it was falling.

It was an old violin of very delicate workmanship.

"Sorry!" he exclaimed, handing it to her. "I am clumsy in a house.
Haven't been in one for so long. Glad I didn't smash it."

"I almost wish you had," said Eileen enigmatically.

"Don't you like music?" he asked.

"Oh, yes!"

"Violin music?"

"Yes!--but not from that violin. It is not like other violins: it has
an unsavoury history."

"Do you play?"

"Not the violin," said Eileen, standing with her back to the table,
leaning lightly there, clad in her dressing gown, her plaited hair
hanging over her shoulder and her eyes on her strange visitor in
manifest interest.

"My father is very fond of scraping on a violin. The one he plays is
hanging up there."

She pointed to another violin beside the mantelshelf in the adjoining
room.

"And this one?" he queried curiously, pointing to the one she had laid
on the table.

"This one is several hundred years old. It has been in the family for
ever so long. The story goes with it that the member of our family
who owns it will attain much wealth during his life, but will lose it
again if he doesn't pass it on when he is at the very height of his
prosperity. My father says it has always proved true, and he is hoping
for the day when its promise will be fulfilled in his case, for he
longs for wealth and all it brings; and he has striven all his life to
get it."

"I hope that he has his wish and is able to tell when he gets to the
highest point of his success, so that he may get rid of the violin in
time."

Eileen smiled.

"Daddy says that has been the trouble with our forefathers, who always
got wealthy but never seemed to be able to hold it when they got it.
That is my daddy over there."

She pointed to framed picture on the wall.

"He is big and brawny, and not afraid of anybody. He is--oh, so good.
He is the best in all the world."

The young man gazed at her as she expressed her admiration.

"He isn't here to-night?" he remarked.

Eileen turned her eyes on him sharply, as if she had sensed something
of a suspicious nature in his query. But she shook the thought from
her and laid her mind bare.

"No!--daddy was called away this afternoon. He won't be back until
to-morrow, noon.

"This violin," reverted Eileen, as if endeavouring to interest her
guest and keep his thoughts away from the misery of his own condition
as long as possible, "was the last work of a very famous Italian
vi