Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 2 — page 104: what you’re looking at

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206 panic. “Give it to me. I shall not hurt you, man. Only give it to me.” He stepped back, and then held out his hands, imploring. There was an expression about his eyes, now, oddly like that of a mother who sees her infant in danger. Ty- son hesitated and instant, and then placed the instrument in the hands of the mad- man. He was more curious than afraid, and he stared in bewilderment as he watched Carnahan take the violin into trembling hands, fumbling and stroking it. “ The fool! The fool!” whispered Car- nahan. “ He might have REECE you to bits, my beautiful!” He settled it into place, cuddling it against his chin. His right hand fumbled on the shelf, blindly, and drew forth the bow, and forgetful of all else Carnahan drew the bow slowly across the strings. The result was a low, prolonged note, delicate as a thread of light, and as pierc- ing. Carnahan raised the bow and stood as one who listens intently; then his face flooded with unspeakable light. It fell like grace about him, and he smiled. “ She hears us,” whispered the mad musi- We shall talk to her cian. “ She hears us. to-night!” And cautiously, reverently, he ap- proached the bow again to the strings, while all the while his eyes probed a gloomy corner as though a human figure stood there and Carnahan strove to charm it forth into the light of the single smoky lamp with the power of his music. And slowly and reverently the singing of the violin rose, stole on the senses of Ty- son, fascinating him, swelled, filled the room. He had never heard such purity of tone. There was no scraping or whining of the rosin on the strings. It seemed as if Carnahan waved his hand through the empty air and brought forth the exquisite harmony, an improvisation of wonderful beauty. Sometimes in chorus two and three voices sang; then the G-string mourned in organlike sorrow; and out of this sprang a thrilling, lyric note that sang at the very gate of heaven. A ‘hand fell on the arm of Tyson, and then the voice of Rona: “ Go now, before he notices you again.” : ‘“‘ But you?” he whispered back. “He is used to me. He’ll play like this for hours now, if ony I am here. Go now, quickly!” :. “TI don’t dare to leave you. 4s “You must. I tell you, I am perfectly safe. Senor Tyson, you have been brave; you have helped me, and I shall never fors She stood with one hand pressed against her breast, and he could look deeply into the misted eyes. For a single moment her beauty blended with the music, became one with it, and pierced Tyson to the heart. Where was the wild, fierce girl who had walked with him up the valley that even- ing? He turned from her, and went blindly out into the night. . CHAPTER XIX. THE INSULT. UT there he stood for an instant, with the music pouring out around him, transforming in his mind the squalor of the hut; until it seemed that a palace of light lay there behind him, a place of columns and marble vistas where the girl lived who | had stood at his side a moment before. He found himself standing with clenched. hands and beating heart, and he had to shrug his shoulders and draw a deep breath to free himself from the fantasy. It was only a cabin on the desert valley of the Chiluah, and a madman playing to his wild daughter. So he went on ae the valley. Behind him the singing of the violin grew smaller and smaller, and as it faded it seemed to Tyson to come from a point di- rectly above him; to his excited fancy the music was dropping from the sky. And there was a great warmth and kindliness in his heart as he remembered the girl. He would never be able to dissociate that music from her face, he knew, and the sadness of it would haunt him. His thoughts made the way to La Blanca short, and he swung thoughtfully up the stairs of Mrs. Irene Casey’s boarding-house to his room. He had hardly closed the door CORNICLO© S C@