The old man stood listening, his eyes dreaming. Music is the most poignant of all reminders. The old hall was the same into which he had led his bride so many years ago. There was Grandfather Denbigh’s clock in the corner, with the sun and the moon and the stars inlaid on its dial. There was the high chair in which one Governor Denbigh had sat. Things were shabby, the rug under his feet was frayed, but the dear familiarity of it all moved his heart. He felt a lump in his throat, and tried in vain to swallow it. Without disturbing Virginia’s playing, he moved to the door of the drawing-room and looked in. It was nearly six o’clock in the evening, and the western sun shone warmly in the wide window behind the piano. It warmed and mellowed every object in the quaint, old-fashioned room. It touched on the dull gold frame of General Denbigh’s portrait painted by Peale; it showed the tall harpsichord by the chimney-place, and the quaint, spindle-legged chairs with their shabby damask seats. The walls, mellowed by time, had the ruddy tints that form a background for old pictures and dull furniture. The sunshine caught a corner of the mahogany table and glinted on a cabinet that held Captain Denbigh’s corals, collected long ago in the South Seas; but it did more than that. It touched the golden hair on Virginia’s head and illuminated the delicate beauty of her unconscious profile, her simple white dress, her slender wrists, and her white hands. The colonel looked at her fondly. He thought her the loveliest girl in the State. He was on the point of entering softly, to draw up a chair and listen, when his eyes lighted on Daniel Carter. Daniel, the lame brother of William, Daniel the unobtrusive, had not heard Colonel Denbigh. He sat with his profile also turned toward the door, leaning a little forward, one elbow on the lame knee, the other hand resting on the arm of his chair, and his pale face turned toward Virginia. Unconsciously she played, unconscious of an observer, and Daniel watched her. His dark eyes followed her movements as her delicate fingers swept the keys, and his own hand tightened on the arm of his chair until the knuckles whitened. The colonel, watching him, had no longer any doubt that Daniel shared his admiration of Virginia. Something in the tense young face made the colonel turn quietly away, and walk soberly out on the front piazza. “I reckon I’ll smoke another cigar before dinner,” he said to himself. “Poor boy, it’s a pity he’s lame. And, Jinny? Well, Jinny liked his brother.” The colonel lit his cigar and tramped rather heavily up and down the piazza. Meanwhile, Virginia played on to the end of the piece; then she turned and looked over her shoulder. Meeting Daniel’s eyes, she felt again that sudden shyness that she had felt before the church, and she laughed tremulously.