Slowly the adagio swept to its end, and yet she could not move. The music ceased, and yet the silence held her spellbound, vainly praying for the strength to go away. She heard the click of the lock as the violin case was closed, the quick step to the door, and the turning of the knob.
She shrank back into the corner, close to the chest, and hid her face in her hands, then someone lifted her up.
“Sweetheart,” cried Lynn, “have you come back to me?”
At the touch, at the tender word, the barriers crumbled away, and Iris lifted her lovely tear-stained face to his. “Yes,” she said, unsteadily, “I have come back. Will you forgive me?”
“Forgive you?” repeated Lynn, with a happy laugh; “why, dearest, there is nothing to forgive!”
In that radiant instant, he thought he spoke the truth, so quickly do we forget sorrow when the sun shines into the soul.
“Oh!” sobbed Iris, hiding her face against his shoulder, “I—I said you had no heart!”
“So I haven’t, darling,” answered Lynn, tenderly; “I gave it all to you, the very first day I saw you. Will you keep it for me, dear? Will you give me a little corner of your own?”
“All,” whispered Iris. “I think it has always been yours, but I didn’t know until just now.”
“How long have you been here, sweetheart?”