Part 62 (2/2)

She turned before he was close to her, her palette and her brushes in her hand. She stood for a moment immovable, then gave a little cry, dropped her palette and brushes on the floor, grew white, then blushed deeply and held out both her hands to him.

”Cousin Antony!”

He took her hands in his, could not find his voice even to say her name.

He heard her say--

”They told me you were dead! I thought you had died long ago--I thought another man had taken your genius and your fame.”

She spoke fast, with catching breath, in a low vibrant tone that he remembered--how he did remember it! His very life seemed to breathe on her lips in the sound of her voice. ”Flow gently, sweet Afton”--the music was here--here--all the music in the world!

”I know who you are now; I saw it in the paper. I read it this morning.

I saw your picture, and I knew.” She stopped to catch her breath deeply.

”Oh, I'm so glad!”

She was more beautiful than he had dreamed she would be; brilliant, bewitching, and the flowers of his past cl.u.s.tered round her.

”I heard them falling through the rooms, the light step and the heavy step.”

Slowly by both her hands which he held he drew her toward him, and as he held her cheek against his lips he heard her murmur--

”Back from the dead! Cousin Antony.... No, just Antony!”

”Little cousin!” he said. ”Bella!”

THE END

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