The Fifth String

By

John Philip Sousa

The Conspirators

By

John Philip Sousa

I

The coming of Diotti to America had awakened more than usual interestin the man and his work. His marvelous success as violinist in theleading capitals of Europe, together with many brilliant contributionsto the literature of his instrument, had long been favorably commentedon by the critics of the old world. Many stories of his struggles andhis triumphs had found their way across the ocean and had been read andre-read with interest. 

Therefore, when Mr. Henry Perkins, the well-known impresario, announcedwith an air of conscious pride and pardonable enthusiasm that he hadsecured Diotti for a "limited" number of concerts, Perkins' friendsassured that wide-awake gentleman that his foresight amounted topositive genius, and they predicted an unparalleled success for hisstar. On account of his wonderful ability as player, Diotti was afavorite at half the courts of Europe, and the astute Perkins enlargedupon this fact without regard for the feelings of the courts or theviolinist. 

On the night preceding Diotti's debut in New York, he was the center ofattraction at a reception given by Mrs. Llewellyn, a social leader, anda devoted patron of the arts. The violinist made a deep impression onthose fortunate enough to be near him during the evening. He won therespect of the men by his observations on matters of internationalinterest, and the admiration of the gentler sex by his chivalricestimate of woman's influence in the world's progress, on which subjecthe talked with rarest good humor and delicately implied gallantry. 

During one of those sudden and unexplainable lulls that always occur ingeneral drawing-room conversations, Diotti turned to Mrs. Llewellyn andwhispered: "Who is the charming young woman just entering?"

"The beauty in white?"

"Yes, the beauty in white, " softly echoing Mrs. Llewellyn's query. Heleaned forward and with eager eyes gazed in admiration at thenew-comer. He seemed hypnotized by the vision, which moved slowly frombetween the blue-tinted portieres and stood for the instant, a perfectembodiment of radiant womanhood, silhouetted against the silken drapery. 

"That is Miss Wallace, Miss Mildred Wallace, only child of one of NewYork's prominent bankers. "

"She is beautiful--a queen by divine right, " cried he, and then with amingling of impetuosity and importunity, entreated his hostess topresent him. 

And thus they met. 

Mrs. Llewellyn's entertainments were celebrated, and justly so. At herreceptions one always heard the best singers and players of the season, and Epicurus' soul could rest in peace, for her chef had aninternational reputation. Oh, remember, you music-fed ascetic, many, aye, very many, regard the transition from Tschaikowsky to terrapin, from Beethoven to burgundy with hearts aflame with anticipatoryjoy--and Mrs. Llewellyn's dining-room was crowded. 

Miss Wallace and Diotti had wandered into the conservatory. 

"A desire for happiness is our common heritage, " he was saying in hisrichly melodious voice. 

"But to define what constitutes happiness is very difficult, " shereplied. 

"Not necessarily, " he went on; "if the motive is clearly within ourgrasp, the attainment is possible. "

"For example?" she asked. 

"The miser is happy when he hoards his gold; the philanthropist when hedistributes his. The attainment is identical, but the motives areantipodal. "

"Then one possessing sufficient motives could be happy without end?"she suggested doubtingly. 

"That is my theory. The Niobe of old had happiness within her power. "

"The gods thought not, " said she; "in their very pity they changed herinto stone, and with streaming eyes she ever tells the story of hersorrow. "

"But are her children weeping?" he asked. "I think not. Happiness canbloom from the seeds of deepest woe, " and in a tone almost reverential, he continued: "I remember a picture in one of our Italian galleriesthat always impressed me as the ideal image of maternal happiness. Itis a painting of the Christ-mother standing by the body of theCrucified. Beauty was still hers, and the dress of grayish hue, nun-like in its simplicity, seemed more than royal robe. Her face, illumined as with a light from heaven, seemed inspired with thisthought: 'They have killed Him--they have killed my son! Oh, God, Ithank Thee that His suffering is at an end!' And as I gazed at the holyface, another light seemed to change it by degrees from saddenedmotherhood to triumphant woman! Then came: 'He is not dead, He butsleeps; He will rise again, for He is the best beloved of the Father!'"

"Still, fate can rob us of our patrimony, " she replied, after a pause. 

"Not while life is here and eternity beyond, " he said, reassuringly. 

"What if a soul lies dormant and will not arouse?" she asked. 

"There are souls that have no motive low enough for earth, but onlyhigh enough for heaven, " he said, with evident intention, lookingalmost directly at her. 

"Then one must come who speaks in nature's tongue, " she continued. 

"And the soul will then awake, " he added earnestly. 

"But is there such a one?" she asked. 

"Perhaps, " he almost whispered, his thought father to the wish. 

"I am afraid not, " she sighed. "I studied drawing, worked diligentlyand, I hope, intelligently, and yet I was quickly convinced that acounterfeit presentment of nature was puny and insignificant. I paintedNiagara. My friends praised my effort. I saw Niagara again--I destroyedthe picture. "

"But you must be prepared to accept the limitations of man and hiswork, " said the philosophical violinist. 

"Annihilation of one's own identity in the moment is possible innature's domain--never in man's. The resistless, never-ending rush ofthe waters, madly churning, pitilessly dashing against the rocks below;the mighty roar of the loosened giant; that was Niagara. My pictureseemed but a smear of paint. "

"Still, man has won the admiration of man by his achievements, " he said. 

"Alas, for me, " she sighed, "I have not felt it. "

"Surely you have been stirred by the wonders man has accomplished inmusic's realm?" Diotti ventured. 

"I never have been. " She spoke sadly and reflectively. 

"But does not the passion-laden theme of a master, or the marvelousfeeling of a player awaken your emotions?" persisted he. 

She stood leaning lightly against a pillar by the fountain. "I neverhear a pianist, however great and famous, but I see the littlecream-colored hammers within the piano bobbing up and down likeacrobatic brownies. I never hear the plaudits of the crowd for theartist and watch him return to bow his thanks, but I mentally demandthat these little acrobats, each resting on an individual pedestal, andweary from his efforts, shall appear to receive a share of the applause. 

"When I listen to a great singer, " continued this world-defyingskeptic, "trilling like a thrush, scampering over the scales, I see aclumsy lot of ah, ah, ahs, awkwardly, uncertainly ambling up the gamut, saying, 'were it not for us she could not sing thus--give us our meedof praise. '"

Slowly he replied: "Masters have written in wondrous language andmasters have played with wondrous power. "

"And I so long to hear, " she said, almost plaintively. "I marvel at theinvention of the composer and the skill of the player, but there Icease. "

He looked at her intently. She was standing before him, not a block ofchiseled ice, but a beautiful, breathing woman. He offered her his armand together they made their way to the drawing-room. 

"Perhaps, some day, one will come who can sing a song of perfect lovein perfect tones, and your soul will be attuned to his melody. "

"Perhaps--and good-night, " she softly said, leaving his arm and joiningher friends, who accompanied her to the carriage. 

II

The intangible something that places the stamp of popular approval onone musical enterprise, while another equally artistic and as cleverlymanaged languishes in a condition of unendorsed greatness, remains oneof the unsolved mysteries. 

When a worker in the vineyard of music or the drama offers his choicesttokay to the public, that fickle coquette may turn to the more ordinaryand less succulent concord. And the worker and the public itself knownot why. 

It is true, Diotti's fame had preceded him, but fame has precededothers and has not always been proof against financial disaster. Allthis preliminary, --and it is but necessary to recall that on theevening of December the twelfth Diotti made his initial bow in NewYork, to an audience that completely filled every available space inthe Academy of Music--a representative audience, distinguished alikefor beauty, wealth and discernment. 

When the violinist appeared for his solo, he quietly acknowledged thecordial reception of the audience, and immediately proceeded with thebusiness of the evening. At a slight nod from him the conductor rappedattention, then launched the orchestra into the introduction of theconcerto, Diotti's favorite, selected for the first number. As theviolinist turned to the conductor he faced slightly to the left and ina direct line with the second proscenium box. His poise was admirable. He was handsome, with the olive-tinted warmth of his southernhome--fairly tall, straight-limbed and lithe--a picture of poeticgrace. His was the face of a man who trusted without reserve, themanner of one who believed implicitly, feeling that good was universaland evil accidental. 

As the music grew louder and the orchestra approached the peroration ofthe preface of the coming solo, the violinist raised his head slowly. Suddenly his eyes met the gaze of the solitary occupant of the secondproscenium box. His face flushed. He looked inquiringly, almostappealingly, at her. She sat immovable and serene, a lace-framed visionin white. 

It was she who, since he had met her, only the night before, held hisvery soul in thraldom. 

He lifted his bow, tenderly placing it on the strings. Faintly came thefirst measures of the theme. The melody, noble, limpid and beautiful, floated in dreamy sway over the vast auditorium, and seemed to cast amystic glamour over the player. As the final note of the first movementwas dying away, the audience, awakening from its delicious trance, broke forth into spontaneous bravos. 

Mildred Wallace, scrutinizing the program, merely drew her wrap closerabout her shoulders and sat more erect. At the end of the concerto theapplause was generous enough to satisfy the most exacting virtuoso. Diotti unquestionably had scored the greatest triumph of his career. But the lady in the box had remained silent and unaffected throughout. 

The poor fellow had seen only her during the time he played, and themighty cheers that came from floor and galleries struck upon his earlike the echoes of mocking demons. Leaving the stage he hurried to hisdressing-room and sank into a chair. He had persuaded himself sheshould not be insensible to his genius, but the dying ashes of hishopes, his dreams, were smouldering, and in his despair came thethought: "I am not great enough for her. I am but a man; her consortshould be a god. Her soul, untouched by human passion or human skill, demands the power of god-like genius to arouse it. "

Music lovers crowded into his dressing-room, enthusiastic in theirpraises. Cards conveying delicate compliments written in delicatechirography poured in upon him, but in vain he looked for some sign, some word from her. 

Quickly he left the theater and sought his hotel. 

A menacing cloud obscured the wintry moon. A clock sounded the midnighthour. 

He threw himself upon the bed and almost sobbed his thoughts, and theirburden was:

"I am not great enough for her. I am but a man. I am but a man!"

III

Perkins called in the morning. Perkins was happy--Perkins waspositively joyous, and Perkins was self-satisfied. The violinist hadmade a great hit. But Perkins, confiding in the white-coated dispenserwho concocted his matin Martini, very dry, an hour before, said heregarded the success due as much to the management as to the artist. And Perkins believed it. Perkins usually took all the credit for asuccess, and with charming consistency placed all responsibility forfailure on the shoulders of the hapless artist. 

When Perkins entered Diotti's room he found the violinist heavy-eyedand dejected. "My dear Signor, " he began, showing a large envelopebulging with newspaper clippings, "I have brought the notices. They arequite the limit, I assure you. Nothing like them ever heard before--alltuned in the same key, as you musical fellows would say, " and Perkinscocked his eye. 

Perkins enjoyed a glorious reputation with himself for bright sayings, which he always accompanied with a cock of the eye. The musician notshowing any visible appreciation of the manager's metaphor, Perkinsimmediately proceeded to uncock his eye. 

"Passed the box-office coming up, " continued this voluble enlightener;"nothing left but a few seats in the top gallery. We'll stand them ontheir heads to-morrow night--see if we don't. " Then he handed thebursting envelope of notices to Diotti, who listlessly put them on thetable at his side. 

"Too tired to read, eh?" said Perkins, and then with the advance-agentinstinct strong within him he selected a clipping, and touching theviolinist on the shoulder: "Let me read this one to you. It is by HerrTotenkellar. He is a hard nut to crack, but he did himself proud thistime. Great critic when he wants to be. "

Perkins cleared his throat and began: "Diotti combines tremendousfeeling with equally tremendous technique. The entire audience wasunder the witchery of his art. " Diotti slowly negatived that statementwith bowed head. "His tone is full, round and clear; hisinterpretation lends a story-telling charm to the music; for, while wedrank deep at the fountain of exquisite melody, we saw sparkling withinthe waters the lights of Paradise. New York never has heard his equal. He stands alone, pre-eminent, an artistic giant. "

"Now, that's what I call great, " said the impresario, dramatically;"when you hit Totenkellar that way you are good for all kinds of money. "

Perkins took his hat and cane and moved toward the door. The violinistarose and extended his hand wearily. "Good-day" came simultaneously;then "I'm off. We'll turn 'em away to-morrow; see if we don't!"Whereupon Perkins left Diotti alone in his misery. 

IV

It was the evening of the fourteenth, In front of the Academy astrong-lunged and insistent tribe of gentry, known as ticketspeculators, were reaping a rich harvest. They represented a beaconlight of hope to many tardy patrons of the evening's entertainment, especially to the man who had forgotten his wife's injunction "to besure to buy the tickets on the way down town, dear, and get them in thefamily circle, not too far back. " This man's intentions were sincere, but his newspaper was unusually interesting that morning. He wasdeeply engrossed in an article on the causes leading to matrimonialinfelicities when his 'bus passed the Academy box-office. 

He was six blocks farther down town when he finished the article, onlyto find that it was a carefully worded advertisement for a new patentmedicine, and of course he had not time to return. "Oh, well, " said he, "I'll get them when I go up town to-night. "

But he did not. So with fear in his heart and a red-faced woman on hisarm he approached the box-office. "Not a seat left, " sounded to hishen-pecked ears like the concluding words of the black-robed judge:"and may the Lord have mercy upon your soul. " But a reprieve came, forone of the aforesaid beacon lights of hope rushed forward, saying: "Ihave two good seats, not far back, and only ten apiece. " And thegentleman with fear in his heart and the red-faced woman on his armpassed in. 

They saw the largest crowd in the history of the Academy. Every seatwas occupied, every foot of standing room taken. Chairs were placed inthe side aisles. The programs announced that it was the secondappearance in America of Angelo Diotti, the renowned Tuscan violinist. 

The orchestra had perfunctorily ground out the overture to "DerFreischuetz, " the baritone had stentorianly emitted "Dio Possente, " thesoprano was working her way through the closing measures of the madscene from "Lucia, " and Diotti was number four on the program. Theconductor stood beside his platform, ready to ascend as Diotti appeared. 

The audience, ever ready to act when those on the stage cease thatoccupation, gave a splendid imitation of the historic last scene at theTower of Babel. Having accomplished this to its evident satisfaction, the audience proceeded, like the closing phrase of the"Goetterdaemmerung" Dead March, to become exceedingly quiet--thenexpectant. 

This expectancy lasted fully three minutes. Then there were someimpatient handclappings. A few persons whispered: "Why is he late?""Why doesn't he come?" "I wonder where Diotti is, " and then cameunmistakable signs of impatience. At its height Perkins appeared, hesitatingly. Nervous and jerky he walked to the center of the stage, and raised his hand begging silence. The audience was stilled. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, " he falteringly said, "Signor Diotti left hishotel at seven o'clock and was driven to the Academy. The call-boyrapped at his dressing-room, and not receiving a reply, opened the doorto find the room empty. We have despatched searchers in every directionand have sent out a police alarm. We fear some accident has befallenthe Signor. We ask your indulgence for the keen disappointment, and begto say that your money will be refunded at the box-office. "

Diotti had disappeared as completely as though the earth had swallowedhim. 

V

My Dearest Sister: You doubtless were exceedingly mystified andtroubled over the report that was flashed to Europe regarding my suddendisappearance on the eve of my second concert in New York. 

Fearing, sweet Francesca, that you might mourn me as dead, I sent thecablegram you received some weeks since, telling you to be of goodheart and await my letter. To make my action thoroughly understood Imust give you a record of what happened to me from the first day Iarrived in America. I found a great interest manifested in my premiere, and socially everything was done to make me happy. 

Mrs. James Llewellyn, whom, you no doubt remember, we met in Florencethe winter of 18--, immediately after I reached New York arranged areception for me, which was elegant in the extreme. But from that nightdates my misery. 

You ask her name?--Mildred Wallace. Tell me what she is like, I hearyou say. Of graceful height, willowy and exquisitely molded, not overtwenty-four, with the face of a Madonna; wondrous eyes of darkest blue, hair indescribable in its maze of tawny color--in a word, theperfection of womanhood. In half an hour I was her abject slave, andproud in my serfdom. When I returned to the hotel that evening I couldnot sleep. Her image ever was before me, elusive and shadowy. And yetwe seemed to grow farther and farther apart--she nearer heaven, Inearer earth. 

The next evening I gave my first and what I fear may prove my lastconcert in America. The vision of my dreams was there, radiant inrarest beauty. Singularly enough, she was in the direct line of myvision while I played. I saw only her, played but for her, and cast mysoul at her feet. She sat indifferent and silent. "Cold?" you say. No!No! Francesca, not cold; superior to my poor efforts. I realized mylimitations. I questioned my genius. When I returned to bow myacknowledgments for the most generous applause I have ever received, there was no sign on her part that I had interested her, either throughmy talent or by appeal to her curiosity. I hoped against hope that someword might come from her, but I was doomed to disappointment. Thecritics were fulsome in their praise and the public was lavish with itsplaudits, but I was abjectly miserable. Another sleepless night and Iwas determined to see her. She received me most graciously, although Ifear she thought my visit one of vanity--wounded vanity--and mepetulant because of her lack of appreciation. 

Oh, sister mine, I knew better. I knew my heart craved one word, however matter-of-fact, that would rekindle the hope that was dyingwithin me. 

Hesitatingly, and like a clumsy yokel, I blurted: "I have beenwondering whether you cared for the performance I gave?"

"It certainly ought to make little difference to you, " she replied;"the public was enthusiastic enough in its endorsement. "

"But I want your opinion, " I pleaded. 

"My opinion would not at all affect the almost unanimous verdict, " shereplied calmly. 

"And, " I urged desperately, "you were not affected in the least?"

Very coldly she answered, "Not in the least;" and then fearlessly, likea princess in the Palace of Truth: "If ever a man comes who can awakenmy heart, frankly and honestly I will confess it. "

"Perhaps such a one lives, " I said, "but has yet to reach the height towin you--your--"

"Speak it, " she said, "to win my love!"

"Yes, " I cried, startled at her candor, "to win your love. " Hope slowlyrekindled within my breast, and then with half-closed eyes, andwooingly, she said:

"No drooping Clytie could be more constant than I to him who strikesthe chord that is responsive in my soul. "

Her emotion must have surprised her, but immediately she regained herplacidity and reverted no more to the subject. 

I went out into the gathering gloom. Her words haunted me. A strangefeeling came over me. A voice within me cried: "Do not play to-night. Study! study! Perhaps in the full fruition of your genius your music, like the warm western wind to the harp, may bring life to her soul. "

I fled, and I am here. I am delving deeper and deeper into themysteries of my art, and I pray God each hour that He may place withinmy grasp the wondrous music His blessed angels sing, for the soul ofher I love is attuned to the harmonies of heaven. 

Your affectionate brother, ANGELO. ISLAND OF BAHAMA, January 2. 

VI

When Diotti left New York so precipitately he took passage on a coastline steamer sailing for the Bahama Islands. Once there, he leased asmall cay, one of a group off the main land, and lived alone andunattended, save for the weekly visits of an old fisherman and his son, who brought supplies of provisions from the town miles away. Hisdwelling-place, surrounded with palmetto trees, was little more than arough shelter. Diotti arose at daylight, and after a simple repast, betook himself to practise. Hour after hour he would let his muse runriot with his fingers. Lovingly he wooed the strings with plaintivesong, then conquering and triumphant would be his theme. But neithersatisfied him. The vague dream of a melody more beautiful than everman had heard dwelt hauntingly on the borders of his imagination, butwas no nearer realization than when he began. As the day's work closed, he wearily placed the violin within its case, murmuring, "Not yet, notyet; I have not found it. "

Days passed, weeks crept slowly on; still he worked, but always withthe same result. One day, feverish and excited, he played on inmonotone almost listless. His tired, over-wrought brain denied afurther thought. His arm and fingers refused response to his will. Withan uncontrollable outburst of grief and anger he dashed the violin tothe floor, where it lay a hopeless wreck. Extending his arms he cried, in the agony of despair: "It is of no use! If the God of heaven willnot aid me, I ask the prince of darkness to come. "

A tall, rather spare, but well-made and handsome man appeared at thedoor of the hut. His manner was that of one evidently conversant withthe usages of good society. 

"I beg pardon, " said the musician, surprised and visibly nettled at theintrusion, and then with forced politeness he asked: "To whom am Iindebted for this unexpected visit?"

"Allow me, " said the stranger taking a card from his case and handingit to the musician, who read: "Satan, " and, in the lower left-handcorner "Prince of Darkness. "

"I am the Prince, " said the stranger, bowing low. 

There was no hint of the pavement-made ruler in the information hegave, but rather of the desire of one gentleman to set another right atthe beginning. The musician assumed a position of open-mouthed wonder, gazing steadily at the visitor. 

"Satan?" he whispered hoarsely. 

"You need help and advice, " said the visitor, his voice sounding likethat of a disciple of the healing art, and implying that he hadthoroughly diagnosed the case. 

"No, no, " cried the shuddering violinist; "go away. I do not need you. "

"I regret I can not accept that statement as gospel truth, " said Satan, sarcastically, "for if ever a man needed help, you are that man. "

"But not from you, " replied Diotti. 

"That statement is discredited also by your outburst of a few momentsago when you called upon me. "

"I do not need you, " reiterated the musician. "I will have none ofyou!" and he waved his arm toward the door, as if he desired theinterview to end. 

"I came at your behest, actuated entirely by kindness of heart, " saidSatan. 

Diotti laughed derisively, and Satan, showing just the slightestfeeling at Diotti's behavior, said reprovingly: "If you will listen amoment, and not be so rude to an utter stranger, we may reach someconclusion to your benefit. "

"Get thee behind--"

"I know exactly what you were about to say. Have no fears on thatscore. I have no demands to make and no impossible compacts to insistupon. "

"I have heard of you before, " knowingly spoke the violinist nodding hishead sadly. 

"No doubt you have, " smilingly. "My reputation, which has suffered atthe hands of irresponsible people, is not of the best, and places me attimes in awkward positions. But I am beginning to live it down. " Thestranger looked contrition itself. "To prove my sincerity I desire tohelp you win her love, " emphasizing her. 

"How can you help me?"

"Very easily. You have been wasting time, energy and health in a wilddesire to play better. The trouble lies not with you. "

"Not with me?" interrupted the violinist, now thoroughly interested. 

"The trouble lies not with you, " repeated the visitor, "but with themiserable violin you have been using and have just destroyed, " and hepointed to the shattered instrument. 

Tears welled from the poor violinist's eyes as he gazed on thefragments of his beloved violin, the pieces lying scattered about asthe result of his unfortunate anger. 

"It was a Stradivarius, " said Diotti, sadly. 

"Had it been a Stradivarius, an Amati or a Guarnerius, or a host ofothers rolled into one, you would not have found in it the melody towin the heart of the woman you love. Get a better and more suitableinstrument. "

"Where is one?" earnestly interrogated Diotti, vaguely realizing thatSatan knew. 

"In my possession, " Satan replied. 

"She would hate me if she knew I had recourse to the powers of darknessto gain her love, " bitterly interposed Diotti. 

Satan, wincing at this uncomplimentary allusion to himself, repliedrather warmly: "My dear sir, were it not for the fact that I feel inparticularly good spirits this morning, I should resent your ill-timedremarks and leave you to end your miserable existence with rope orpistol, " and Satan pantomimed both suicidal contingencies. 

"Do you want the violin or not?"

"I might look at it, " said Diotti, resolving mentally that he could goso far without harm. 

"Very well, " said Satan. He gave a long whistle. 

An old man, bearing a violin case, came within the room. He bowed tothe wondering Diotti, and proceeded to open the case. Taking theinstrument out the old man fondled it with loving and tendersolicitude, pointing out its many beauties--the exquisite blending ofthe curves, the evenness of the grain, the peculiar coloring, thelovely contour of the neck, the graceful outlines of the body, thescroll, rivaling the creations of the ancient sculptors, the solidityof the bridge and its elegantly carved heart, and, waxing exceedinglyenthusiastic, holding up the instrument and looking at it as one doesat a cluster of gems, he added, "the adjustment of the strings. "

"That will do, " interrupted Satan, taking the violin from the littleman, who bowed low and ceremoniously took his departure. Then thedevil, pointing to the instrument, asked: "Isn't it a beauty?"

The musician, eying it keenly, replied: "Yes, it is, but not the kindof violin I play on. "

"Oh, I see, " carelessly observed the other, "you refer to that extrastring. "

"Yes, " answered the puzzled violinist, examining it closely. 

"Allow me to explain the peculiar characteristics of this magnificentinstrument, " said his satanic majesty. "This string, " pointing to theG, "is the string of pity; this one, " referring to the third, "is thestring of hope; this, " plunking the A, "is attuned to love, while thisone, the E string, gives forth sounds of joy. 

"You will observe, " went on the visitor, noting the intense interestdisplayed by the violinist, "that the position of the strings is thesame as on any other violin, and therefore will require no additionalstudy on your part. "

"But that extra string?" interrupted Diotti, designating the middle oneon the violin, a vague foreboding rising within him. 

"That, " said Mephistopheles, solemnly, and with no pretense ofsophistry, "is the string of death, and he who plays upon it dies atonce. "

"The--string--of--death!" repeated the violinist almost inaudibly. 

"Yes, the string of death, " Satan repeated, "and he who plays upon itdies at once. But, " he added cheerfully, "that need not worry you. Inoticed a marvelous facility in your arm work. Your staccato andspiccato are wonderful. Every form of bowing appears child's play toyou. It will be easy for you to avoid touching the string. "

"Why avoid it? Can it not be cut off?"

"Ah, that's the rub. If you examine the violin closely you will findthat the string of death is made up of the extra lengths of the otherfour strings. To cut it off would destroy the others, and then pity, hope, love and joy would cease to exist in the soul of the violin. "

"How like life itself, " Diotti reflected, "pity, hope, love, joy end indeath, and through death they are born again. "

"That's the idea, precisely, " said Satan, evidently relieved byDiotti's logic and quick perception. 

The violinist examined the instrument with the practised eye of anexpert, and turning to Satan said: "The four strings are beautifullywhite and transparent, but this one is black and odd looking. 

"What is it wrapped with?" eagerly inquired Diotti, examining the deathstring with microscopic care. 

"The fifth string was added after an unfortunate episode in the Gardenof Eden, in which I was somewhat concerned, " said Satan, soberly. "Itis wrapped with strands of hair from the first mother of man. "Impressively then he offered the violin to Diotti. 

"I dare not take it, " said the perplexed musician; "it's from--"

"Yes, it is directly from there, but I brought it from heaven when I--Ileft, " said the fallen angel, with remorse in his voice. "It was myconstant companion there. But no one in my domain--not I, myself--canplay upon it now, for it will respond neither to our longing for pity, hope, love, joy, nor even death, " and sadly and retrospectively Satangazed into vacancy; then, after a long pause: "Try the instrument!"

Diotti placed the violin in position and drew the bow across the stringof joy, improvising on it. Almost instantly the birds of the forestdarted hither and thither, caroling forth in gladsome strains. Thedevil alone was sad, and with emotion said:

"It is many, many years since I have heard that string. "

Next the artist changed to the string of pity, and thoughts of theworld's sorrows came over him like a pall. 

"Wonderful, most wonderful!" said the mystified violinist; "with thisinstrument I can conquer the world!"

"Aye, more to you than the world, " said the tempter, "a woman's love. "

A woman's love--to the despairing suitor there was one and only one inthis wide, wide world, and her words, burning their way into his heart, had made this temptation possible: "No drooping Clytie could be moreconstant than I to him who strikes the chord that is responsive in mysoul. "

Holding the violin aloft, he cried exultingly: "Henceforth thou artmine, though death and oblivion lurk ever near thee!"

VII

Perkins, seated in his office, threw the morning paper aside. "It's nouse, " he said, turning to the office boy, "I don't believe they everwill find him, dead or alive. Whoever put up the job on Diotti was apast grand master at that sort of thing. The silent assassin that lurksin the shadow of the midnight moon is an explosion of dynamite comparedto the party that made way with Diotti. You ask, why should they killhim? My boy, you don't know the world. They were jealous of hisenormous hit, of our dazzling success. Jealousy did it. "

The "they" of Perkins comprised rival managers, rival artists, newspaper critics and everybody at large who would not concede that theattractions managed by Perkins were the "greatest on earth. "

"We'll never see his like again--come in!" this last in answer to aknock. 

Diotti appeared at the open door. Perkins jumped like one shot from acatapult, and rushing toward the silent figure in the doorwayexclaimed: "Bless my soul, are you a ghost?"

"A substantial one, " said Diotti with a smile. 

"Are you really here?" continued the astonished impresario, usingDiotti's arm as a pump handle and pinching him at the same time. 

When they were seated Perkins plied Diotti with all manner ofquestions; "How did it happen?" "How did you escape?" and the like, allof which Diotti parried with monosyllabic replies, finally saying: "Iwas dissatisfied with my playing and went away to study. "

"Do you know that the failure to fulfill your contract has cost me atleast ten thousand dollars?" said the shrewd manager, the commercialside of his nature asserting itself. 

"All of which I will pay, " quietly replied the artist. "Besides I amready to play now, and you can announce a concert within a week if youlike. "

"If I like?" cried the hustling Perkins. "Here, James, " calling hisoffice boy, "run down to the printer's and give him this, " making anote of the various sizes of "paper" he desired, "and tell Mr. Tompkinsthat Diotti is back and will give a concert next Tuesday. Tell Smithto prepare the newspaper 'ads' and notices immediately. "

In an hour Perkins had the entire machinery of his office in motion. Within twenty-four hours New York had several versions of thedisappearance and return, all leading to one common point--that Diottiwould give a concert the coming Tuesday evening. 

The announcement of the reappearance of the Tuscan contained a line tothe effect that the violinist would play for the first time his newsuite--a meditation on the emotions. 

He had not seen Mildred. 

As he came upon the stage that night the lights were turned low, andnaught but the shadowy outlines of player and violin were seen. Hisreception by the audience was not enthusiastic. They evidentlyremembered the disappointment caused by his unexpected disappearance, but this unfriendly attitude soon gave way to evidences of kindlierfeelings. 

Mildred was there, more beautiful than ever, and to gain her loveDiotti would have bartered his soul that moment. 

The first movement of the suite was entitled "Pity, " and the musicflowed like melodious tears. A subdued sob rose and fell with thesadness of the theme. 

Mildred's eyes were moistened as she fixed them on the lone figure ofthe player. 

Now the theme of pity changed to hope, and hearts grew brighter underthe spell. The next movement depicted joy. As the virtuoso's fingersdarted here and there, his music seemed the very laughter of fairyvoices, the earth looked roses and sunshine, and Mildred, relaxing herposition and leaning forward in the box, with lips slightly parted, wasthe picture of eager happiness. 

The final movement came. Its subject was love. The introductiondepicted the Arcadian beauty of the trysting place, love-lit eyessought each other intuitively and a great peace brooded over the heartsof all. Then followed the song of the Passionate Pilgrim:

 "If music and sweet poetry agree, As they must needs, the sister and the brother, When must the love be great 'twixt thee and me Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other. * * * Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound That Phoebus' lute (the queen of music) makes; And I in deep delight, am chiefly drown'd When as himself to singing he betakes. One god is god of both, as poets One knight loves both, and both in thee remain. "

Grander and grander the melody rose, voicing love's triumph withwondrous sweetness and palpitating rhythm. Mildred, her face flushedwith excitement, a heavenly fire in her eyes and in an attitude ofsupplication, reveled in the glory of a new found emotion. 

As the violinist concluded his performance an oppressive silencepervaded the house, then the audience, wild with excitement, burst intothunders of applause. In his dressing-room Diotti was besieged by hostsof people, congratulating him in extravagant terms. 

Mildred Wallace came, extending her hands. He took them almostreverently. She looked into his eyes, and he knew he had struck thechord responsive in her soul. 

VIII

The sun was high in the heavens when the violinist awoke. A greatweight had been lifted from his heart; he had passed from darkness intodawn. 

A messenger brought him this note:

My Dear Signor Diotti--I am at home this afternoon, and shall bedelighted to see you and return my thanks for the exquisite pleasureyou gave me last evening. Music, such as yours, is indeed the voice ofheaven. Sincerely, Mildred Wallace. 

The messenger returned with this reply:

My Dear Miss Wallace--I will call at three to-day. 

Gratefully, Angelo Diotti. 

He watched the hour drag from eleven to twelve, then counted theminutes to one, and from that time until he left the hotel each secondwas tabulated in his mind. Arriving at her residence, he was usheredinto the drawing-room. It was fragrant with the perfume of violets, andhe stood gazing at her portrait expectant of her coming. 

Dressed in simple white, entrancing in her youthful freshness, sheentered, her face glowing with happiness, her eyes languorous andexpressive. She hastened to him, offering both hands. He held them ina loving, tender grasp, and for a moment neither spoke. Then she, gazing clearly and fearlessly into his eyes, said: "My heart has foundits melody!"

He, kneeling like Sir Gareth of old: "The song and the singer are yoursforever. "

She, bidding him arise: "And I forever yours. " And wondering at herboldness, she added, "I know and feel that you love me--your eyesconfirmed your love before you spoke. " Then, convincingly andingenuously, "I knew you loved me the moment we first met. Then I didnot understand what that meant to you, now I do. "

He drew her gently to him, and the motive of their happiness wasdefined in sweet confessions: "My love, my life--My life, my love. "

The magic of his music had changed her very being, the breath of lovewas in her soul, the vision of love was dancing in her eyes. The childof 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, Seen--darkly and imperfectly--yet seen The walls surrounding me, and I, alone. That pedestal--that curtain--then 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, meaningless--seemed 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 moved--I 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, theirambitions. She assumed absolute proprietorship in him. She gloried inher possession. 

He was born into the world, nurtured in infancy, trained in childhoodand matured into manhood, for one express purpose--to be hers alone. Her ownership ranged from absolute despotism to humble slavery, and hewas happy through it all. 

One day she said: "Angelo, is it your purpose to follow your professionalways?"

"Necessarily, it is my livelihood, " he replied. 

"But do you not think that after we stand at the altar, we never shouldbe separated?"

"We will be together always, " said he, holding her face between hispalms, and looking with tender expression into her inquiring eyes. 

"But I notice that women cluster around you after your concerts--andshake your hand longer than they should--and talk to you longer thanthey should--and 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 isnot 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, Ican not bear to see a woman near you. In my dreams again and again anindefinable shadow mockingly comes; and cries to me, 'he is not to beyours, he is to be mine. '"

Diotti flushed and drew her to him "Darling, " his voice carryingconviction, "I am yours, you are mine, all in all, in life here andbeyond!" And as she sat dreaming after he had gone, she murmuredpetulantly, "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 servedas president or director occupied most of his time. He had been absentin Europe for several months, and Mildred was anxiously awaiting hisreturn to tell him of her love. 

When Mr. Wallace came to his residence the next morning, his daughtermet him with a fond display of filial affection; they walked into thedrawing-room, hand in hand; he saw a picture of the violinist on thepiano. "Who's the handsome young fellow?" he asked, looking at theportrait with the satisfaction a man feels when he sees a splendid typeof his own sex. 

"That is Angelo Diotti, the famous violinist, " she said, but she couldnot add another word. 

As they strolled through the rooms he noticed no less than threelikenesses of the Tuscan. And as they passed her room he saw stillanother on the chiffonnier. 

"Seems to me the house is running wild with photographs of thatfiddler, " he said. 

For the first time in her life she was self-conscious: "I will wait fora more opportune time to tell him, " she thought. 

In the scheme of Diotti's appearance in New York there were to be twomore concerts. One was to be given that evening. Mildred coaxed herfather to accompany her to hear the violinist. Mr. Wallace was not fondof 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 hadthe old puritanical abhorrence of stage people--putting them all in oneclass--as puppets who danced for played or talked for an idle andunthinking public. 

So it was with the thought of a wasted evening that he accompaniedMildred to the concert. 

The entertainment was a repetition of the others Diotti had given, andat its end, Mildred said to her father: "Come, I want to congratulateSignor Diotti in person. "

"That is entirely unnecessary, " he replied. 

"It is my desire, " and the girl led the unwilling parent back of thescenes and into Diotti's dressing-room. 

Mildred introduced Diotti to her father, who after a few commonplaceslapsed into silence. The daughter's enthusiastic interest in Diotti'sperformance and her tender solicitude for his weariness after theefforts of the evening, quickly attracted the attention of Mr. Wallaceand irritated him exceedingly. 

When father and daughter were seated in their carriage and werehurriedly driving home, he said: "Mildred, I prefer that you have aslittle 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 afiddle; of what benefit is he to mankind? Do fiddlers build cities? Dothey delve into the earth for precious metals? Do they sow the seed andharvest the grain? No, no; they are drones--the barnacles of society. "

"Father, how can you advance such an argument? Music's votaries offerno apologies for their art. The husbandman places the grain within thebreast of Mother Earth for man's material welfare; God places music inthe heart of man for his spiritual development. In man's spring time, his bridal day, music means joy. In man's winter time, his burial day, music means comfort. The heaven-born muse has added to the happinessof the world. Diotti is a great genius. His art brings rest andtranquillity to the wearied and despairing, " and she did not speakagain until they had reached the house. 

The lights were turned low when father and daughter went into thedrawing-room. Mr. Wallace felt that he had failed to convince Mildredof the utter worthlessness of fiddlers, big or little, and as onedissatisfied with the outcome of a contest, re-entered the lists. 

"He has visited you?"

"Yes, father. "

"Often?"

"Yes, father, " spoken calmly. 

"Often?" louder and more imperiously repeated the father, as if theremust be some mistake. 

"Quite often, " and she sat down, knowing the catechizing would belikely to continue for some minutes. 

"How many times, do you think?"

She rose, walked into the hallway; took the card basket from the table, returned and seated herself beside her father, emptying its contentsinto her lap. She picked up a card. It read "Angelo Diotti, " and shecalled the name aloud. She took up another and again her lips voicedthe beloved name. "Angelo Diotti, " she continued, repeating atintervals for a minute. Then looking at her father: "He has calledthirty-two times; there are thirty-one cards here and on one occasionhe forgot his card-case. "

"Thirty-two!" said the father, rising angrily and pacing the floor. 

"Yes, thirty-two. I remember all of them distinctly. "

Her father came over to her, half coaxingly, half seriously. "Mildred, I wish his visits to cease; people will imagine there is a romanticattachment between you. "

"There is, father, " out it came, "he loves me and I love him. "

"What!" shouted Mr. Wallace, and then severely, "this must ceaseimmediately. "

She rose quietly and led her father over to the mantel. Placing a handon each of his shoulders she said:

"Father, I will obey you implicitly if you can name a reasonableobjection to the man I love. But you can not. I love him with my wholesoul. I love him for the nobility of his character, and because thereis none other in the world for him, nor for me. "

IX

Old Sanders as boy and man had been in the employ of the banking andbrokerage firm of Wallace Brothers for two generations. The firmgradually had advanced his position until now he was confidentialadviser and general manager, besides having an interest in the profitsof the business. 

He enjoyed the friendship of Mr. Wallace, and had been a constantvisitor at his house from the first days of that gentleman's marriedlife. He himself was alone in the world, a confirmed bachelor. He hadseen Mildred creep from babyhood into childhood, and bud from girlhoodto womanhood. To Mildred he was one of that numerous army of brevetrelations known as "gran-pop, " "pop, " or "uncle. " To her he was UncleSanders. 

If the old man had one touch of human nature in him it was a solicitudefor Mildred's future--an authority arrogated to himself--to see thatshe married the right man; but even that was directed to her materialgain in this world's goods, and not to any sentimental considerationfor her happiness. He flattered himself that by timely suggestion hehad "stumped" at least half a dozen would-be candidates for Mildred'shand. He pooh-poohed love as a necessity for marital felicity, andwould enforce his argument by quoting from the bard:

"All lovers swear more performance than they are able, and yet reservean ability that they never perform; vowing more than the perfection often, and discharging less than the tenth part of one. "

"You can get at a man's income, " he would say, "but not at his heart. Love without money won't travel as far as money without love, " and manymarried people whose bills were overdue wondered if the old fellow wasnot right. 

He was cold-blooded and generally disliked by the men under him. Themore evil-minded gossips in the bank said he was in league with "OldNick. " That, of course, was absurd, for it does not necessarily follow, because a man suggests a means looking to an end, disreputable thoughit be, that he has Mephistopheles for a silent partner. Theconservative element among the employees would not openly venture sofar, but rather thought if his satanic majesty and old Sanders ran arace, the former would come in a bad second, if he were not distancedaltogether. 

The old man always reached the office at nine. Mr. Wallace usuallyarrived a half hour later, seldom earlier, which was so well understoodby Sanders that he was greatly surprised when he walked into thepresident's office, the morning after that gentleman had attendedDiotti's concert, to find the head of the firm already there andapparently waiting for him. 

"Sanders, " said the banker, "I want your advice on a matter of greatimportance and concern to me. "

Sanders came across the room and stood beside the desk. 

"Briefly as possible, I am much exercised about my daughter. "

The old man moved up a chair and buried himself in it. Pressing hiselbows tightly against his sides, he drew his neck in, and with thetips of his right hand fingers consorted and coquetted with their likeon the opposite hand; then he simply asked, "Who is the man?"

"He is the violinist who has created such a sensation here, AngeloDiotti. "

"Yes, I've seen the name in print, " returned the old man. 

"He has bewitched Mildred. I never have seen her show the leastinterest in a man before. She never has appeared to me as animpressionable girl or one that could easily be won. "

"That is very true, " ejaculated Sanders; "she always seemed tractableand open to reason in all questions of love and courting. I can recallseveral instances where I have set her right by my estimation of men, and invariably she has accepted my views. "

"And mine until now, " said the father, and then he recounted hisexperience of the night before. "I had hoped she would not fall inlove, but be a prop and comfort to me now that I am alone. I amdismayed at the prospect before me. "

Then the old man mused: "In the chrysalis state of girlhood, a parentarranges all the details of his daughter's future; when and whom sheshall marry. 'I shall not allow her to fall in love until she istwenty-three, ' says the fond parent. 'I shall not allow her to marryuntil she is twenty-six, ' says the fond parent. 'The man she marrieswill be the one I approve of, and then she will live happy ever after, 'concludes the fond parent. "

Deluded parent! false prophet! The anarchist, Love, steps in anddisdains all laws, rules and regulations. When finally the fatherconfronts the defying daughter, she calmly says, "Well, what are yougoing to do about it?" And then tears, forgiveness, completecapitulation, and, sometimes, she and her husband live happily everafterwards. 

"We must find some means to end this attachment. A union between amusician and my daughter would be most mortifying to me. Some plan mustbe devised to separate them, but she must not know of it, for she isimpatient of restraint and will not brook opposition. "

"Are you confident she really loves this violinist?"

"She confessed as much to me, " said the perturbed banker. 

Old Sanders tapped with both hands on his shining cranium and asked, "Are you confident he loves her?"

"No. Even if he does not, he no doubt makes the pretense, and shebelieves him. A man who fiddles for money is not likely to ignore anopportunity to angle for the same commodity, " and the banker, with alook of scorn on his face, threw himself back into the chair. 

"Does she know that you do not approve of this man?"

"I told her that I desired the musician's visits to cease. "

"And her answer?"

"She said she would obey me if I could name one reasonable objection tothe man, and then, with an air of absolute confidence in theimpossibility of such a contingency, added, 'But you can not. '"

"Yes, but you must, " said Sanders. "Mildred is strangely constituted. If she loves this man, her love can be more deadly to the choice of herheart than her hate to one she abhors. The impatience of restraint youspeak of and her very inability to brook opposition can be turned togood account now. " And old Sanders again tapped in the rhythm of adirge on his parchment-bound cranium. 

"Your plan?" eagerly asked the father, whose confidence in hissecretary was absolute. 

"I would like to study them together. Your position will be strongerwith Mildred if you show no open opposition to the man or hisaspirations; bring us together at your house some evening, and if I cannot enter a wedge of discontent, then they are not as others. "

 * * *

Mildred was delighted when her father told her on his return in theevening that he was anxious to meet Signor Diotti, and suggested adinner party within a few days. He said he would invite Mr. Sanders, asthat gentleman, no doubt, would consider it a great privilege to meetthe famous musician. Mildred immediately sent an invitation to Diotti, adding a request that he bring his violin and play for Uncle Sanders, as the latter had found it impossible to attend his concerts during theseason, yet was fond of music, especially violin music. 

X

The little dinner party passed off pleasantly, and as old Sanderslighted his cigar he confided to Diotti, with a braggart's assurance, that when he was a youngster he was the best fiddler for twenty milesaround. "I tell you there is nothing like a fiddler to catch apetticoat, " he said, with a sharp nudge of his elbow into Diotti'sribs. "When I played the Devil's Dream there wasn't a girl in thecountry could keep from dancing, and 'Rosalie, the Prairie Flower, 'brought them on their knees to me every time;" then after a pause, "Idon't believe people fiddle as well nowadays as they did in the goodold times, " and he actually sighed in remembrance. 

Mildred smiled and whispered to Diotti. He took his violin from thecase and began playing. It seemed to her as if from above showers ofsilvery merriment were falling to earth. The old man watched intently, and as the player changed from joy to pity, from love back tohappiness, Sanders never withdrew his gaze. His bead-like eyes followedthe artist; he saw each individual finger rise and fall, and the bowbound over the finger-board, always avoiding, never coming in contactwith the middle string. Suddenly the old man beat a tattoo on hiscranium and closed his eyes, apparently deep in thought. 

As Diotti ceased playing, Sanders applauded vociferously, and movingtoward the violinist, said: "Magnificent! I never have heard betterplaying! What is the make of your violin?"

Diotti, startled at this question, hurriedly put the instrument in itscase; "Oh, it is a famous make, " he drawled. 

"Will you let me examine it?" said the elder, placing his hand on thecase. 

"I never allow any one to touch my violin, " replied Diotti, closing thecover quickly. 

"Why; is there a magic charm about it, that you fear other hands maydiscover?" queried the old man. 

"I prefer that no one handle it, " said the virtuoso commandingly. 

"Very well, " sighed the old man resignedly, "there are violins andviolins, and no doubt yours comes within that category, " this halfsneeringly. 

"Uncle, " interposed Mildred tactfully, "you must not be so persistent. Signor Diotti prizes his violin highly and will not allow any one toplay upon it but himself, " and the look of relief on Diotti's faceamply repaid her. 

Mr. Wallace came in at that moment, and with perfunctory interest inhis guest, invited him to examine the splendid collection ofrevolutionary relics in his study. 

"I value them highly, " said the banker, "both for patriotic andancestral reasons. The Wallaces fought and died for their country, andhelped to make this land what it is. "

The father and the violinist went to the study, leaving the daughterand old Sanders in the drawing-room. The old man, seating himself in alarge armchair, said: "Mildred, my dear, I do not wonder at theenormous success of this Diotti. "

"He is a wonderful artist, " replied Mildred; "critics and public alikeplace him among the greatest of his profession. "

"He is a good-looking young fellow, too, " said the old man. 

"I think he is the handsomest man I ever have seen, " replied the girl. 

"Where does he come from?" continued Sanders. 

"St. Casciano, a small town in Tuscany. "

"Has he a family?"

"Only a sister, whom he loves dearly, " good-naturedly answered the girl. 

"And no one else?" continued the seemingly garrulous old man. 

"None that I have heard him speak of. No, certainly not, " ratherimpetuously replied Mildred. 

"How old is he?" continued the old man. 

"Twenty-eight next month; why do you wish to know?" she quizzicallyasked. 

"Simply idle curiosity, " old Sanders carelessly replied. "I wonder ifhe is in love with any one in Tuscany?"

"Of course not; how could he be?" quickly rejoined the girl. 

"And why not?" added old Sanders. 

"Why? Because, because--he is in love with some one in America. "

"Ah, with you, I see, " said the old man, as if it were the greatestdiscovery of his life; "are you sure he has not some beautifulsweetheart in Tuscany as well as here?"

"What a foolish question, " she replied. "Men like Angelo Diotti do notfall in love as soldiers fall in line. Love to a man of his nobilityis too serious to be treated so lightly. "

"Very true, and that's what has excited my curiosity!" whereupon theold man smoked away in silence. 

"Excited your curiosity!" said Mildred. "What do you mean?"

"It may be something; it may be nothing; but my speculative instincthas been aroused by a strange peculiarity in his playing. "

"His playing is wonderful!" replied Mildred proudly. 

"Aye, more than wonderful! I watched him intently, " said the old man;"I noted with what marvelous facility he went from one string to theother. But however rapid, however difficult the composition, hesteadily avoided one string; in fact, that string remained untouchedduring the entire hour he played for us. "

"Perhaps the composition did not call for its use, " suggested Mildred, unconscious of any other meaning in the old man's observation, savepraise for her lover. 

"Perhaps so, but the oddity impressed me; it was a new string to me. Ihave never seen one like it on a violin before. "

"That can scarcely be, for I do not remember of Signor Diotti tellingme there was anything unusual about his violin. "

"I am sure it has a fifth string. "

"And I am equally sure the string can be of no importance or Angelowould have told me of it, " Mildred quickly rejoined. 

"I recall a strange story of Paganini, " continued the old man, apparently not noticing her interruption; "he became infatuated with alady of high rank, who was insensible of the admiration he had for herbeauty. 

"He composed a love scene for two strings, the 'E' and 'G, ' the firstwas to personate the lady, the second himself. It commenced with aspecies of dialogue, intending to represent her indifference and hispassion; now sportive, now sad; laughter on her part and tears fromhim, ending in an apotheosis of loving reconciliation. It affected thelady to that degree that ever after she loved the violinist. "

"And no doubt they were happy?" Mildred suggested smilingly. 

"Yes, " said the old man, with assumed sentiment, "even when hisprofession called him far away, for she had made him promise her henever would play upon the two strings whose music had won her heart, sothose strings were mute, except for her. "

The old man puffed away in silence for a moment, then with logicaldirectness continued: "Perhaps the string that's mute upon Diotti'sviolin is mute for some such reason. "

"Nonsense, " said the girl, half impatiently. 

"The string is black and glossy as the tresses that fall in tangledskeins on the shoulders of the dreamy beauties of Tuscany. It may be anidle fancy, but if that string is not a woven strand from some woman'scrowning glory, then I have no discernment. "

"You are jesting, uncle, " she replied, but her heart was heavy already. 

"Ask him to play on that string; I'll wager he'll refuse, " said the oldman, contemptuously. 

"He will not refuse when I ask him, but I will not to-night, " answeredthe unhappy girl, with forced determination. Then, taking the oldman's hands, she said: "Good-night, I am going to my room; please makemy excuses to Signor Diotti and father, " and wearily she ascended thestairs. 

Mr. Wallace and the violinist soon after joined old Sanders, freshcigars were lighted and regrets most earnestly expressed by theviolinist for Mildred's "sick headache. "

"No need to worry; she will be all right in the morning, " said Sanders, and he and the violinist buttoned their coats tightly about them, forthe night was bitter cold, and together they left the house. 

In her bed-chamber Mildred stood looking at the portrait of her lover. She studied his face long and intently, then crossing the room shemechanically took a volume from the shelf, and as she opened it hereyes fell on these lines:

"How art thou fallen from Heaven, O Lucifer, son of the Morning!"

 * * *

Old Sanders builded better than he knew. 

XI

When Diotti and old Sanders left the house they walked rapidly downFifth Avenue. It was after eleven, and the streets were bare ofpedestrians, but blinking-eyed cabs came up the avenue, looking at adistance like a trail of Megatheriums, gliding through the darkness. The piercing wind made the men hasten their steps, the old man by asemi-rotary motion keeping up with the longer strides and measuredtread of the younger. 

When they reached Fourteenth Street, the elder said, "I live but ablock from here, " pointing eastward; "what do you say to a hot toddy?It will warm the cockles of your heart; come over to my house and I'llmix you the best drink in New York. "

The younger thought the suggestion a good one and they turned towardthe house of old Sanders. 

It was a neat, red brick, two-story house, well in from the street, offthe line of the more pretentious buildings on either side. As the oldman opened the iron gate, the police officer on the beat passed; hepeered into the faces of the men, and recognizing Sanders, said, "toughnight, sir. "

"Very, " replied the addressed. 

"All good old gentlemen should be in bed at this hour, " said theofficer, lifting one foot after the other in an effort to keep warm, and in so doing showing little terpsichorean grace. 

"It's only the shank of the evening, officer, " rejoined the old man, ashe fumbled with the latch key and finally opened the door. The two menentered and the officer passed on. 

Every man has a fad. One will tell you he sees nothing in billiards orpool or golf or tennis, but will grow enthusiastic over the scientificpossibilities of mumble-peg; you agree with him, only you substitute"skittles" for "mumble-peg. "

Old Sanders' fad was mixing toddies and punches. 

"The nectar of the gods pales into nothingness when compared with atoddy such as I make, " said he. "Ambrosia may have been all right forthe degenerates of the old Grecian and Roman days, but an Americangentleman demands a toddy--a hot toddy. " And then he proceeded withcircumspection and dignity to demonstrate the process of decocting thatmysterious beverage. 

The two men took off their overcoats and went into the sitting-room. Apile of logs burned brightly in the fire-place. The old man threwanother on the burning heap, filled the kettle with water and hung itover the fire. Next he went to the sideboard and brought forth thevarious ingredients for the toddy. 

"How do you like America?" said the elder, with commonplaceindifference, as he crunched a lump of sugar in the bottom of theglass, dissolving the particles with a few drops of water. 

"Very much, indeed, " said the Tuscan, with the air of a man who hadanswered the question before. 

"Great country for girls!" said Sanders, pouring a liberal quantity ofOld Tom gin in the glass and placing it where it gradually would getwarm. 

"And for men!" responded Diotti, enthusiastically. 

"Men don't amount to much here, women run everything, " retorted theelder, while he repeated the process of preparing the sugar and gin inthe second glass. The kettle began to sing. 

"That's music for you, " chuckled the old man, raising the lid to see ifthe water had boiled sufficiently. "Do you know I think a dinner hornand a singing kettle beat a symphony all hollow for real down-rightmelody, " and he lifted the kettle from the fire-place. 

Diotti smiled. 

With mathematical accuracy the old man filled the two tumblers withboiling water. 

"Try that, " handing a glass of the toddy to Diotti; "you will find itall right, " and the old man drew an armchair toward the fire-place, smacking his lips in anticipation. 

The violinist placed his chair closer to the fire and sipped the drink. 

"Your country is noted for its beautiful women?"

"We have exquisite types of femininity in Tuscany, " said the young man, with patriotic ardor. 

"Any as fine looking as--as--as--well, say the young lady we dined withto-night?"

"Miss Wallace?" queried the Tuscan. 

"Yes, Miss Wallace, " this rather impatiently. 

"She is very beautiful, " said Diotti, with solemn admiration. 

"Have you ever seen any one prettier?" questioned the old man, after asecond prolonged sip. 

"I have no desire to see any one more beautiful, " said the violinist, feeling that the other was trying to draw him out, and determined notto yield. 

"You will pardon the inquisitiveness of an old man, but are not youmusicians a most impressionable lot?"

"We are human, " answered the violinist. 

"I imagined you were like sailors and had a sweetheart in every port. "

"That would be a delightful prospect to one having polygamousaspirations, but for myself, one sweetheart is enough, " laughingly saidthe musician. 

"Only one! Well, here's to her! With this nectar fit for the gods andgoddesses of Olympus, let us drink to her, " said old Sanders, withconvivial dignity, his glass raised on high. "Here's wishing health andhappiness to the dreamy-eyed Tuscan beauty, whom you love and who lovesyou. "

"Stop!" said Diotti; "we will drink to the first part of that toast, "and holding his glass against that of his bibulous host, continued: "Tothe dreamy-eyed women of my country, exacting of their lovers; obedientto their parents and loyal to their husbands, " and his voice rose insonorous rhythm with the words. 

"Now for the rest of the toast, to the one you love and who loves you, "came from Sanders. 

"To the one I love and who loves me, God bless her!" fervently criedthe guest. 

"Is she a Tuscan?" asked old Sanders slyly. 

"She is an angel!" impetuously answered the violinist. 

"Then she is an American!" said the old man gallantly. 

"She is an American, " repeated Diotti, forgetting himself for theinstant. 

"Let me see if I can guess her name, " said old Sanders. "It's--it'sMildred Wallace!" and his manner suggested a child solving a riddle. 

The violinist, about to speak, checked himself and remained silent. 

"I sincerely pity Mildred if ever she falls in love, " abstractedlycontinued the host while filling another glass. 

"Pray why?" was anxiously asked. 

The old man shifted his position and assumed a confidential tone andattitude: "Signor Diotti, jealousy is a more universal passion thanlove itself. Environment may develop our character, influence ourtastes and even soften our features, but heredity determines theintensity of the two leading passions, love and jealousy. Mildred'smother was a beautiful woman, but consumed with an overpoweringjealousy of her husband. It was because she loved him. The body-guardof jealousy--envy, malice and hatred--were not in her composition. When Mildred was a child of twelve I have seen her mother suffer thekeenest anguish because Mr. Wallace fondled the child. She thought thechild had robbed her of her husband's love. "

"Such a woman as Miss Wallace would command the entire love andadmiration of her husband at all times, " said the artist. 

"If she should marry a man she simply likes, her chances for happinesswould be normal. "

"In what manner?" asked the lover. 

"Because she would be little concerned about him or his actions. "

"Then you believe, " said the musician, "that the man who loves her andwhom she loves should give her up because her chances of happinesswould be greater away from him than with him?"

"That would be an unselfish love, " said the elder. 

"Suppose they have declared their passion?" asked Diotti. 

"A parting before doubt and jealousy had entered her mind would let theimage of her sacrificing lover live within her soul as a tender andlasting memory; he always would be her ideal, " and the accent oldSanders placed on ALWAYS left no doubt of his belief. 

"Why should doubt and jealousy enter her life?" said the violinist, falling into the personal character of the discussion despite himself. 

"My dear sir, from what I observed to-night, she loves you. You are adangerous man for a jealous woman to love. You are not a cloisteredmonk, you are a man before the public; you win the admiration of many;some women do not hesitate to show you their preference. To a womanlike Mildred that would be torture; she could not and would notseparate the professional artist from the lover or husband. "

And Diotti, remembering Mildred's words, could not refute the old man'sstatements. 

"If you had known her mother as I did, " continued the old man, realizing his argument was making an impression on the violinist, "youwould see the agony in store for the daughter if she married a man suchas you, a public servant, a public favorite. "

"I would live my life not to excite her suspicions or jealousy, " saidthe artist, with boyish enthusiasm and simplicity. 

"Foolish fellow, " retorted Sanders, skeptically; "women imagine, theydon't reason. A scented note unopened on the dressing table can causemore unhappiness to your wife than the loss of his country to a king. My advice to you is: do not marry; but if you must, choose one who ismore interested in your gastronomic felicity than in your maritalconstancy. "

Diotti was silent. He was pondering the words of his host. Instead ofseeing in Mildred a possibly jealous woman, causing mental misery, sheappeared a vision of single-hearted devotion. He felt: "To be loved bysuch a one is bliss beyond the dreams of this world. "

XII

A tipsy man is never interesting, and Sanders in that condition was noexception. The old man arose with some effort, walked toward the windowand, shading his eyes, looked out. The snow was drifting, swept hitherand thither by the cutting wind that came through the streets in greatgusts. Turning to the violinist, he said, "It's an awful night; betterremain here until morning. You'll not find a cab; in fact, I will notlet you go while this storm continues, " and the old man raised thewindow, thrusting his head out for an instant. As he did so the icyblast that came in settled any doubt in the young man's mind and heconcluded to stop over night. 

It was nearly two o'clock; Sanders showed him to his room and thenreturned down stairs to see that everything was snug and secure. Afterchanging his heavy shoes for a pair of old slippers and wrapping adressing gown around him, the old man stretched his legs toward thefire and sipped his toddy. 

"He isn't a bad sort for a violinist, " mused the old man; "if he wereworth a million, I believe I'd advise Wallace to let him marry her. Afiddler! A million! Sounds funny, " and he laughed shrilly. 

He turned his head and his eyes caught sight of Diotti's violin caseresting on the center table. He staggered from the chair and wenttoward it; opening the lid softly, he lifted the silken coverlet placedover the instrument and examined the strings intently. "I am right, " hesaid; "it is wrapped with hair, and no doubt from a woman's head. Eureka!" and the old man, happy in the discovery that his surmises werecorrect, returned to his chair and his toddy. 

He sat looking into the fire. The violin had brought back memories ofthe past and its dead. He mumbled, as if to the fire, "she loved me;she loved my violin. I was a devil; my violin was a devil, " and theshadows on the wall swayed like accusing spirits. He buried his face inhis hands and cried piteously, "I was so young; too young to know. " Hespoke as if he would conciliate the ghastly shades that movedrestlessly up and down, when suddenly--"Sanders, don't be a fool!"

He ambled toward the table again. "I wonder who made the violin? Hewould not tell me when I asked him to-night; thank you for your pains, but I will find out myself, " and he took the violin from the case. Holding it with the light slanting over it, he peered inside, but foundno inscription. "No maker's name--strange, " he said. He tiptoed to thefoot of the stairs and listened intently; "he must be asleep; he won'thear me, " and noiselessly he closed the door. "I guess if I play a tuneon it he won't know. "

He took the bow from its place in the case and tightened it. Helistened again. "He is fast asleep, " he whispered. "I'll play the songI always played for her--until, " and the old man repeated the words ofthe refrain:

 "Fair as a lily, joyous and free, Light of the prairie home was she; Every one who knew her felt the gentle power Of Rosalie, the Prairie Flower. "

He sat again in the arm-chair and placed the violin under his chin. Tremulously he drew the bow across the middle string, his bloodlessfingers moving slowly up and down. 

The theme he played was the melody to the verse he had just repeated, but the expression was remorse. 

 * * *

Diotti sat upright in bed. "I am positive I heard a violin!" he said, holding one hand toward his head in an attitude of listening. He waswide awake. The drifting snow beat against the window panes and thewind without shrieked like a thousand demons of the night. He couldsleep no more. He arose and hastily dressed. The room was bitterlycold; he was shivering. He thought of the crackling logs in thefire-place below. He groped his way along the darkened staircase. Ashe opened the door leading into the sitting-room the fitful gleam ofthe dying embers cast a ghastly light over the face of a corpse. 

Diotti stood a moment, his eyes transfixed with horror. The violin andbow still in the hands of the dead man told him plainer than words whathad happened. He went toward the chair, took the instrument from oldSanders' hands and laid it on the table. Then he knelt beside the body, and placing his ear close over the heart, listened for some sign oflife, but the old man was beyond human aid. 

He wheeled the chair to the side of the room and moved the body to thesofa. Gently he covered it with a robe. The awfulness of the situationforced itself upon him, and bitterly he blamed himself. The terriblepower of the instrument dawned upon him in all its force. Often he hadplayed on the strings telling of pity, hope, love and joy, but now, forthe first time, he realized what that fifth string meant. 

"I must give it back to its owner. "

"If you do you can never regain it, " whispered a voice within. 

"I do not need it, " said the violinist, almost audibly. 

"Perhaps not, " said the voice, "but if her love should wane how wouldyou rekindle it? Without the violin you would be helpless. "

"Is it not possible that, in this old man's death, all its fatal powerhas been expended?"

He went to the table and took the instrument from its place. "You wonher for me; you have brought happiness and sunshine into my life. No!No! I can not, will not give you up, " then placing the violin and bowin its case he locked it. 

The day was breaking. In an hour the baker's boy came. Diotti went tothe door, gave him a note addressed to Mr. Wallace and asked him todeliver it at once. The boy consented and drove rapidly away. 

Within an hour Mr. Wallace arrived; Diotti told the story of the night. After the undertaker had taken charge of the body he found on the deadman's neck, just to the left of the chin, a dullish, black bruise whichmight have been caused by the pressing of some blunt instrument, or bya man's thumb. Considering it of much importance, he notified thecoroner, who ordered an inquest. 

At six o'clock that evening a jury was impaneled, and two hours laterits verdict was reported. 

XIII

On leaving the house of the dead man Diotti walked wearily to hishotel. In flaring type at every street corner he saw the announcementfor Thursday evening, March thirty-first, of Angelo Diotti's lastappearance: "To-night I play for the last time, " he murmured in a voicefilled with deepest regret. 

The feeling of exultation so common to artists who finally reach thegoal of their ambition was wanting in Diotti this morning. He could notrid himself of the memory of Sanders' tragic death. The figure of theold man clutching the violin and staring with glassy eyes into thedying fire would not away. 

When he reached the hotel he tried to rest, but his excited brainbanished every thought of slumber. Restlessly he moved about the room, and finally dressing, he left the hotel for his daily call on Mildred. It was after five o'clock when he arrived. She received him coldly andwithout any mark of affection. 

She had heard of Mr. Sanders' death; her father had sent word. "Itshocked me greatly, " she said; "but perhaps the old man is happier in aworld far from strife and care. When we realize all the misery there isin this world we often wonder why we should care to live. " Her tone wasdespondent, her face was drawn and blanched, and her eyes gave evidenceof weeping. 

Diotti divined that something beyond sympathy for old Sanders' suddendeath racked her soul. He went toward her and lovingly taking herhands, bent low and pressed his lips to them; they were cold as marble. 

"Darling, " he said; "something has made you unhappy. What is it?"

"Tell me, Angelo, and truly; is your violin like other violins?"

This unexpected question came so suddenly he could not control hisagitation. 

"Why do you ask?" he said. 

"You must answer me directly!"

"No, Mildred; my violin is different from any other I have ever seen, "this hesitatingly and with great effort at composure. 

"In what way is it different?" she almost demanded. 

"It is peculiarly constructed; it has an extra string. But why thissudden interest in the violin? Let us talk of you, of me, of both, ofour future, " said he with enforced cheerfulness. 

"No, we will talk of the violin. Of what use is the extra string?"

"None whatever, " was the quick reply. 

"Then why not cut it off?"

"No, no, Mildred; you do not understand, " he cried; "I can not do that. "

"You can not do it when I ask it?" she exclaimed. 

"Oh Mildred, do not ask me; I can not, can not do it, " and the face ofthe affrighted musician told plainer than words of the turmoil ragingin his soul. 

"You made me believe that I was the only one you loved, " passionatelyshe cried; "the only one; that your happiness was incomplete withoutme. You led me into the region of light only to make the darknessgreater when I descended to earth again. I ask you to do a simple thingand you refuse; you refuse because another has commanded you. "

"Mildred, Mildred; if you love me do not speak thus!"

And she, with imagination greater than reasoning power, at once saw aTuscan beauty and Diotti mutually pledging their love with their lives. 

"Go, " she said, pointing to the door, "go to the one who owns you, bodyand soul; then say that a foolish woman threw her heart at your feetand that you scorned it!" She sank to the sofa. 

He went toward the door, and in a voice that sounded like the echo ofdespair, protested: "Mildred, I love you; love you a thousand timesmore than I do my life. If I should destroy the string, as you ask, love and hope would leave me forevermore. Death would not be robbed ofits terror!" and with bowed head he went forth into the twilight. 

She ran to the window and watched his retreating figure as he vanished. "Uncle Sanders was right; he loves another woman, and that string bindsthem together. He belongs to her!" Long and silently she stood by thewindow, gazing at the shadowing curtain of the coming night. At lasther face softened. "Perhaps he does not love her now, but fears hervengeance. No, no; he is not a coward! I should have approached himdifferently; he is proud, and maybe he resented my imperative manner, "and a thousand reasons why he should or should not have removed thatstring flashed through her mind. 

"I will go early to the concert to-night and see him before he plays. Uncle Sanders said he did not touch that string when he played. Ofcourse he will play on it for me, even if he will not cut it off, andthen if he says he loves me, and only me, I will believe him. I want tobelieve him; I want to believe him, " all this in a semi-hysterical wayaddressed to the violinist's portrait on the piano. 

When she entered her carriage an hour later, telling the coachman todrive direct to the stage-door of the Academy, she appeared morefascinating than ever before. 

She was sitting in his dressing-room waiting for him when he arrived. He had aged years in a day. His step was uncertain, his eyes weresunken and his hand trembled. His face brightened as she arose, andMildred met him in the center of the room. He lifted her hand andpressed a kiss upon it. 

"Angelo, dear, " she said in repentant tone; "I am sorry I pained youthis afternoon; but I am jealous, so jealous of you. "

"Jealous?" he said smilingly; "there is no need of jealousy in ourlives; we love each other truly and only. "

"That is just what I think, we will never doubt each other again, willwe?"

"Never!" he said solemnly. 

He had placed his violin case on the table in the room. She went to itand tapped the top playfully; then suddenly said: "I am going to lookat your violin, Angelo, " and before he could interfere, she had takenthe silken coverlet off and was examining the instrument closely. "Sure enough, it has five strings; the middle one stands higher thanthe rest and is of glossy blackness. Uncle Sanders was right; it is awoman'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; Iknow you will not refuse to play on it for me now. "

He raised his hands in supplication. "Mildred! Mildred! Stop! do notask it!"

"You refuse after I have come repentant, and confessing my doubts andfears? Uncle Sanders said you would not play upon it for me; he told meit 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? Anotherwoman's pledge sacred to you? I asked you to remove the string; yourefused. I ask you now to play upon it; you refuse, " and she paced theroom like a caged tigress. 

"I will watch to-night when you play, " she flashed. "If you do not usethat string we part forever. "

He stood before her and attempted to take her hand; she repulsed himsavagely. 

Sadly then he asked: "And if I do play upon it?"

"I am yours forever--yours through life--through eternity, " she criedpassionately. 

The call-boy announced Diotti's turn; the violinist led Mildred to aseat at the entrance of the stage. His appearance was the signal forprolonged 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 andsilvery rays upon his face and shoulders. The expectant audiencescarcely breathed as he began his theme. It was pity--pity molded intoa concord of beautiful sounds, and when he began the second movement itwas 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 thatstring; you refuse my wish?" and the sounds of mighty applause withoutdrowned his pleading voice. 

"I told you if you refused me I was lost to you forever! Do youunderstand?"

Diotti returned slowly to the center of the stage and remainedmotionless until the audience subsided. Facing Mildred, whose color washeightened by the intensity of her emotion, he began softly to play. His fingers sought the string of Death. The audience listened withbreathless interest. The composition was weirdly and strangelyfascinating. 

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 aneternal day; higher and higher, softer and softer grew the theme untilit echoed as if it were afar in the realms of light and floating o'erthe waves of a golden sea. 

Suddenly the audience was startled by the snapping of a string; theviolin and bow dropped from the nerveless hands of the player. He fellhelpless to the stage. 

Mildred rushed to him, crying, "Angelo, Angelo, what is it? What hashappened?" Bending over him she gently raised his head and showeredunrestrained kisses upon his lips, oblivious of all save her lover. 

"Speak! Speak!" she implored. 

A faint smile illumined his face; he gazed with ineffable tendernessinto her weeping eyes, then slowly closed his own as if in slumber. 

The Conspirators

Arriving opposite the Franklin house, Tom Foley took position in anear-by alley, where he could keep close watch on the front gate. Afterhours of nervous waiting, little Lillian Franklin came out, and Tom'sheart gave a jump. She was alone, and began to roll a hoop, which herfriend 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 thealley to intercept her. When he emerged into the street, he saw herresting on a rustic bench, and hastened to join her. As he came up, hewas 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 Icouldn't git up no courage to go, " answered the boy with simulatedcontrition. "What d'yer say? let's s'prise Gil, and go down to thelandin' 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 holdof her hand. 

The night was fast approaching and Foley was leading the child throughunfrequented 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 itswinter dress. The restless splash of the water sent icy sprays over thechild, and, clinging still closer to her treacherous companion, shestopped him for a second and begged him to return. 

"Don't be afear'd, nuthin's goin' ter happen to yer, " he said, jerkingher 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, withoutwaiting 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 thecave, 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 theterrified child into the cave, and then roughly into the arms of hisfather. 

"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 toonear the city, an' if we're tracked here we'll stand no more chancethan 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 wewouldn't be found in a thousand years. "

"When d'yer want to start?" asked Tom. 

In ten minutes the abductors, with the stolen child, were slowlywinding their way along the deserted beach. 

It was now very dark. No stars were shining, and it had become bitterlycold. Suddenly voices were heard, and the abductors stopped to listen. They were in a ravine near the magazine landing, not more than fiftyfeet from the spot where the Lillian was launched. Foley, Tom, andHildey crouched low, and drew the little girl closer. 

The steady dip of oars was heard up stream, and the voices grewplainer. Out of the mingled sounds was heard, "I agrees with Sandy, he's the dirtiest coward as ever went unhung. "

Lillian started, for she recognized the voice of the Jedge, who withColonel Franklin, Sandy, Dink, Leander and Gilbert, were returning froma sail up the river. 

Foley became frightened, and bending over, hissed into the child's ear:

"Remember what I tol' yer: if yer utter a sound, I'll kill yer. "

The sailing party meantime had reached the landing and stepped ashore. Sandy and the other three boys lowered the sail, rolled and carried itinto the boat-house. The whole party then, marching three abreast, with steady step, went up the graveled walk of the old magazine road, singing in unison:

 "Hep--Hep-- Shoot that ni**er if he don't keep step. Hep--Hep-- Shoot that ni**er if he don't keep step. "

While its cadence was continued by Colonel Franklin and the Jedge, thefour boys, in marching rhythm, sang out cheerily into the crisp coldnight:

 "When other lips and other hearts, Their tales of love shall tell, In accents whose excess imparts The power they feel so well. There may, perhaps, in such a scene, Some recollection be, Of days that have as happy been, And you'll remember me. "

The three scoundrels listened, as the voices rose and fell on the air. The child, with the fear of death before her, and in the clutches ofher horrible captor, gave one convulsive sob and sank swooning at hisfeet. 

Foley picked her up and, walking quickly, placed her in the very boather father and friends had left but a moment before. He wrapped her ina ragged coat, loosened the hasp of the door on the boat-house, andtook out the oars. 

Quickly the captors pushed the craft into deep water, and with muffledstroke moved through the inky waves, a somber specter sneaking alongthe banks of the sleeping marches. 

When they neared the upper bridge, Foley ran the boat ashore andabandoned it. Picking up the exhausted and benumbed child, he led histwo companions along the causeway and over the road leading to thebridge. 

The wind came out of the north, howling through the leafless boughs ofthe mighty monarchs of the forest. The last flickering light of thetown was left far behind, and darkness, like a great shroud, envelopedriver, valley and woods. 

In due time Colonel Franklin and his party reached home, hungry aftertheir fine sail on the river, and all in high spirits. 

"Jedge, you and the boys sit right down, and we'll have supper in ajiffy. "

The guests thoroughly enjoyed the evening meal. The repast was aboutconcluded when Edith, who had just returned from the parsonage, camein, and called cheerily:

"Hurry up, Lily, it's time to go to the festival. They're going tolight up thet tree at half-past eight, and it's nearly that now. "

"Why, chil', Lily ain't here. She's wif yo' folks, " exclaimed Delia. 

"With us? She hasn't been with us at all, " responded Edith. 

"It's likely she's at one of the neighbors, " ventured the Colonel. 

"I'll fin' her, Muster Franklin, an' I'se gwine to scol' her good an'hard fo' worryin' her ol' mammy. At this she put a shawl over her headand shoulderst and started in search of the absent one. 

"Suppose I go too, " suggested Gilbert, rising. 

"I don't think that's necessary, " interposed the Colonel. 

"It'll only take me a minute, " assured the son, as he began to put onhis overcoat. 

"Go if you like then, " consented the Colonel. 

"An' if yer don't mind, Miss Deed, " volunteered Sandy, "I'll go up tochurch with yer, an' then come back an' fetch Lily and Gil. "

"That's a good idea, " answered Edith, "bring her right over to thechurch, and I'll be waiting for you there. "

"I guess I'll go up to my house an' look. Mebbe Lily is playin' withZorah, an' if she is, I'll come right back an' tell yer, " put in Dink. 

Edith, Delia and the three boys departed, leaving the Colonel and theJedge alone, smoking their pipes and discussing the sensational eventsof the week, in which Dennis Foley was the central figure. 

The conversation was stopped by the appearance of Delia and Gilbert, who declared that not one of the neighbors had seen Lillian thatafternoon. 

"It seems almost incredible that she could be lost, " said the father, "she must be somewhere about here. Perhaps she went to the church, andfell asleep in one of the pews. "

The searching party set out once more, this time accompanied by theColonel himself, and by the Jedge. At the church they heard from Sandyand Dink that no trace of the child had been found, so the fatherrequested the minister to inquire of the congregation if the missingone had been seen anywhere. There was no response from those present, and the family and friends began to show grave concern. 

Another effort at finding her was immediately made. The police sergeantwas notified, and he sent out a general alarm. 

All night long, and all the next day the hunt was continued. Wells wereexplored, basements, cellars and out-of-the-way places were ransacked, lumber yards and coal yards were gone through most carefully. In fact, not a foot of the town was left unsearched, but all to no avail, andthe once happy home of the Franklins was steeped in sorrow and despair. 

The morning after Lillian's disappearance, Mrs. Foley inquired of theboys in the neighborhood if they had seen anything of her son Tom, who, she declared, had been gone since the previous morning. 

From Sandy she learned that Tom had taken dinner at Gilbert's the daybefore, but that when the party had started for the river he haddropped out, claiming he was too down-hearted to join in the pleasure. 

"That's the way he acted at home, " said the widow, "and it seemed to meit was almost unnacheral for him to talk against his father, as he did. However, I'm not bothered about him, for he comes and goes just as hepleases, and when he gets good and ready he'll turn up, like a badpenny. I've stopped worryin' about him years an' years ago. "

"If I see Tom, " volunteered the boy, "I'll tell him yer want him, "--andhe hurried away. 

The next morning Sandy left home earlier than usual, and on his ownaccount began a search for Lillian. A new theory had taken possessionof him, and he started at once for the river. At the magazine gate hechatted with the sentry about the mysterious disappearance, and passedon. When he reached the shore half a mile beyond, he was surprised tofind that the padlock on the door of the shed had been pried off, andthat his boat was missing. 

Opening the door he saw that his oars and blankets were gone, and hebegan to feel that his theory might lead him to important discoveries. For fully five minutes he stood motionless, and gazed into the river, buried deep in his own thoughts. Then he soliloquized: "I wonder ifLily's been stolen? S'pose, while we've been searchin' fer her high an'low, Foley an' the galoot what whacked me jest took the little girl an'carried her off in my boat? That 'ere story 'bout Dennis Foley buyin' aticket for Philadelphy struck me as fishy when I fust heerd it, an' nowI don't believe it a t'all. They couldn't git through the magazine gate'thout the guards seein' them, an' whoever took my boat either came upthe shore or down the shore. 'Tain't likely they came from up shore, 'cause they could 'a' found a hundred boats 'tween here an' the upperbridge. "

Turning around, Sandy started down the beach toward the cemetery. Hewas studying carefully the ground beyond the point of high tide, and ina few moments reached the ravine where, two nights before, the threeabductors had stopped, upon hearing Colonel Franklin and his sailingparty approach. 

"Well, I'll be durned, " he exclaimed, for in the sand before his veryeyes was the impress of four pairs of shoes. Two were evidently thoseof men, one small enough to be that of a boy, and one so tiny as toconvince him it was that of a child. 

"This is the way they come, " he continued, "and there wuz three of 'emin the gang besides the little one, an' I'm sure er that. "

He followed the footprints until he reached the old wharf. Peeringthrough the rotten timbers, he said:

"That's a rum ol' hole. I don't believe Satan hisself would go inthere, but I'm goin', an' see what I kin see. "

Sandy had no difficulty in entering the cave, which he found strewnwith whisky bottles, pieces of bread and newly-picked bones, evidenceenough that some one had been there but a short time before. Penetrating deeper in his search, he made a find of the utmostimportance. Lying at one side, and near a bed of rags, was an envelopaddressed to Dennis Foley, and, on a peg which had been driven into thewall, was hanging an old hat, which he had often seen on Hildey's head. 

Elated at the results of his quest, he began to retrace his steps, andin eager haste he left the cave. Picking his way along the slimy stonesunder the wharf, he soon neared the outlet and there was startled bythe most significant of all his discoveries. Right before him lay theidentical hoop which he had given the lost child only Christmas Day, and which bore the inscription, "From Sandy Coggles to LillianFranklin. "

Every suspicion now was confirmed, and he was sure he knew theculprits. Taking the hoop, he returned to his boathouse with allpossible speed, and leaping into his skiff, paddled up the river, hiseyes scanning the marsh lines on either bank of the channel. Arrivingat the bridge, he learned by inquiry from the tender stationed therethat he had not seen the Lillian coming up stream within the past threedays. 

"But, " explained the bridge-tender, "I'm only on from six to six duringdaylight, and of course if anything comes through at night I wouldn'tknow about it. I'm pretty sure, though, there's been nothing up thisway for a month of Sundays, 'cept Buck Wesley, who creeped up 'bout twohours ago, following a gang of ducks that uses right over there aboveMayhew's Meadows. And the way Buck's been shooting for the last hour, he must be having a time and no mistake. "

"Well, so long, " called Sandy. "I guess I'll go up the river a littlefurther and have a look. " And once more he took up his paddles. As hecame abreast of the Meadows he saw Buck Wesley coming out of the creekin his gunning skiff. 

"Is that you, Sandy?" shouted the gunner. 

"That's me, " was the boy's answer. 

"Come over here, I want to talk to you, " requested Buck. 

When Sandy got alongside the hunter's boat, he asked:

"Well, Buck, what's the trouble?"

"No trouble, Sandy, but when I come up the river this mornin'--I ain'tbeen up for three weeks, it's been such pore weather for ducks--I seena bunch of widgeon go down right over here, an' as I skims up by thecollard patch t'other side of the bridge, I noticed a boat lyin' in themud, and when I gits near to her, I knows by the cut of her jib thatshe's yer Lillian. "

"My Lillian? Wher'd yer say yer seen her?" asked Sandy excitedly. 

"Why, by the collard patch, not fifty yards from the Causeway. Shelooked like she'd drifted on the marsh. I calc'lated when I got throughshootin' that I'd pick her up an' take her down to yer landin'. Theoars wuz in, an' I guess she must 'a' strayed from the shore, throughsomebody fergettin' to tie her up. "

"I'm much 'bliged, Buck, " thanked Sandy, "but yer needn't bother. I'llbring her down, an' the next galoot that takes her an' lets her gitaway from him, is goin' to hear from me. "

Sandy retraced the course he had come, and after turning on the otherside of the bridge, had no trouble in finding his boat. She was lyingon a sand-bar, but he soon succeeded in floating her and bringing herashore. 

Safely securing the skiff and the boat, he began another search alongthe beach, and almost immediately was rewarded by finding a knot ofblue ribbon, such as he had often seen Lillian wear in her hair. Farther along, he discovered tracks in the sand. These he followed, Indian fashion, up the embankment, lost trace of them for a moment onthe hardened surface of the carriage way, but speedily picked them upagain in the soft soil that ran downward on the other side. 

Then, it was easy to pursue them along a pathway that led to a graveledbeach where a dozen or more skiffs had been drawn up and tied to stakesfor the winter. From here on, all further traces were obliterated. 

Thoroughly familiar with all the river craft belonging there, even tothe individual ownership, Sandy noticed at once that one of the boatswas missing, and that its painter had only recently been cut. 

"Why, it's Willie Bagner's boat they've got, " he said to himself as herecognized which boat was missing, "an' I'll bet my life the scalawagsare hidin' somewhere up the river. "

Hurrying back, he rowed to the landing and started in haste for hishome, with a plan of rescue fully developed in his mind. He sought outLeander, Dink and Gilbert, and asked them to call at his house withoutdelay. 

While Sandy's investigation had convinced him that Lillian was stolen, Colonel Franklin had been made to realize the same terrible fact inanother and more brutal way. When he reached his office on the sameafternoon, he found on his desk a letter that read as follows:

dere sur--if U meen bizness i can put U on to whar your dorter is butits goin to kost U sum muney if U evr want to see her agin theres abig gang got her hid where U woodnt find hur in a 100 yerze but if Uwill plank down 10000 dolers sheze yourze if U dont you'll nevr seehur no moar if sheze wurth thet much to U U can git her by not blabinto nobudy that yer got this leter an plankin down the rino taint nouse fer U to try an git the police on our trax fer one uv the gang isalwayz with the kid an we have sworn to kill her if enny of us isjugged if U meen bizness an will leeve a noat under the big stone infront of the ded tree by oyster shell landin up the river we will gitit an rite U where to meet us to bring the muney and git the childmember we dont stand fer no trechery an if U squeel we ll no it and well take it out on the kid mums the word if yer want ter see the kidagain c o d and fare deelin is our moto a word to the wize is sufishent

yourze trooley a frend

The Colonel was completely unnerved by the horrible knowledge that hislittle daughter was in the hands of desperate criminals. Without delayhe wrote a note offering to pay the money demanded, agreeing to deliverit at any spot they might name, and vowing to share his secret with noone. 

Sealing the missive, he placed it carefully in his pocket, and droveout along the river turnpike to a point about a quarter of a mile fromthe place designated by the anonymous writer. Tying his horse to atree, he walked through the woods, and hid the note under the stonementioned in the letter. It was after nightfall when he reached home, where he was met with the heartrending and oft-repeated question, "Have you heard anything from Lily?"

Fearing to betray himself, even to his family, and thus perhapsendanger the life of his child, he was compelled to answer, "No, not athing. " With a heavy heart, he passed into his study. Supper wasannounced shortly afterward, and as the family gathered about thetable, the father noticed that his son was not present. 

"Where is Gilbert?" he inquired nervously. 

"Sandy was here and asked Gilbert to come over and spend the night withhim, " answered Mrs. Franklin. "I hadn't the heart to refuse him, for Idon't believe any one has worked harder to find our lost darling thanSandy, and he seems to be the only one that can give Gilbert anyconsolation. "

"I think it's better that the boys stop searching, " said the father. "They might get themselves into trouble; it's too dangerous. "

"I don't believe you could stop those boys from hunting for Lillian, ifthey had to go into the very jaws of death, " interposed the grandmother. 

"Oh, well, " spoke the father; "they must not wear themselves out, andto-morrow, I will tell Gilbert and Sandy to leave the investigation tothe police. "

"They'll never do it, " objected the grandmother, "they love Lillian toomuch. You mark my words. "

At this very moment, Sandy, Leander, Gilbert and Dink were together, inSandy's little garret room. Sandy closed the door carefully, locked it, and called his companions about him in the middle of the room. 

"Boys, " he whispered, "afore I sez anythin', I wants yer to gimme yerword, honor bright, an' cross yer heart three times, that yer won'tspout a syllable of what I tells yer to a soul. "

All were agreed, and the boy began:

"Now, it's this 'ere way. My boat wuz stolen an' left, right below theupper bridge, an' I foun' footprints an' this 'ere piece of ribbon, which Gil knows b'longed to his sister, for she wore it round her hair. Willie Bagner's skiff's bin stolen, an' I believe the party that tookit hez got little Lily, because I foun' the hoop I give her, an' thisenvellup in the same place, an' it seems to me the galoot whose name'son it is hid somewhere up the river, an' I'm goin' after him if I hasto go alone. "

"But you won't go alone, while I'm alive, " insisted Leander, intenselyexcited. 

"An' I'm goin', too, even if I never come back, " added Dink, taking itfor granted that he was needed. 

"And you must take me, " said Gilbert imploringly. 

The four boys grasped one another's hands, and Sandy declared in asolemn tone:

"We'll stick together to the bitter end. "

"What's your plan?" asked Leander, with great interest. 

"Without breathin' a word to a soul, to-night about nine o'clock wewants to leave the boat-house, you an' Dink in one skiff, an' me an'Gil in t'other, an' sneak up the river, an' try so nobody won't see us. When we gits to the upper bridge, paddle in as close to the Causeway onthe right, as we kin, huggin' the marsh all the way. Jest before we gitto Beaver Dam, there's a deep gut that runs 'longside of it fer ahundred yards or more. Foller me in there, Leander, an' stay hid till Isez move. Don't speak a word, from the time we push off till I sez so. Beaver Dam is the lonesomest creek in the world, an' mebbe Gil's littlesister is kept in one of them ol' shacks what muskrat hunters live in, in the spring an' summer. If them galoots is in there, they're mightyapt ter come out late at night, when they don't expec' nobody's roun'. Of course, nacherelly they have some plan about gettin' paid fer littleLily, an' they ain't a-goin' to stay in hidin' without tryin' to findout the lay er the land, an' jest how hot the police is on their trail. My idee is to go an' lay in ambush fer 'em all night. If they don'tcome out, we'll explore in the mornin', an' if we don't find 'em hidin'roun' Beaver Dam, then we'll lay low all day, an' push up the riverto-morrow night. But somehow, I think that's the place they would pickout to hide in. 'Tain't one person out er a million that would know howto git through Beaver Dam without gittin' lost, an' I'm a recollectin'I took Tom Foley through there onct an' that's why I'm goin' thereto-night. I knows it so well, I could go through with my eyes shet. 

"Each of us wants his pistol loaded fer keeps, a knife, an' about threeyards er rope he can tie round his waist. Let's have a bite o' supperright here in my house, an' then we'll start fer the river, but eachfeller goin' alone, an' in a different way. Now, remember, no talkin'to nobody, an' let's all say honor bright, an' cross our hearts threetimes ag'in. "

Sandy was the first to arrive at the boat-house. Securing the paddles, he put them into the skiffs and watched for his companions. He had notlong to wait. Gilbert came in a few moments, then Leander, and shortlyafterward, Dink. Not a word was spoken. Sandy motioned Gilbert to sitin the center seat of the Dolly, while he took his accustomed place atthe stern. Noiselessly they pushed into the stream, followed by Leanderand Dink. 

The tide was going out, and had, perhaps, two hours to ebb. The boyshugged the channel bank on the right, passed under the bridgeunnoticed, and kept on their silent and anxious way, mile after mile. Finally, Sandy steered into a creek and glided softly against the mudbank, holding his skiff firmly by driving a paddle into the soft soil. Leander and Dink followed suit. That they might be screened from anyone coming out of Beaver Dam, which was separated by a narrow strip ofmarsh-land, they lay flat on the bottom of their boats. 

The night was not especially dark, for the moon was looking through amist of hazy clouds. It was bitingly cold, and though the boys becamenumb from the many minutes of inactivity, not one of them moved. Forfully an hour they had remained motionless, when faintly over the waterwas heard the splash, splash, splash, of paddles, far away. 

The searching party were all alert in an instant, and with raisedheads, peered cautiously over the top of the marsh line in thedirection of the sounds. Hardly a minute had passed, when out of theshadows that hid the entrance to Beaver Dam, there came slowly a skiffinto the clear water. It approached to within fifteen feet of thehidden boys, when they recognized a voice, distinctly saying:

"I hope that guy Franklin's ben up to the landin' an' left the notewhere I tol' him to, an' don't try no shenanigan. "

"He ain't goin' to try no flapdoodles with us, " was the quick answer. 

"Well, if he knows when he's well off, " the first voice resumed, "he'llcome round with the rhino mighty quick, an' give us no more trouble. "

"I kin see us livin' like gent'men, a'ready. "

"Gent'men born an'--" the other began, but the last of his sentence waslost as the boat turned up the river, and the cadence of the paddlesdied in the distance. 

Sandy waited until the rascals had disappeared around the bend, thenshoving his skiff quickly alongside Leander's, he whispered into thelatter's ear:

"Me an' Gil is goin' in to Beaver Dam. Yer knows them two fellers, an'so do I. One of 'em is the feller what whacked me, an' the t'other isthat bum Hildey. If they gits here afore I come back, you an' Dink'llhave to do somethin' desp'ret. "

"All right, " said Leander, clutching his pistol, "you can trust me. "

Sandy rounded the point that divided the two creeks, and in a shorttime had paddled past the trees and vines that hung over and partlycovered the entrance to Beaver Dam. The boat was managed withconsummate skill, now left, now right, through the sinuous waterway, and the two boys had gone fully half a mile, when, without warning, they were rudely jolted as the skiff grated harshly on a bar. Ordinarily, such an incident would have been without effect upon them, but now their nerves were so highly strung, that the noise of the boatrubbing against the gravel seemed as loud as the report of a cannon. 

Using all possible force, Sandy and Gilbert succeeded in shoving theircraft back into the water. Then they pressed forward into the shadow ofan embankment on the left, and not a moment too soon did they reachGover, for the door of a hut was thrown open, and the voice of TomFoley was heard, asking:

"Is that you, dad?"

An instant later Foley was seen standing in the dim light of thedoorway, shading his eyes and peering into the darkness. 

"I say, dad, is that you?" came again. "I'll be doggoned if I didn'tthink I heerd somebody comin'. I guess 'tain't nuthin', "--lookinganxiously to the right and left. "I cert'nly does git scared out er myboots aroun' here, though, when I'm left alone. I'm goin' to wake upthe brat an' make her keep me comp'ny, "--and the door closed with abang. 

He had hardly gone inside when the piteous cry of a child was heard, "Please don't beat me, Tom. "

"I ain't beatin' yer; go ahead, dance fer me. "

Sandy and Gilbert were fairly crazed, and in their anger rushed uptoward the hut. 

Again came the cry, "Please don't hit me, Tom. "

"Dance, I say, "--and the sharp swish of a whip was heard. 

It took but a second for Sandy to bound into the room. Surprised andterrified, Foley made a dart for the door, but was met by Gilbert, who, pistol in hand, held him stock still. In desperation Foley reached fora club and ran back of the frightened child in the hope that she mightserve as guard against his assailant. Like a flash, Sandy followed, andknocked the cowardly brute senseless with the barrel of his pistol. 

Gilbert ran to his sister, and, taking her up, showered loving kissesupon her. With her arms clasped about his neck and her head nestlingon his shoulder, she cried:

"Oh, Gil, I'm so glad you've come. I've been waiting all this time foryou. I knew Sandy would come, because he ain't afraid of robbers, oranybody else, even if he had his hands tied behind him. I've beenpraying for you every minute, and here you are. " Again Gilbert pressedhis sister to his heart, and kissed her. 

Young Foley was still lying unconscious, as the result of the blow hehad received, and Sandy was clutching him tightly by the throat. 

"Take yer sister, little codger, " said Sandy, "wrap her up, git in theskiff, an' I'll be with yer as soon as I tie this chuckle-headed idiotfast and tight. "

Gilbert left the hut with Lillian, while the other boy remained longenough to loosen the rope around his waist, and bind the young ruffiansecurely. Then he placed him in a corner of the room. Locking the doorbehind him, Sandy joined Gilbert in the skiff, and together theypaddled furiously out of the creek into the river. 

The moon was up in all her splendor, and objects on the water wereplainly visible for some distance. Lillian was seated in the bow, facing the two boys at the paddles. Leander and Dink fell in the wakeof Sandy's skiff, about ten yards in the rear. 

As the party reached the middle of the channel, a skiff came into viewfrom the bend, a short way above, and steered directly toward them. With a cry, Lillian stood up:

"Oh, Gil, here come those two bad men that took me away. "

The boys turned, and they, too, recognized Dennis Foley and Hildey asthe occupants of the approaching boat. 

"Lie flat, little one, " whispered Sandy, "an' don't move till I tellsyer. "

The child obeyed, but already Foley and his partner had espied her, andit was evident they were using all their efforts to catch up. Leandernow called:

"It's the same gang, Sandy, that came out of the creek. What shall wedo?"

"Paddle fer all ye're worth, " was shouted back. 

"Hold up, or we'll shoot, " yelled Dennis Foley. 

With that a pistol-shot was heard coming from the direction of thepursuers, but the bullet went wide of its mark, and the boys sped on. 

"Don't waste yer load unless yer have to, " cautioned Sandy, "'cause yerwon't have time to put in 'nother, an' I don't want er draw their fire, fer fear they might hit Lily. "

The race had become one of life and death. The boys strained to theutmost their strong young muscles, and, with paddles bent almostdouble, drove their little craft like the wind before them. Down pastTurtle Creek they flew; Licking Banks were soon left behind, andshortly, they were alongside the Sycamores. Dink looked back over hisshoulder, and whispered:

"We ain't gained on 'em a bit, an' they seem to be goin' strong. "

When the Meadows were reached, Dink said again:

"They're comin' like everythin'. "

"Don't weaken, " urged Leander; "as long as we're between them andSandy's skiff, they'll have to kill us before they can get to Lillian. "

The moon was casting its light on the waters like a great silvery path, and the splashing of the paddles was the only sound that awakened theechoes. Again came the sharp report of a pistol, and Dink dodged, as ifby instinct. He wheeled in his seat and shot point-blank at Foley, butthe ball imbedded itself in the side of the skiff behind and did nofurther damage. 

"That's tit for tat, " said Dink, "but it wuz a mighty close call ferme. When the bullet whizzed past my ear I thought I was plugged, sure. "

There were now not more than fifteen yards between the boys and theirpursuers. Turning about, Leander saw Hildey raise his pistol and takecareful aim at him. Quick as thought, the boy fired first, and Hildeyuttered a sharp cry of pain, as his right arm fell helpless, and hispistol dropped into the water. 

"Curse the luck!" muttered Foley. "Don't give up, pard; we'll ketch'em afore they git much further. "

Though Hildey's right arm was useless, he plied the paddle with hisleft, and the men continued to gain. As the boys passed through underthe bridge, Leander's boat was abreast of Sandy, who whispered:

"I'll take the swash on the right that goes through the big marsh andcomes out at the Devil's Elbow. You hug the channel bank, an' mebbewe'll fool 'em. "

Sandy knew that, after the river left the bridge, it went almostsoutherly for half a mile, then made an abrupt turn at right angles, pursued its way westward for another quarter of a mile, and then metthe swash channel, which cut diagonally through the big marsh. At thisjunction of the two streams a whirlpool called the Devil's Elbow hadbeen formed, a treacherous spot for small craft, and requiring rareskill to pass in safety. 

When Sandy told Leander to take the main channel, it was with adesperate hope that Foley and Hildey would be in doubt, for the moment, which skiff to follow as they came out under the bridge. Withinhimself, he reasoned that this hesitation, on their part, would consumesufficient time to permit the boys to gain a lead and reach in safetythe landing, two miles below. 

"The chances are jest even-Stephen, " he said to Gilbert, "though itseparates us from Leander, till we reach the Devil's Elbow. "

But alas! Sandy's reasoning failed him for once this time. 

As Foley and Hildey came through under the bridge, the former cried:

"Steer to the right channel an' foller that boat; that's the one thekid's in. "

"They're after us, darn 'em, " said Sandy, "but we're gittin' aheadbully. Keep it up, Gil, an' we'll come out all right, see if we don't. "

Dripping with perspiration, and with hands burned and blistered, Sandyand Gilbert were forging ahead and gaining on their pursuers, strainingevery nerve to increase their lead. As they rounded a bend in thechannel, Hildey shouted:

"There's yer chance to plug 'em, pard. Shoot!"

Foley obeyed, and the boys' skiff, which was a metallic one, was boredthrough by the pistol ball. The water poured through the hole, andSandy shouted to Gilbert:

"Drop yer paddle; take yer hat an' put it over the leak, tight as yerkin; bale with the other hand, or we'll sink in a minit. Lily, sit up, so yer won't get wet; but don't show yer head, " and with a courage bornof despair, Sandy renewed his efforts. 

Foley was gaining rapidly, and it seemed that only a miracle couldprevent the boy's capture before they reached the Devil's Elbow. 

Three minutes passed with only the sound of the lightning-like dip ofthe paddles. Another short bend in the channel, and a hundred yardsahead was the confluence of the two currents, which were ever at war. 

"Keep on bailing, Gil, " cried Sandy, "an' when we git past the Elbow, if they're too close to us, I'm goin' to use my pistol on 'em, but Idon't want ter shoot till I can make the shot tell fer all it's worth. Steady, Lily; hold tight, Gil; don't move, I'll git yer through withoutswampin', 'cause I knows every current in the Elbow. "

Through the mad swirl of waters the boy held his boat, and steered herinto the quiet tide beyond. 

Leander and Dink were just turning the bend of the main channel aneighth of a mile away, and the skiff containing Foley and Hildey hadreached the outer current of the eddy. 

"Now you've got 'em, " yelled Hildey, as Sandy's skiff veered to theleft, not twenty yards from the other. 

"Not if I knows it, " cried Sandy as he shot square at Foley, the ballgoing through the sleeve of his coat, but leaving him unharmed. 

"Curse yer fer a fool!" came from Foley, dropping his paddle andstanding up in the skiff, which now had nothing to guide it butHildey's exhausted arm. The skiff was rocking violently. Foleyattempted to balance himself as he raised his pistol to shoot. In aflash the frail craft was caught in the conflicting currents, itcareened and capsized, and the two men were battling for life in thewhirlpool. 

Sandy was so intent on escape that he had gone some distance downstream before realizing he was no longer pursued. Suddenly an agonizingcry was borne on the midnight air:

"Help! Help! I'm drownin'!"

The boy rested on his paddle, and scanned the river in the direction ofthe voice. 

"Don't let's let 'em drown like rats in a hole, " said Sandy, and hestarted his boat back toward the bend. 

"Gil, gimme yer pistol. They may be tryin' to play some trick on us, an' if they are, we'll be ready for 'em. "

The precaution was unnecessary, for when they came near, they saw theupturned skiff circling around in the eddy, its paddles bobbing withthe waves, and the hats of Foley and Hildey slowly drifting toward thebank. 

Leander and Dink, meanwhile, had come up, and with the other two boysremained for fully half an hour waiting for some sign of the tworobbers, but in vain; for far beneath the surface of the water in themaddening current, the ill-spent lives of Foley and Hildey were ended. They were dead in the cruel embrace of the Devil's Elbow.