted face swam between them. Surely those lips were
moving
And, suddenly, mingled with the childish tones, a voice came from the distance, faintly at first, then swelling into full, rich, wonderful beauty, fraught with longing, and love, and wistful pain. It was a voice that seemed to come straight from the depths of a lost soul :
Tho the heart he weary, sad the day, and
long, Still to us, at twilight, comes love's old,
sweet song, Comes love's old, sweet song.