Publisher's Synopsis
The fire blazed newly from its embers and set strange shadows to dancing upon thepolished floor. Now and then, there was a gleam from some dark mahogany surface and ananswering flash from a bit of old silver in the cabinet. April, warm with May's promise, came in through the open window, laden with the wholesome fragrance of growing things, and yet, because an old lady loved it, there was a fire upon the hearth and no other light inthe room.She sat in her easy chair, sheltered from possible draughts, and watched it, seeminglyunmindful of her three companions. Tints of amethyst and sapphire appeared in the hazefrom the backlog and were lost a moment later in the dominant flame. In that last hour ofglorious life, the tree was giving back its memories-blue skies, grey days just tinged withgold, lost rainbows, and flashes of sun.Friendly ghosts of times far past were conjured back in shadows-outspread wings, lowlying clouds, and long nights that ended in dawn. Swift flights of birds and wandering craftof thistledown were mirrored for an instant upon the shining floor, and then forgotten, because of falling leaves.Lines of transfiguring light changed the snowy softness of Miss Field's hair to silver, andgave to her hands the delicacy of carved ivory. A tiny foot peeped out from beneath hergown, clad in its embroidered silk stocking and high-heeled slipper, so brave in itstrappings of silver buckles that she might have been eighteen instead of seventy-five.Upon her face the light lay longest; perhaps with an answering love. The years had beenkind to her-had given her only enough bitterness to make her realise the sweetness, andfrom the threads that Life had placed in her hands at the beginning, had taught her how toweave the blessed fabric of Conte
