She awoke the following morning with an aching head, and a heart
wherein all emotions seemed dead save a dull despair. She was
conscious of only one wish, one desire--a longing to sit again in the
organ loft, and pour forth her soul in one last farewell to that
instrument which had grown to seem her friend, confidant and lover.
She battled with her impulse as unreasonable and unwise, till the day
was well advanced. But it grew stronger with each hour; and at last
she set forth under a leaden sky and through a dreary November rain
to the church.
Her head throbbed with pain, and her hands were hot and feverish, as
she seated herself before the organ and began to play. But with the
first sounds responding to her touch, she ceased to think of bodily
discomfort.
The music was the voice of her own soul, uttering to God all its
desolation, its anguish and its despair. Then suddenly, with no
seeming volition of her own, it changed to a passion of human love,
human desire; the sorrow of separation, the strife with the emotions,
the agony of renunciation were all there; and the November rain,
beating in wild gusts against the window-panes behind the musician,
lent a fitting accompaniment to the strains.
She had been playing for perhaps an hour, when a sudden exhaustion
seized upon her, and her hands fell nerveless and inert upon her lap;
she dropped her chin upon her breast and closed her eyes.
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