And when she climbed the steps again, with it looming up before her in the red afterglow, the dignity and repose of its lines, from its massive portal to its highest turret, awakened a response in her beauty-loving little soul that thrilled her like music.
She went softly through the great door and up the stair-case, pausing for a moment on the landing to look at the coat-of-arms in the stained glass window.

It was a copy of the window in the old ancestral castle in England, that belonged to Madam Chartley's family.

Mary already knew the story of its traditional founder, the first Edryn who had won his knighthood in valiant deeds for King Arthur.

In the dim light the coat-of-arms gleamed like jewels in an amber setting, and the heart in the crest, the heart out of which rose a mailed hand grasping a spear, was like a great ruby.
"I keep the tryste," whispered Mary, reading the motto of the scroll underneath.

"No wonder Madam Chartley grew up to be so patrician.
Anybody might with a window like that in the house." Some one began striking loud full chords on a piano in one of the rooms below; some one with a strong masterful touch.