There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. And then, “They seem changed. But he was a thief, a fugitive from justice. ” Lucy’s eyes smiled and a weary closed lipped smile arose on her face. "Who's there?" cried Rachel.
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