And so the last morning of his probation dawned, and for the
first time he breathed freely.
He rose early on the day that was to witness his great effort
and dressed slowly. It was a splendid morning; the spirit of
the spring seemed embodied in the air, in the pale-blue sky,
in the shafts of cool sunshine that danced from the mirror to
the dressing-table, from the dressing-table to the pictures
on the walls of Chilcote's vast room. Inconsequently with its
dancing rose a memory of the distant past--a memory of
long-forgotten days when, as a child, he had been bidden to
watch the same sun perform the same fantastic evolutions. The
sight and the thought stirred him curiously with an unlooked-for
sense of youth. He drew himself together with an added touch of
decision as he passed out into the corridor; and as he walked
down-stairs he whistled a bar or two of an inspiriting tune.
In the morning-room Eve was already waiting. She looked up,
colored, and smiled as he entered. Her face looked very fresh
and young and she wore a gown of the same pale blue that she
had worn on his first coming.
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