e of hearing marked it.
His scheme seemed impracticable as for an instant he wavered at the head
of the ladder that served as a stairway; the next moment his foot was
upon the rungs, his light, lithe figure slipping down it like a shadow.
The room below, all eclipsed in a brown and dusky-red medium, the
compromise between light and darkness that the presence of the embers
fostered, was vaguely revealed to him. He was hardly sure whether he saw
the furniture all in place, or whether he knew its arrangement so well
that he seemed to see. Suddenly, as he laid his hand on the violin on
the wall, it became visible, its dark red wood richly glowing against
the brown logs and the tawny clay daubing. A tiny white flame had shot
up in the midst of the gray ashes, as he stood with the cherished object
in his cautious hand, his excited eyes, dilated and expectant, searching
the room apprehensively, while a vague thrill of a murmur issued from
the instrument, as if the spirit of music within it had been wakened by
his touch--too vague, too faintly elusive for the dormant and somewhat
dull perceptions of Nehemiah Yerby, calmly slumbering in state in the
best room.

The faint jet of flame was withdrawn in the ashes as suddenly as it had
shot forth, and in the ensuing darkness, deeper for the contrast with
that momentary illumination, it was not even a shadow that deftly
mounted the ladder again and emerged into the sheeny twilight of the
moonlit roof-room. Lean-der was somehow withheld for a moment motionless
at the window; it may have been by compunction; it may have been by
regret, if it be possible to the very young to definitely feel either.
There was an intimation of pensive farewell in his large illumined eyes
as they rested on the circle of familiar things about him--the budding
trees, the well, with its great angular sweep against the sky, the
still sward, the rail-fences glistening with the dew, the river with
the moonlight in a silver blazonry on its lustrous dark surface, the
encompassing shadows of the gloomy mountains. There was no sound, not
even among the rippling shallows; he could hear naught but the pain of
parting throbbing in his heart, and from the violin a faint continuous
susurrus, as if it murmured half-asleep memories of the melodies that
had thrilled its waking moments. It necessitated careful handling as
he deftly let himself out of the window, the bow held in his mouth, the
instrument in one arm, while the