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evidently remembered the disappointment
caused by his unexpected disappearance,

but this unfriendly attitude
soon gave way to evidences of kindlier

feelings.
Mildred was there, more beautiful

than ever, and to gain her love Diotti
would have bartered his soul that moment.

The first movement of the suite was
entitled ``Pity,'' and the music flowed

like melodious tears. A subdued sob
rose and fell with the sadness of the

theme.
Mildred's eyes were moistened as

she fixed them on the lone figure of the
player.

Now the theme of pity changed to
hope, and hearts grew brighter under the

spell. The next movement depicted joy.
As the virtuoso's fingers darted here and

there, his music seemed the very laughter
of fairy voices, the earth looked roses

and sunshine, and Mildred, relaxing her
position and leaning forward in the box,

with lips slightly parted, was the picture
of eager happiness.

The final movement came. Its subject
was love. The introduction depicted

the Arcadian beauty of the
trysting place, love-lit eyes sought each

other intuitively and a great peace
brooded over the hearts of all. Then

followed the song of the Passionate Pilgrim:
``If music and sweet poetry agree,

As they must needs, the sister and the brother,
When must the love be great 'twixt thee and me

Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other.
***

Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound
That Phoebus' lute (the queen of music) makes;

And I in deep delight, am chiefly drown'd
When as himself to singing he betakes.

One god is god of both, as poets
One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.''

Grander and grander the melody
rose, voicing love's triumph with wondrous

sweetness and palpitating rhythm.
Mildred, her face flushed with excitement,

a heavenly fire in her eyes and in
an attitude of supplication, reveled in

the glory of a new found emotion.
As the violinist concluded his

performance an oppressive silence pervaded
the house, then the audience, wild with

excitement, burst into thunders of
applause. In his dressing-room Diotti

was besieged by hosts of people,
congratulating him in extravagant terms.

Mildred Wallace came, extending her
hands. He took them almost reverently.

She looked into his eyes, and
he knew he had struck the chord responsive

in her soul.
VIII

The sun was high in the heavens
when the violinist awoke. A great

weight had been lifted from his heart;
he had passed from darkness into dawn.

A messenger brought him this note:
My Dear Signor Diotti--I am at home this

afternoon, and shall be delighted to see you and
return my thanks for the exquisite pleasure you

gave me last evening. Music, such as yours,
is indeed the voice of heaven. Sincerely,

Mildred Wallace.
The messenger returned with this reply:

My Dear Miss Wallace--I will call at three to-day.
Gratefully,

Angelo Diotti.
He watched the hour drag from eleven

to twelve, then counted the minutes to
one, and from that time until he left the

hotel each second was tabulated in his
mind. Arriving at her residence, he

was ushered into the drawing-room. It
was fragrant with the perfume of violets,

and he stood gazing at her portrait
expectant of her coming.

Dressed in simple white, entrancing
in her youthfulfreshness, she entered,

her face glowing with happiness, her
eyes languorous and expressive. She

hastened to him, offering both hands.
He held them in a loving, tender grasp,

and for a moment neither spoke. Then
she, gazing clearly and fearlessly into

his eyes, said: ``My heart has found its
melody!''

He, kneeling like Sir Gareth of old:
``The song and the singer are yours

forever. ''
She, bidding him arise: ``And I forever

yours.'' And wondering at her
boldness, she added, ``I know and feel

that you love me--your eyes confirmed
your love before you spoke.'' Then,

convincingly and ingenuously, ``I knew
you loved me the moment we first met.

Then I did not understand what that
meant to you, now I do.''

He drew her gently to him, and the
motive of their happiness was defined

in sweet confessions: ``My love, my
life--My life, my love.''

The magic of his music had changed
her very being, the breath of love was

in her soul, the vision of love was dancing
in her eyes. The child of marble,

like the statue of old, had come to life:
``And not long since

I was a cold, dull stone! I recollect
That by some means I knew that I was stone;

That was the first dull gleam of consciousness;
I became conscious of a chilly self,

A cold, immovable identity.
I knew that I was stone, and knew no more!

Then, by an imperceptible advance,
Came the dim evidence of outer things,

Seen--darkly and imperfectly--yet seen
The walls surrounding me, and I, alone.

That pedestal--that curtain--then a voice
That called on Galatea! At that word,

Which seemed to shake my marble to the core,
That which was dim before, came evident.

Sounds, that had hummed around me, indistinct,
Vague, meaningless--seemed to resolve themselves

Into a language I could understand;
I felt my frame pervaded by a glow

That seemed to thaw my marble into flesh;
Its cold, hard substance throbbed with active life,

My limbs grew supple, and I moved--I lived!
Lived in the ecstasy of a new-born life!

Lived in the love of him that fashioned me!
Lived in a thousand tangled thoughts of hope.''

Day after day he came; they told their
love, their hopes, their ambitions. She

assumed absolute proprietorship in him.
She gloried in her possession.

He was born into the world, nurtured
in infancy, trained in childhood and

matured into manhood, for one express
purpose--to be hers alone. Her

ownership ranged from absolute despotism
to humbleslavery, and he was happy

through it all.
One day she said: ``Angelo, is it your purpose

to follow your profession always?''
``Necessarily, it is my livelihood,'' he replied.

``But do you not think that after we
stand at the altar, we never should be

separated?''
``We will be together always,'' said

he, holding her face between his palms,
and looking with tender expression into

her inquiring eyes.
``But I notice that women cluster

around you after your concerts--and
shake your hand longer than they

should--and talk to you longer than
they should--and go away looking self-

satisfied!'' she replied brokenly, much
as a little girl tells of the theft of her

doll.
``Nonsense,'' he said, smiling, ``that

is all part of my profession; it is not
me they care for, it is the music I

give that makes them happy. If, in my
playing, I achieve results out of the

common, they admire me!'' and he kissed
away the unwelcome tears.

``I know,'' she continued, ``but
lately, since we have loved each other,

I can not bear to see a woman near
you. In my dreams again and again

an indefinable shadow mockingly comes;
and cries to me, `he is not to be yours,

he is to be mine.' ''
Diotti flushed and drew her to him

``Darling,'' his voice carrying conviction,
``I am yours, you are mine, all in

all, in life here and beyond!'' And as
she sat dreaming after he had gone, she

murmured petulantly, ``I wish there
were no other women in the world.''

Her father was expected from Europe
on the succeeding day's steamer. Mr.

Wallace was a busy man. The various
gigantic enterprises he served as president

or director occupied most of his
time. He had been absent in Europe

for several months, and Mildred was


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