ver dreaming who she was. I had
always played to her, and it had seemed to me at times as if the music
I made was in her face. I could see nothing else. I seemed to be
looking through her amber eyes, down, down into her deep beautiful
soul, and my soul reached out toward her, with a sudden knowledge of
what manhood might have been had all womanhood been pure; of what life
might have been with one who could know no sin.

"It was only her face that I saw, as I stood waiting the end of the
applause. I seemed to be gazing between her glorious eyes, as to tell
the truth, I had more than once gazed in my dreams in the past month.
I had already written the song that seeing her face had sung in my
heart. It was with an irresistible longing, an impulse stronger than
my will, to say to her just what her face had said to me,--though she
might never know it was said to her--that I went back to the stage.
Almost before I realized it, I was there. I felt the vibrant soul of
my violin as I laid my cheek against it, and I saw the same spirit
tremble behind the eyes of the fair face above me, as one sees a
reflection tremble under the wind rippled water. The first chord
throbbed on the air in response to it. Then I played what she had
unconsciously inspired in me. It was in her eyes, where never
swerving, immortal loyalty shone, that I read the deathless theme. Out
of her nature came the inspiration. To her belongs the honor. I
know--no one better, that as I played last night, I shall never play
again; just as I realize that _what_ I played last night my own nature
could never of itself have created. It was she who spoke, it was not
I. Let him who dares, try to explain that miracle."

She rose from her chair and moved toward him, and as she moved, she
swayed pitifully.

He did not stir.

It was I who caught her as she stumbled, and I held her close in my
arms. After a moment, she relaxed a little, and her head drooped
wearily on my shoulder. He lowered his lids, and I felt that every
nerve in his well controlled body quivered with resentment.

He motioned to entreat her to sit down again. She shook her head, and,
when he went on, again, he for the first time addressed himself
directly to her. "It was chance that set you across my path last
night--you and your father. I recognized him at once. I knew your
mother well. I can remember the day on which you were born, I was a
lad then. Your mother was one of my idols. Why, child, I fid