ad played that beautiful little melancholy romance
was as capable a violinist as himself. Alas, how different their lots!

When the sounds had died away, the young man resumed his instrument.
He played over twice that beautiful theme which had impressed him so
strongly, and then, as if inspired, wove into it a series of brilliant
variations.

He felt he was playing as he had only played once or twice before in
his life. Soon, a small crowd was gathered on the pavement, in spite
of the icy temperature. And when Anita went round shamefacedly with
her little bag, she met with a liberal response. Nello need play no
more that night, they had enough for their humble needs; they would
get home as quickly as possible. He had contracted a heavy cold from
which he was still suffering. To-morrow he could stop indoors and she
would nurse him, as she had so often done before.

She whispered the good news into her brother's ear, and joyfully he
placed the violin back into its case. The small crowd, noting the
action, melted away. The friendless young souls linked their arms
together, stepped on to the pavement and turned in the direction of
their humble lodging.

But they had not taken half a dozen steps when the door of a house was
opened very quietly, and an extraordinary figure stepped out and
beckoned to them.

"My poor children, it is a wretched night for you to be out." This
peculiar-looking old man was speaking in a very kind and gentle voice.
They noticed his face was withered and furrowed with the deep lines of
age. He wore a bristling white moustache, which gave him rather a
military air in spite of his stooping figure. He had on a tiny skull
cap to defend himself against the keen night air, but underneath it
his snow-white locks were abundant.

He turned to young Corsini, peering at him through his
tortoise-shell-rimmed glasses. "You have the gift, my young friend;
you played those variations divinely. Our neighbour over the way is a
decent performer, he plays in a very good orchestra, but he has not
your fire, your brilliancy."

He fumbled in his pocket and produced a shilling, which he pressed
upon Anita, who shrank back a little. She had not always been
accustomed to this sort of half-charity.

The old man saw her embarrassment and smiled. "Ah, it is as I thought,
my child. But there is no cause to blush. If your brother were a
famous violinist and I paid half-a-guinea for a stall to hear him, you
would not t