This one was left, twirling her foot, and stretching out her hands in a dreary sort of ecstasy, with no one to respond.

For a moment, so empty and bitter seemed her home and her life, that she thought the lonely dancer with her flaunting joy mocked her,--taunted them with the slow, gray desolation that had been creeping on them for years.

Only for a moment the morbid fancy hurt her.
The red glow was healthier, suited her temperament better.

She chose to fancy the house as it had been once,--should be again, please God.
She chose to see the old comfort and the old beauty which the poor school-master had gathered about their home.

Gone now.