A blaze of sunlight poured in from the windows, and, where a sash was raised, came the faint, thrilling perfume of roses, a perfume to which Dick was peculiarly susceptible.

Yet, for years afterward, the odor of roses brought back to him that house and that room.
He thought at first that the room, although the faint clicking noise continued, contained no human being.

But presently he saw sitting at a table by the open window a woman whose gray dress and gray hair blended so nearly with the gray colors of the chamber that even a soldier could have been excused for not seeing her at once.

Her head and body were perfectly still, but her hands were moving rapidly.

She was knitting, and it was the click of her needles that they had heard.
She did not look up as Dick entered, and, taking off his cap, he stood, somewhat abashed.