Without further preface he began to play. He had not held a violin in
his hands since he had played with his father at home. Unconsciously his
fingers wandered into the familiar notes of Handel's Largo. He found the
violin to possess an exceptionally rich and pure quality of tone.

As he began to play, a door opened behind them, admitting Paula, the
V. A. D. and two or three young doctors, who took their places in the
corner about the piano.

"Do you know this?" whispered Paula to the V. A. D., as she caught the
strains of the Largo.

"Yes. I used to play it with my brother."

"Go to it, then," said Paula.

But the V. A. D. hesitated.

"Go on! Look at the boys, and look at his face."

The V. A. D. glanced about the room at the lines of pale and patient
faces, which, in spite of the marks of pain, were so pathetically and
resolutely bright. Then she glanced at Barry's face. He had forgotten
all about his surroundings, and his face was illumined with the light
from those hidden lamps that burn deep in the soul of genius, a light
enriched and warmed by the glow of a heart in sympathy with its kind.

In obedience to Paula's command and a little push upon her shoulder, the
V. A. D. sat down at the piano and touched the notes softly, feeling for
the key, then fell in with the violin.

At the first note, Barry turned sharply about and as she found her key
and began to follow, he stepped back to her side. Immediately, from his
instrument, there seemed to flow a richer, fuller stream of melody. From
the solemn and stately harmonies of the Largo, he passed to those old
familiar airs, that never die and never lose their power over the human
heart--"Annie Laurie" and "Ben Bolt," and thence to a rollicking French
chanson, which rather bowled over his accompanist, but only for the
first time though, for she had the rare gift of improvisation, and
sympathetic accompaniment.

Then with a full arm bowing, he swept them into the fiercely majestic
strains of the "Marseillaise," bringing the blue-coated orderlies about
the door, and such patients as could stand, and the group about the
piano to rigid attention. From the "Marseillaise" it was easy to pass
into the noble simplicity of his own national song, "Oh, Canada!"
where again his accompanist was quite able to follow, and thence to the
Empire's National Anthem, which had for a hundred years or more lifted
to their feet British soldiers and sailors the world over.

As h