Miss Evelina turned and went into the house, shaken to her inmost soul.  More than ever, she felt the chains that bound her.  Straining against her bonds, she felt them cutting deep into her flesh.  Anthony Dexter had bound her; he alone could set her free.  From this there seemed no possible appeal.

Meanwhile the Piper mowed down the weeds in the garden, whistling cheerily.  He burned the rubbish in the road, and the smoke made a blue haze on the hill.  He spaded and raked and found new stones for the broken wall, and kept up a constant conversation with the dog.

It was twilight long before he got ready to make the flower beds, so he carried the tools back into the shed and safely stored away the seeds.  Miss Evelina watched him from the grimy front window as he started downhill, but he did not once look back.

There was something jaunty in the Piper’s manner, aside from the drooping red feather which bobbed rakishly as he went home, whistling.  When he was no longer to be seen, Miss Evelina sighed.  Something seemed to have gone out of her life, like a sunbeam which has suddenly faded.  In a safe shadow of the house, she raised her veil, and wiped away a tear.

When out of sight and hearing, the Piper stopped his whistling. “’T is no need to be cheerful, Laddie,” he explained to the dog, “when there’s none to be saddened if you’re not.  We don’t know about the loose link, and perhaps we can never find it, but we’re going to try.  We’ll take off the chain and put the poor soul in the sun again before we go away, if we can learn how to do it, but I’m thinking ’t is a heavy chain and the sun has long since ceased to shine.”

After supper, he lighted a candle and absorbed himself in going over his stock.  He had made a few purchases in the city and it took some time to arrange them properly.

Last of all, he took out a box and opened it.  He held up to the flickering light length after length of misty white chiffon—­a fabric which the Piper had never bought before.

“’T is expensive, Laddie,” he said; “so expensive that neither of us will taste meat again for more than a week, though we walked both ways, but I’m thinking she’ll need more sometime and there was none to be had here.  We’ll not be in the way of charging for it since her gown is shabby and her shoes are worn.”

Twilight deepened into night and still the Piper sat there, handling the chiffon curiously and yet with reverence.  It was silky to his touch, filmy, cloud-like.  He folded it into small compass, and crushed it in his hands, much surprised to find that it did not crumple.  All the meaning of chiffon communicated itself to him—­the lightness and the laughter, the beauty and the love.  Roses and moonlight seemed to belong with it, youth and a singing heart.

“’T is a rare stuff, I’m thinking, Laddie,” he said, at length, not noting that the dog was asleep. “’T is a rare, fine stuff, and well suited to her wearing, because she is so beautiful that she hides her face.”