he artist.

Before Miss Nevin could stop him, he had risen in his seat, saying
excitedly: "It is mia bella Edith. She has come again."

Then realizing what he had done, he sat down, and, burying his face in
his hands, sobbed openly.

Persons around him, startled by his sudden cry, glared at him angrily
for creating a commotion during Eleanor's exquisite number, then again
turned their attention to the soloist.

"I must see her. I must see her," he muttered over and over again. "She
is my child; mine."

"So you shall," whispered Miss Nevin soothingly, "but not until the
concert is over. If we tell her now, Guido, it will upset her so that
she can't appear again this evening, and she has two more numbers."

Unabashed by the emotion he had displayed, the virtuoso wiped his eyes,
and sat waiting like one in a trance for his child to appear again.

Anne and Grace were alive with curiosity as to the outcome of Anne's
suggestion. They had eagerly scanned the house before the concert began,
but had failed to locate Miss Nevin and Eleanor's father.

"I'm going out in the audience and see if I can find them," Grace had
whispered to Anne during Nora's song, as they stood in the wing on the
opposite side from Jessica and Eleanor.

Anne had nodded silently, her attention focused upon Nora, whose singing
always delighted her, and Grace, slipping quietly down to the door that
led into the hall, made her way toward the back rows of seats just in
time to witness Guido Savelli's emotion at first sight of his daughter.

Back to Anne she sped with her news, and the two friends held a quiet
little jubilee of their own over the success of their plot.

There was a round of applause when "Enoch Arden" was announced. Eleanor
took her place at the piano while Anne stepped forward and began the
pathetic tale to the subdued strains of the music that Eleanor had
fitted to it.

Anne's beautiful voice rose and fell with wonderful expression, while
the music served to accentuate every word that she uttered. Her audience
sat practically spell bound, and when she uttered poor Enoch's death
cry, "A sail! A sail! I am saved!" there were many wet eyes throughout
the assemblage. She paused for a second before delivering the three
concluding lines, and Eleanor ended on the piano with a throbbing minor
chord.

There was absolute silence as the performers made their exit. Then a
perfect storm of enthusiasm burst forth. Anne and Eleanor returned