"
It was the first time that he had spoken as though he would not remain
with the Missioner indefinitely. But the conviction that the time was
not far away when he would be leaving him had been growing within him
steadily. He kept it to himself. He fought against it even. But it
grew. And, curiously enough, it was strongest when Father Roland was in
the locked room playing softly on the violin. David never mentioned the
room. He feigned an indifference to its very existence. And yet in spite
of himself the mystery of it became an obsession with him. Something
within it seemed to reach out insistently and invite him in, like a
spirit chained there by the Missioner himself, crying for freedom. One
night they returned to the Chateau through a blizzard from the cabin of
a half-breed whose wife was sick, and after their supper the Missioner
went into the mystery-room. He played the violin as usual. But after
that there was a long silence. When Father Roland came out, and seated
himself opposite David at the small table on which their books were
scattered, David received a shock. Clinging to the Missioner's shoulder,
shimmering like a polished silken thread in the lampglow, was a long,
shining hair--a woman's hair.
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