ck.

Diotti appeared at the open door. Perkins jumped like one shot from a
catapult, and rushing toward the silent figure in the doorway
exclaimed: "Bless my soul, are you a ghost?"

"A substantial one," said Diotti with a smile.

"Are you really here?" continued the astonished impresario, using
Diotti's arm as a pump handle and pinching him at the same time.

When they were seated Perkins plied Diotti with all manner of
questions; "How did it happen?" "How did you escape?" and the like, all
of which Diotti parried with monosyllabic replies, finally saying: "I
was dissatisfied with my playing and went away to study."

"Do you know that the failure to fulfill your contract has cost me at
least ten thousand dollars?" said the shrewd manager, the commercial
side of his nature asserting itself.

"All of which I will pay," quietly replied the artist. "Besides I am
ready to play now, and you can announce a concert within a week if you
like."

"If I like?" cried the hustling Perkins. "Here, James," calling his
office boy, "run down to the printer's and give him this," making a
note of the various sizes of "paper" he desired, "and tell Mr. Tompkins
that Diotti is back and will give a concert next Tuesday. Tell Smith
to prepare the newspaper 'ads' and notices immediately."

In an hour Perkins had the entire machinery of his office in motion.
Within twenty-four hours New York had several versions of the
disappearance and return, all leading to one common point--that Diotti
would give a concert the coming Tuesday evening.

The announcement of the reappearance of the Tuscan contained a line to
the effect that the violinist would play for the first time his new
suite--a meditation on the emotions.

He had not seen Mildred.

As he came upon the stage that night the lights were turned low, and
naught but the shadowy outlines of player and violin were seen. His
reception by the audience was not enthusiastic. They 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 playe