will remember the time when we walked together through the leafy lanes and I taught you—­even as you teach them—­you little thing!...  So, I shall linger in your heart.  And some day, should your children wander far away and my gardens blossom for a stranger who may take my name from off the gates,—­what is my name?  Already it grows faint to my ears. [Lightly.] Yes, yes, yes, let others take my work....  Why should we care?  All that happens, happens again. [She rests her elbow on the chair, half hides her face in her hand.] And never forget this:  I shall be waiting for you—­I shall know all your life.  I shall adore your children and be their grandfather just as though I were here; I shall find it hard not to laugh at them when they are bad, and I shall worship them when they are good—­and I don’t want them too good....  Frederik was good....  I shall be everywhere about you ... in the stockings at Christmas, in a big, busy, teeming world of shadows just outside your threshold, or whispering in the still noises of the night....  And oh! as the years pass, [Standing over her chair.] you cannot imagine what pride I shall take in your comfortable middle life—­the very best age, I think—­when you two shall look out on your possessions arm in arm—­and take your well-earned comfort and ease.  How I shall love to see you look fondly at each other as you say:  “Be happy, Jim—­you’ve worked hard for this;” or James says:  “Take your comfort, little mother, let them all wait upon you—­you waited upon them.  Lean back in your carriage—­you’ve earned it!” And towards the end—­[Sitting on a chair by her side and looking into her face.] after all the luxuries and vanities and possessions cease to be so important—­people return to very simple things, dear.  The evening of life comes bearing its own lamp.  Then, perhaps, as a little old grandmother, a little old child whose bed-time is drawing near, I shall see you happy to sit out in the sunlight of another day; asking nothing more of life than the few hours to be spent with those you love,... telling your grandchildren, at your knees, how much brighter the flowers blossomed when you were young.  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  All that happens, happens again....  And when, one glad day, glorified, radiant, young once more, the mother and I shall take you in our arms,—­oh! what a reunion! [Inspired.] The flight of love—­to love....  And now ... [He bends over her and caresses her hand.] good-night. [CATHERINE rises and, going to the desk, buries her face in the bunch of flowers placed there in memory of PETER.

CATHERINE.  Dear Uncle Peter....

MARTA enters—­pausing to hear if all is quiet in WILLIAM’S room.  CATHERINE, lifting her face, sees MARTA and rapturously hugs her, to MARTA’S amazement—­then goes up the stairs.

PETER. [Whose eyes never leave CATHERINE.] “Lust in Rust!” Pleasure and Peace!  Amen! [CATHERINE passes into her room, the music dying away as her door closes.  MARTA, still wondering, goes to the clock and winds it.] Poor Marta!  Every time she thinks of me, she winds my clock.  We’re not quite forgotten.