She put out the lights and went to the door with resilient steps—then stopped, suddenly grew pale, as she looked back. The room was shadowy; one lamp shone down on the little table beside her bed, bringing out in sharp relief, the torn old Hebrew prayer book, beside it an ivory crucifix turning yellow, and—a beautiful rose, eternally young—symbols of her soul’s secrets, its melody, its madness.
Finis
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.