"Know this?"
And he played on.
His face, full of tender solicitude, was, Brigit thought, almost
divinely beautiful as she watched it. And by some curious freak of the
down-falling light only his head and shoulders were visible, and seemed
almost to be floating in the gloom. Never had he been so handsome, and
never so pitilessly remote. He had forgotten her; he had forgotten love;
he was not even the Musician--he was a Healer, a being miles above and
beyond her and her weak human longing.
Tommy's eyes had closed, and the low music went on and on. The room was
now quite dark, save for the light that encircled Joyselle's head. It
was like a wonderful picture, and the innate nobility of the man
obliterated for the time all else from his fine face.
Tommy was asleep, and still the music went on.
"_Salut demeure chaste et pure_," he was playing now, and Brigit
recalled with a great heart throb the evening she had met him in the
train. "_Salut demeure_----" The high note, pure and thrilling, lingered
long, and then, as it had come, the light went, and it was dark.
The music ceased, and there was a long pause. Then, without a word,
Joyselle left the room, closing the door softly behind him.
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