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she had taken the silken coverlet off and
was examining the instrument closely。
‘‘Sure enough； it has five strings； the
middle one stands higher than the rest
and is of glossy blackness。 Uncle Sanders
was right； it is a woman's hair！
‘‘Why is that string made of hair？''
she asked； controlling her emotion。
‘‘Only a fancy；'' he said； feigning
indifference。
‘‘Though you would not remove it at my wish
this afternoon； Angelo； I know you will not
refuse to play on it for me now。''
He raised his hands in supplication。
‘‘Mildred！ Mildred！ Stop！ do not ask it！''
‘‘You refuse after I have come
repentant； and confessing my doubts and
fears？ Uncle Sanders said you would
not play upon it for me； he told me it
was wrapped with a woman's hair； the
hair of the woman you love。''
‘‘I swear to you； Mildred； that I love but you！''
‘‘Love me？ Bah！ And another woman's
tresses sacred to you？ Another
woman's pledge sacred to you？ I asked
you to remove the string； you refused。
I ask you now to play upon it； you re…
fuse；'' and she paced the room like a
caged tigress。
‘‘I will watch to…night when you
play；'' she flashed。 ‘‘If you do not use
that string we part forever。''
He stood before her and attempted to
take her hand； she repulsed him savagely。
Sadly then he asked： ‘‘And if I do
play upon it？''
‘‘I am yours foreveryours through
lifethrough eternity；'' she cried
passionately。
The call…boy announced Diotti's turn；
the violinist led Mildred to a seat at the
entrance of the stage。 His appearance
was the signal for prolonged and enthusiastic
greeting from the enormous audience
present。 He clearly was the idol
of the metropolis。
The lights were lowered； a single
calcium playing with its soft and silvery
rays upon his face and shoulders。 The
expectant audience scarcely breathed as
he began his theme。 It was pitypity
molded into a concord of beautiful
sounds； and when he began the second
movement it was but a continuation of
the first； his fingers sought but one
string； that of pity。 Again he played；
and once more pity stole from the violin。
When he left the stage Mildred rushed
So him。 ‘‘You did not touch that string；
you refuse my wish？'' and the sounds
of mighty applause without drowned his
pleading voice。
‘‘I told you if you refused me I was
lost to you forever！ Do you understand？''
Diotti returned slowly to the center of
the stage and remained motionless until
the audience subsided。 Facing Mildred；
whose color was heightened by the in…
tensity of her emotion； he began softly
to play。 His fingers sought the string
of Death。 The audience listened with
breathless interest。 The composition
was weirdly and strangely fascinating。
The player told with wondrous power
of despair；of hope； of faith； sunshine
crept into the hearts of all as he pictured
the promise of an eternal day； higher
and higher； softer and softer grew the
theme until it echoed as if it were afar in
the realms of light and floating o'er the
waves of a golden sea。
Suddenly the audience was startled by
the snapping of a string； the violin and
bow dropped from the nerveless hands of
the player。 He fell helpless to the stage。
Mildred rushed to him； crying；
‘‘Angelo； Angelo； what is it？ What has
happened？'' Bending over him she
gently raised his head and showered un…
restrained kisses upon his lips；
oblivious of all save her lover。
‘‘Speak！ Speak！'' she implored。
A faint smile illumined his face； he
gazed with ineffable tenderness into her
weeping eyes； then slowly closed his own
as if in slumber。
The Conspirators
Arriving opposite the Franklin
house； Tom Foley took position in a
near…by alley； where he could keep close
watch on the front gate。 After hours of
nervous waiting； little Lillian Franklin
came out； and Tom's heart gave a jump。
She was alone； and began to roll a hoop；
which her friend Sandy had given her
that morning。 Down the street she
tripped； all smiles and happiness。
Tom watched her until she had turned
a corner； then he rushed up the alley
to intercept her。 When he emerged into
the street； he saw her resting on a rustic
bench； and hastened to join her。 As he
came up； he was greeted with：
‘‘Why； Tom； I thought you went fishing
with Gil； and papa； and Sandy； and
the rest。''
‘‘No； Lily。 I felt so bad 'bout my
dad being arrested yest'day I couldn't git
up no courage to go；'' answered the boy
with simulated contrition。 What d'yer
say？ let's s'prise Gil； and go down to
the landin' an' meet him when he comes
in from fishin'；'' suggested Foley； knowing
the intense love she had for her brother。
‘‘That'll be lovely； won't it？ And
Gil will be so glad if I come。''
Lillian whipped the hoop rapidly； and
Tom kept pace with her。
‘‘Gil will be surprised； sure enough；
when he sees me coming； won't he？''
‘‘Yes； he'll be s'prised； you bet！'' said
the boy； taking a firmer hold of her hand。
The night was fast approaching and
Foley was leading the child through
unfrequented alleys and streets。
‘‘But maybe Gil won't come back
this way； and it's getting awful dark。''
‘‘Oh； he'll come back this way； all right。''
They were now on the shore of the
river； dark and desolate in its winter
dress。 The restless splash of the water
sent icy sprays over the child； and；
clinging still closer to her treacherous
companion； she stopped him for a second
and begged him to return。
‘‘Don't be afear'd； nuthin's goin' ter
happen to yer；'' he said； jerking her
savagely； and almost breaking into a run
at the same time。
‘‘Oh； Tom； please let's go back；''
supplicated the child。
They were now at the old wharf。 He
gave a low whistle； and； without waiting
for an answer； pulled the helpless child
through the entrance。 Then； groping his
way over the slimy stones and through
the oozing mud； he dragged the affrighted
little one after him； to the mouth of the
cave； and called：
‘‘Dad； I'm here。''
‘‘Come right in；'' answered a voice。
‘‘I've got her； an' I got her easy as
dirt；'' said the son； pushing the terrified
child into the cave； and then roughly
into the arms of his father。
‘‘Don't yell； yer brat！'' said the older；
clasping his hand over mouth； and drawing
her brutally toward him。 ‘‘Shut
up； or I'll kill yer。''
Foley now called Hildey； who was；
asleep in the corner； and said； ‘‘Cul；
we've got to git out er this place jest as
quick as possible。 It's too near the
city； an' if we're tracked here we'll stand
no more chance than a snowball on
Beelzebub's gridiron。''
‘‘What's yer lay； Dennis？'' questioned Hildey。
‘‘Move up the river；'' was the reply。
‘‘I knows jest the place where we wouldn't
be found in a thousand years。''
‘‘W