Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 12, 1927 — page 65: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE CRUCIBLE. 59 any deadening routine of duty, but, sur- rounded by beauty, expressing in them- selves its own highest form.” The voice ceased. Sylvia was aware of a faint, distant singing in her ears, and a growing throb of something she had never felt before. The slight, straight figure of King stood motionless across the hearth, and became invested with a meaning almost mystical. - He made no attempt to touch or even approach her, but from him seemed to pro- ceed a profound and thrilling significance that she could not escape. Behind his smooth brow she knew that there was at work a brain of limitless capacity, and she thrilled at the knowledge that from such an intelligence as this had come so great a tribute to herself. It was all unreal, yet terrifically real, the most potent, inescapable thing she had ever experienced. Now, something whispered that it might never be repeated. What whim of destiny had brought her to Shadow Manor? Then there drifted in the vision of Beatrice in the quiet room upstairs. ‘ Do not hesitate to act in your own interests,” she had said. ‘‘ What,” pondered Sylvia, “were her own interests?” Presently the voice of Marcus King reached her again. “There is much of all this that cannot be expressed in words. It is too profound for ordinary speech, and, since the world began, can only be translated through some form of art. It is immortal, therefore must have an immortal vehicle. Only art can translate the hunger and desire and passion that once in a lifetime takes a man by the throat. “ My own understanding of art is very slight, because though I feel it intensely there has been but little opportunity to study it. I know, nevertheless, that it is the only undying thing that humanity can produce. Music reaches me perhaps the most intimately of all, so, though I only play indifferently, may I try to persuade the piano to speak for me?” This time Sylvia dared not look at him. She could only make a little gesture. _ ne touched a switch beside the fireplace the ° scurity, lighted only by the glowing coals and one lamp beneath a tall, shaded stand beside the piano. It brought his slender figure and clean-cut face into a relief both delicate and distinct. Watching him, she felt profoundly stirred. He began to play, not with the touch of a master of technique, but with the deep sympathy of one who knows his instrument. It was a caressing touch, firm, strong, yet sensitive, to’which the lilting keys respond- ed with a tone peculiarly smooth and sing- ing as though utter harmony existed be- tween his finger tips and the vibrant strings. There was color in his music, and a strength and quality that aroused a flood of memories. The tempo changed from grave to gay, and always there ran through his motif a constant and passionate under- current. He dipped into valleys of tenderness, turning from these to mount the very peaks of desire, but never did he lose a certain persistent melody which gradually crept into her brain, dominated it, and soothed it with an unmistakable caress, It stayed with her like the touch of lips that are loved and the pressure of arms in which a woman has found her whole world. It promised, cajoled, fascinated, intrigued, and allured her. It obliterated all but itself, and filled her with the sheer sensa- tion that the world held nothing so precious as that which was hers for the taking. Against all this the memory of Brent struggled ineffectually. Presently it was obliterated. There remained nothing but these pulsing chords, and the image of the man who had waked them into life. Then, while the air was still tremulous, he moved swiftly toward her. She arose from her chair as if hypnotized and stood staring at him, weak and shaken. The next moment she was in his arms. “T want you,” he breathed triumphant- ly; “I want you as no woiman was ever wanted before. Forget the past and every- thing in it. The world and all that a woman can desire is yours for the asking. Wealth you shall have, and everything that wealth can offer to a beauty like yours. It is writ- en that you will be longed for by ee ded 3 = : ng ceo fe fell into ¢ a soft ob- = ee but thee must ite only: mine. — comicbooke < com