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hastened to him； offering both hands。
He held them in a loving； tender grasp；
and for a moment neither spoke。 Then
she； gazing clearly and fearlessly into
his eyes； said： ‘‘My heart has found its
melody！''
He； kneeling like Sir Gareth of old：
‘‘The song and the singer are yours
forever。 ''
She； bidding him arise： ‘‘And I forever
yours。'' And wondering at her
boldness； she added； ‘‘I know and feel
that you love meyour eyes confirmed
your love before you spoke。'' Then；
convincingly and ingenuously； ‘‘I knew
you loved me the moment we first met。
Then I did not understand what that
meant to you； now I do。''
He drew her gently to him； and the
motive of their happiness was defined
in sweet confessions： ‘‘My love； my
lifeMy life； my love。''
The magic of his music had changed
her very being； the breath of love was
in her soul； the vision of love was dancing
in her eyes。 The child of marble；
like the statue of old； had come to life：
‘‘And not long since
I was a cold； dull stone！ I recollect
That by some means I knew that I was stone；
That was the first dull gleam of consciousness；
I became conscious of a chilly self；
A cold； immovable identity。
I knew that I was stone； and knew no more！
Then； by an imperceptible advance；
Came the dim evidence of outer things；
Seendarkly and imperfectlyyet seen
The walls surrounding me； and I； alone。
That pedestalthat curtainthen a voice
That called on Galatea！ At that word；
Which seemed to shake my marble to the core；
That which was dim before； came evident。
Sounds； that had hummed around me； indistinct；
Vague； meaninglessseemed to resolve themselves
Into a language I could understand；
I felt my frame pervaded by a glow
That seemed to thaw my marble into flesh；
Its cold； hard substance throbbed with active life；
My limbs grew supple； and I movedI lived！
Lived in the ecstasy of a new…born life！
Lived in the love of him that fashioned me！
Lived in a thousand tangled thoughts of hope。''
Day after day he came； they told their
love； their hopes； their ambitions。 She
assumed absolute proprietorship in him。
She gloried in her possession。
He was born into the world； nurtured
in infancy； trained in childhood and
matured into manhood； for one express
purposeto be hers alone。 Her
ownership ranged from absolute despotism
to humble slavery； and he was happy
through it all。
One day she said： ‘‘Angelo； is it your purpose
to follow your profession always？''
‘‘Necessarily； it is my livelihood；'' he replied。
‘‘But do you not think that after we
stand at the altar； we never should be
separated？''
‘‘We will be together always；'' said
he； holding her face between his palms；
and looking with tender expression into
her inquiring eyes。
‘‘But I notice that women cluster
around you after your concertsand
shake your hand longer than they
shouldand talk to you longer than
they shouldand go away looking self…
satisfied！'' she replied brokenly； much
as a little girl tells of the theft of her
doll。
‘‘Nonsense；'' he said； smiling； ‘‘that
is all part of my profession； it is not
me they care for； it is the music I
give that makes them happy。 If； in my
playing； I achieve results out of the
common； they admire me！'' and he kissed
away the unwelcome tears。
‘‘I know；'' she continued； ‘‘but
lately； since we have loved each other；
I can not bear to see a woman near
you。 In my dreams again and again
an indefinable shadow mockingly comes；
and cries to me； ‘he is not to be yours；
he is to be mine。' ''
Diotti flushed and drew her to him
‘‘Darling；'' his voice carrying conviction；
‘‘I am yours； you are mine； all in
all； in life here and beyond！'' And as
she sat dreaming after he had gone； she
murmured petulantly； ‘‘I wish there
were no other women in the world。''
Her father was expected from Europe
on the succeeding day's steamer。 Mr。
Wallace was a busy man。 The various
gigantic enterprises he served as president
or director occupied most of his
time。 He had been absent in Europe
for several months； and Mildred was
anxiously awaiting his return to tell him
of her love。
When Mr。 Wallace came to his residence
the next morning； his daughter
met him with a fond display of filial
affection； they walked into the drawing…
room； hand in hand； he saw a picture
of the violinist on the piano。 ‘‘Who's
the handsome young fellow？'' he asked；
looking at the portrait with the satisfaction
a man feels when he sees a splendid
type of his own sex。
‘‘That is Angelo Diotti； the famous
violinist；'' she said； but she could not
add another word。
As they strolled through the rooms
he noticed no less than three likenesses
of the Tuscan。 And as they passed her
room he saw still another on the chiffonnier。
‘‘Seems to me the house is running wild with
photographs of that fiddler；'' he said。
For the first time in her life she was
self…conscious： ‘‘I will wait for a more
opportune time to tell him；'' she thought。
In the scheme of Diotti's appearance
in New York there were to be two
more concerts。 One was to be given
that evening。 Mildred coaxed her
father to accompany her to hear the
violinist。 Mr。 Wallace was not fond
of music； ‘‘it had been knocked out of
him on the farm up in Vermont； when
he was a boy；'' he would apologetically
explain； and besides he had the old
puritanical abhorrence of stage people
putting them all in one classas puppets
who danced for played or talked for an
idle and unthinking public。
So it was with the thought of a
wasted evening that he accompanied
Mildred to the concert。
The entertainment was a repetition
of the others Diotti had given； and at
its end； Mildred said to her father：
‘‘Come； I want to congratulate Signor
Diotti in person。''
‘‘That is entirely unnecessary；'' he
replied。
‘‘It is my desire；'' and the girl led
the unwilling parent back of the scenes
and into Diotti's dressing…room。
Mildred introduced Diotti to her
father； who after a few commonplaces
lapsed into silence。 The daughter's
enthusiastic interest in Diotti's performance
and her tender solicitude for his
weariness after the efforts of the evening；
quickly attracted the attention of
Mr。 Wallace and irritated him exceedingly。
When father and daughter were
seated in their carriage and were hurriedly
driving home； he said： ‘‘Mildred；
I prefer that you have as little to say to
that man as possible。''
‘‘What do you object to in him？''
she asked。
‘‘Everything。 Of what use is a man
who dawdles away his time on a fiddle；
of what benefit is he to mankind？ Do
fiddlers build cities？ Do they delve into
the earth for precious metals？ Do they
sow the seed and harvest the grain？
No； no； they are dronesthe barnacles
of society。''