at for you, to-night,
friends. Listen!" As she spoke the last word, her eyes met the eyes of the
artist, in mocking, challenging humor. He was wondering what she meant,
when,--from behind that screen of flowers,--soft and low, poignantly sweet
and thrilling in its purity of tone, came the music of the violin that he
had learned to know so well.

Instantly, the painter understood. Mrs. Taine had employed Sibyl Andres to
play for her guests that evening; thinking to tease the artist by
presenting his mountain comrade in the guise of a hired servant. Why the
girl had not told him, he did not know. Perhaps she had thought to enjoy
his surprise. The effect of the girl's presence--or rather of her music,
for she, herself, could not be seen--upon the artist was quite other than
Mrs. Taine intended.

Under the spell of the spirit that spoke in the violin, Aaron King was
carried far from his glittering surroundings. Again, he stood where the
bright waters of Clear Creek tumbled among the granite boulders, and where
he had first moved to answer the call of that music of the hills. Again,
he followed the old wagon road to the cedar thicket; and, in the little,
grassy opening with its wild roses, its encircling wilderness growth, and
its old log house under the sheltering sycamores, saw a beautiful girl
dancing with the unconscious grace of a woodland sprite, her arms upheld
in greeting to the mountains. Once again, he was painting in the sacred
quiet of the spring glade where she had come to him with her three gifts;
where, in maidenly innocence, she had danced the dance of the butterflies;
and, later, with her music, had lifted their friendship to heights of
purity as far above the comprehension of the company that listened to her
now, as the mountain peaks among the stars that night were high above the
house on Fairlands Heights.

The music ceased. It was followed by the loud clapping of hands--with
exclamations in high-pitched voices. "Who is it?" "Where did you find
him?" "What's his name?"--for they judged, from Mrs. Taine's introductory
words, that she expected them to show their appreciation.

Mrs. Taine laughed, and, with her eyes mockingly upon the artist's face
answered lightly, "Oh, she is a discovery of mine. She teaches music, and
plays in one of the Fairlands churches."

"You are a wonder," said one of the illustrious critics, admiringly. And
lifting his glass, he cried, "Here's to our beautiful and talented
hos