She reached home just in time for supper.  Uncle Titus always held the newspaper before his face, and read and ate behind its ample shelter.  Aunt Ninette spoke in whispers all the while, and asked only the most necessary questions, in order not to disturb her husband.  Dora said little; and less every day, as she grew accustomed to this silent life.  Even when she came home from school at noon for the short interval before the time for her sewing lessons, there was no need to caution her against noise; for the child moved ever less and less like a living being, and grew more like a shadow day by day.

Yet by nature she was a lively little maiden, and took so keen an interest in all about her, that her father often used joyfully to observe it, saying,

“That child is exactly like her dear mother; just the same movements, the same indomitable spirit and enjoyment of life!”

But now all this vivacity seemed extinguished.  Dora was very careful never to provoke her aunt to complaints, which she dreaded exceedingly.  Yet for all her pains it would happen sometimes, most unexpectedly and when she was least looking for a storm, that one would break over her head, and frighten all her thoughts and words back into her childish heart; nay, almost check the flow of youth in her veins.

One evening, she came home from her work filled with enthusiasm, by a song she had been listening to, played by her unseen musician.  Dora knew the words well: 

    “Live your life merrily
       While the lamp glows,
     Ere it can fade and die,
       Gather the rose.”

Dora had often sung this song, but she had never dreamed that it could be played on the piano, and it sounded so beautiful, so wonderful to her, that she said to her aunt, as she entered the dining-room,

“Oh, Aunt Ninette, how delightful it must be to know how to play on the piano!  Do you think that I can ever learn it in my life?”

“Oh, in heaven’s name, how can you ask me such a thing?  How can you worry me so?  How could you do anything of the kind in our house?  Think of the terrible din that a piano makes!  And where would the money come from if you could find the time?  Oh, Dora, where did you get hold of that unfortunate idea?  I should think I had enough to worry me already, without your asking me such a thing as this into the bargain.”

Dora hastened to assure her aunt that she had no intention of asking for any thing, and the storm blew over.  But never again did she dare even to speak of music, no matter how eagerly she had listened to the piano, during her long sewing lessons.