Irene had been very cruel . Rilla remembered now that more than once that day she had caught her mother looking at her with an odd expression . She had been too busy to wonder what it meant . She understood now . Mother had known why Walter went to town but would n't tell her until the concert was over . What spirit and endurance mother had ! `` I must stay here and see things through , '' said Rilla , clasping her cold hands together . The rest of the evening always seemed like a fevered dream to her . Her body was crowded by people but her soul was alone in a torture-chamber of its own . Yet she played steadily for the drills and gave her readings without faltering . She even put on a grotesque old Irish woman 's costume and acted the part in the dialogue which Miranda Pryor had not taken . But she did not give her `` brogue '' the inimitable twist she had given it in the practices , and her readings lacked their usual fire and appeal . As she stood before the audience she saw one face only -- that of the handsome , dark-haired lad sitting beside her mother -- and she saw that same face in the trenches -- saw it lying cold and dead under the stars -- saw it pining in prison -- saw the light of its eyes blotted out -- saw a hundred horrible things as she stood there on the beflagged platform of the Glen hall with her own face whiter than the milky crab-blossoms in her hair . Between her numbers she walked restlessly up and down the little dressing-room . Would the concert never end ! It ended at last . Olive Kirk rushed up and told her exultantly that they had made a hundred dollars . `` That 's good , '' Rilla said mechanically . Then she was away from them all -- oh , thank God , she was away from them all -- Walter was waiting for her at the door . He put his arm through hers silently and they went together down the moonlit road .
The frogs were singing in the marshes , the dim , ensilvered fields XXXXX home lay all around them .
As at before down in of on that with without