tess--the patron saint of all the arts--the friend of all true
artists."

In the quiet that followed the enthusiastic endorsement of the
distinguished gentleman's words, another voice said, "If it's a girl,
can't we see her?" "Yes, yes," came from several. "Please, Mrs. Taine,
bring her out." "Have her play again." "Will she?"

Mrs. Taine laughed. "Certainly, she will. That's what she's here for--to
amuse you." And, again, as she spoke, her eyes met the eyes of Aaron King.

At her signal, a servant left the room. A moment later, the mountain girl,
dressed in simple white, with no jewel or ornament other than a rose in
her soft, brown hair, stood before that company. Unconscious of the eyes
that fed upon her loveliness; there was the faintest shadow of a smile
upon her face as she met, in one swift glance, the artist's look; then,
raising her violin, she made music for the revelers, at the will of Mrs.
Taine. As she stood there in the modest naturalness of her winsome
beauty--innocent and pure as the flowers that formed the screen behind
her; hired to amuse the worthy friends and guests of that hideously
repulsive devotee of lust and licentiousness who, from his wheeled chair,
was glaring at her with eyes that burned insanely--she seemed, as indeed
she was, a spirit from another world.

James Rutlidge, his heavy features flushed with drink, was gazing at the
girl with a look that betrayed his sensual passion. The face of Conrad
Lagrange was dark and grim with scowling appreciation of the situation.
Mrs. Taine was looking at the artist. And Aaron King, watching his girl
comrade of the hills as she seemed to listen for the music which she in
turn drew from the instrument, felt,--by the very force of the contrast
between her and her surroundings he had never felt before, the power and
charm of her personality--felt--and knew that Sibyl Andres had come into
his life to stay.

In the flood of emotions that swept over him, and in the mental and
spiritual exultation caused by her music and by her presence amid such
scenes; it was given the painter to understand that she had, in truth,
brought to him the strength, the purity, and the beauty of the hills; that
she had, in truth, shown him the paths that lead to the mountain heights;
that it was her unconscious influence and teaching that had made it
impossible for him to prostitute his genius to win favor in the eyes of
the world. He knew, now, that in those days when he had