She knew it was small use to try to combat this mood, so unlike his usual optimism, but frequent enough of occurrence to make her understand that there is no depression like that of the habitually buoyant, once it takes firm hold. She left him presently and went to sit by the reading lamp, looking through current magazines in hope of finding some article sufficiently attractive to capture his interest, and divert his heavy thoughts. His eyes rested absently on her as she sat there, a charming, comradely figure in her simple home dinner attire, with the light on her dark hair and the exquisite curve of her cheek.
It was a fireside scene of alluring comfort, the two central figures of such opposite characteristics, yet so congenial. The night outside was very cold, the wind blowing stormily in great gusts which now and then howled down the chimney, making the warmth and cheer within all the more appealing.
Suddenly Ellen, hunting vainly for the page she sought, lifted her head, to see her husband lift his at the same instant.
"Music?" she questioned. "Where can it come from? Not outside on such a night as this?"
"Did you hear it, too? I've been thinking it my imagination."
"It must be the wind, but—no, it is music!"
She rose and went to the window, pushing aside draperies and setting her face to the frosty pane. The next instant she called in a startled way:
"Oh, Red—come here!"
He came slowly, but the moment he caught sight of the figure in the storm outside his langour vanished.
"Good heavens! The poor beggar! We must have him in."