A deadly silence reigned upon the hillside where the torn web lay, its bloom and beauty all gone. Ragged bits of green, mingled with dull brown tracery of vine and tendril, lay back upon the background of earth, but of purple there was no trace. In the hush of the night, the Weaver came back, to muse sadly over what had been and, perhaps, to dream of what yet might be.
There was chance of no more weaving, for the threads were broken and the time was short, but the rack and ruin were pitiful to see. So, from hidden places no man may guess, the Weaver summoned the Secret Spinners, bidding them lay a veil upon the vineyard.
Swiftly there came forth a miracle of beauty. Fairy lace and impalpable mysteries of chiffon were laid upon the hillside, spreading from vine to vine. Sometimes a single slender thread, impearled with dewdrops, bridged the distance from one tendril to another, again a bit of cobweb was spread over a dead leaf, to catch a hint of iridescence from the sun or moon; and now and then a shimmering length of ghostly fabric was set in place at dusk, to hold the starry lights that came to shine upon the broken tapestry with the peace of benediction.
Content at Last
Along the well-trodden ways Alden went, tired, but content, having come at last to the knowledge of himself. Already he was planning to enlarge the vineyard next year, and to try another variety of grapes upon the new ground. He considered one plan to hurry the packing, another to hasten the crop, and studied the problem of housing the workers from their standpoint, not from his.
For the first time he was thinking of his work as something other than a necessary evil. It had become, in a sense, a means of grace, for he had discovered that the spirit in which one earns his daily bread means as much to his soul as the bread itself may mean to his body.
The light from the low reading-lamp lay softly upon Madame's silvered hair, as she bent over her bit of fancy work, silent, as usual, since the spell of Edith's presence had come into the house. Alden was not even pretending to read the paper—he sat staring into the shadows before him at Edith's empty chair, but, as he looked, he smiled.
The Goal Reached
With a little lump in her throat Madame bent over her work again, having looked up to thread her needle, and having seen his face. For a moment she waited, hoping for a confidence, but there was none.