at in the mind of Robert the proceeding was involved in
something of that awe and mystery with which a youth approaches the
woman he loves. He had not yet arrived at the period when the feminine
assumes its paramount influence, combining in itself all that music,
colour, form, odour, can suggest, with something infinitely higher and
more divine; but he had begun to be haunted with some vague aspirations
towards the infinite, of which his attempts on the violin were the
outcome. And now that he was to be alone, for the first time, with this
wonderful realizer of dreams and awakener of visions, to do with her as
he would, to hint by gentle touches at the thoughts that were fluttering
in his soul, and listen for her voice that by the echoes in which she
strove to respond he might know that she understood him, it was no
wonder if he felt an ethereal foretaste of the expectation that haunts
the approach of souls.

But I am not even going to describe his first tete-a-tete with his
violin. Perhaps he returned from it somewhat disappointed. Probably he
found her coy, unready to acknowledge his demands on her attention. But
not the less willingly did he return with her to the solitude of the
ruinous factory. On every safe occasion, becoming more and more frequent
as the days grew longer, he repaired thither, and every time returned
more capable of drawing the coherence of melody from that matrix of
sweet sounds.

At length the people about began to say that the factory was haunted;
that the ghost of old Mr. Falconer, unable to repose while neglect was
ruining the precious results of his industry, visited the place night
after night, and solaced his disappointment by renewing on his favourite
violin strains not yet forgotten by him in his grave, and remembered
well by those who had been in his service, not a few of whom lived in
the neighbourhood of the forsaken building.

One gusty afternoon, like the first, but late in the spring, Robert
repaired as usual to this his secret haunt. He had played for some time,
and now, from a sudden pause of impulse, had ceased, and begun to
look around him. The only light came from two long pale cracks in
the rain-clouds of the west. The wind was blowing through the broken
windows, which stretched away on either hand. A dreary, windy gloom,
therefore, pervaded the desolate place; and in the dusk, and their
settled order, the machines looked multitudinous. An eerie sense of
discomfort came ov