The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1940-02-22
CHAPTER XI

Autumn had gone to the drawing
room Immediately after dinner and
had seated herself at the piano. Dur
ing the hour she had sat at the
table with her father, she had done
her best to bring him out of his
solitary brooding. But her own
frame of mind had been too DESC
late to make the task easy. She was
sorry for him, inexpressibly so.
For weeks Autumn had watched
him fighting alone, retreating be-
fore the heartless bludgeonings of
his own conscience, recovering HIM
self again and beating his way back
to a position of self-respect and re-
newed faith in himself. And always
Autumn knew that his love for her
was the one precious thing in his
life. It was because of her, the
daughter of Millicent, that he re-
fused to give up the fight, and be-
cause of the memory of Millicent
that lived in her.
1t was only natural, perhaps, that
he should be blind to the fact that
by his stubborn struggle he was
drawing his daughter into the con-
fiict. He had thought to avoid that
by keeping her where she would
never have known of it. Had she
been content to remain in England,
Jarvis would have fought through
to the end and died in the comfort
ing knowledge that she could at
least begin her own life and live it
as she pleased, without the unhappy
heritage of the past.
And now another evening was
coming serenely to a close, as
though the stars of the night before,
when she had gone alone to see
Bruce, had not shrunk out of the
sky, as though all beauty had not
become ashes In her heart. Jarvis
had gone to his library after dinner,
and Autumn sat at the piano, her
hands isping idly over the keys, her
eyes nattentively noting the blue
dusk that stole from the open win
dow and made strange, impalpa-
bic color of great bowl of yellow
roses.
Presently her hands fell from the
keyboard and lay listlessly in her
lap. At sound from the hall, she
turned and saw her father standing
in the doorway, his cigar in his
fingers, his eyes fixed upon her with
an unwonted tenderness.
What was that you were playing,
Autumn" he asked after a mo-
ment.
That was Grondahrs 'Serenade,'
d." she told him.
1--WE heard you play it before
and Pve asked the name of it." he
said, ''but can never seem to re-
member. Play it again. I like it"
He came into the room and went
to large chair that stood to one
side of the French windows where
he sat gazing out into the ftful light
of the garden as Autumn played.
When she came to the end at last,
he did not speak, and Autumn got up
and moved to the console where the
roses stood. She caressed an opu-
lent, full-blown, yellow bloom with
thoughtful fingers.
mo more music?" Jarvis en-
quired at last, wistful note in his
voice that hurt the bruised part of
her being.
"Perhaps-later," she said quiet
".
AYE" he said, ST suppose one
must be in the mood for it. But
that bit, now-the one you Just
played-means something. It brings
a light to one when he hears it,
Old Saint Pat ambled into the
room and settled himself on a rug
at his masters feet. Autumn left
the roses and walked to a chair
near her fathers.
d." she said gently, what
would you say to my going back to
Aunt FLOP"
The Laird turned slowly in his
chair and looked at her across his
shoulder. She glanced at him in
souciantly, almost without interest
IN how he should respond to her
question. She had really not meant
1t for question so much as an an
nouncement.
But the helpless, almost childlike
look of detection that appeared
promptly in his eyes gave her a
moments disquietude.
He bent forward and clasped his
hands. you wish to 60, Autumn"