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The sun was high in the heavens when the violinist awoke。 A great
weight had been lifted from his heart； he had passed from darkness into
dawn。
A messenger brought him this note：
My Dear Signor DiottiI am at home this afternoon； and shall be
delighted to see you and return my thanks for the exquisite pleasure you
gave me last evening。 Music； such as yours； is indeed the voice of heaven。
Sincerely；
Mildred Wallace。
The messenger returned with this reply：
My Dear Miss WallaceI will call at three to…day。
Gratefully； Angelo Diotti。
He watched the hour drag from eleven to twelve； then counted the
minutes to one； and from that time until he left the hotel each second was
tabulated in his mind。 Arriving at her residence； he was ushered into the
drawing…room。 It was fragrant with the perfume of violets； and he stood
gazing at her portrait expectant of her coming。
Dressed in simple white； entrancing in her youthful freshness； she
entered； her face glowing with happiness； her eyes languorous and
expressive。 She hastened to him； offering both hands。 He held them in a
loving； tender grasp； and for a moment neither spoke。 Then she； gazing
clearly and fearlessly into his eyes； said： ‘‘My heart has found its melody！''
He； kneeling like Sir Gareth of old： ‘‘The song and the singer are
yours forever。 ''
She； bidding him arise： ‘‘And I forever yours。'' And wondering at her
boldness； she added； ‘‘I know and feel that you love meyour eyes
confirmed your love before you spoke。'' Then； convincingly and
ingenuously； ‘‘I knew you loved me the moment we first met。 Then I did
not understand what that meant to you； now I do。''
He drew her gently to him； and the motive of their happiness was
defined in sweet confessions： ‘‘My love； my lifeMy life； my love。''
The magic of his music had changed her very being； the breath of love
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was in her soul； the vision of love was dancing in her eyes。 The child of
marble； like the statue of old； had come to life：
‘‘And not long since I was a cold； dull stone！ I recollect
That by some means I knew that I was stone； That was the first dull gleam
of consciousness； I became conscious of a chilly self； A cold； immovable
identity。 I knew that I was stone； and knew no more！ Then； by an
imperceptible advance； Came the dim evidence of outer things； Seen
darkly and imperfectlyyet seen The walls surrounding me； and I； alone。
That pedestalthat curtainthen a voice That called on Galatea！ At that
word； Which seemed to shake my marble to the core； That which was dim
before； came evident。 Sounds； that had hummed around me； indistinct；
Vague； meaninglessseemed to resolve themselves Into a language I could
understand； I felt my frame pervaded by a glow That seemed to thaw my
marble into flesh； Its cold； hard substance throbbed with active life； My
limbs grew supple； and I movedI lived！ Lived in the ecstasy of a new…
born life！ Lived in the love of him that fashioned me！ Lived in a thousand
tangled thoughts of hope。''
Day after day he came； they told their love； their hopes； their
ambitions。 She assumed absolute proprietorship in him。 She gloried in her
possession。
He was born into the world； nurtured in infancy； trained in childhood
and matured into manhood； for one express purposeto be hers alone。 Her
ownership ranged from absolute despotism to humble slavery； and he was
happy through it all。
One day she said： ‘‘Angelo； is it your purpose to follow your
profession always？''
‘‘Necessarily； it is my livelihood；'' he replied。
‘‘But do you not think that after we stand at the altar； we never should
be separated？''
‘‘We will be together always；'' said he； holding her face between his
palms； and looking with tender expression into her inquiring eyes。
‘‘But I notice that women cluster around you after your concertsand
shake your hand longer than they shouldand talk to you longer than they
shouldand go away looking self… satisfied！'' she replied brokenly； much
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as a little girl tells of the theft of her doll。
‘‘Nonsense；'' he said； smiling； ‘‘that is all part of my profession； it is
not me they care for； it is the music I give that makes them happy。 If； in
my playing； I achieve results out of the common； they admire me！'' and he
kissed away the unwelcome tears。
‘‘I know；'' she continued； ‘‘but lately； since we have loved each other； I
can not bear to see a woman near you。 In my dreams again and again an
indefinable shadow mockingly comes； and cries to me； ‘he is not to be
yours； he is to be mine。' ''
Diotti flushed and drew her to him ‘‘Darling；'' his voice carrying
conviction； ‘‘I am yours； you are mine； all in all； in life here and beyond！''
And as she sat dreaming after he had gone； she murmured petulantly； ‘‘I
wish there were no other women in the world。''
Her father was expected from Europe on the succeeding day's steamer。
Mr。 Wallace was a busy man。 The various gigantic enterprises he served as
president or director occupied most of his time。 He had been absent in
Europe for several months； and Mildred was anxiously awaiting his return
to tell him of her love。
When Mr。 Wallace came to his residence the next morning； his
daughter met him with a fond display of filial affection； they walked into
the drawing… room； hand in hand； he saw a picture of the violinist on the
piano。 ‘‘Who's the handsome young fellow？'' he asked； looking at the
portrait with the satisfaction a man feels when he sees a splendid type of
his own sex。
‘‘That is Angelo Diotti； the famous violinist；'' she said； but she could
not add another word。
As they strolled through the rooms he noticed no less than three
likenesses of the Tuscan。 And as they passed her room he saw still another
on the chiffonnier。
‘‘Seems to me the house is running wild with photographs of that
fiddler；'' he said。
For the first time in her life she was self…conscious： ‘‘I will wait for a
more opportune time to tell him；'' she thought。
In the scheme of Diotti's appearance in New York there were to be two
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more concerts。 One was to be given that evening。 Mildred coaxed her
father to accompany her to hear the violinist。 Mr。 Wallace was not fond of
music； ‘‘it had been knocked out of him on the farm up in Vermont； when
he was a boy；'' he would apologetically explain； and besides he had the old
puritanical abhorrence of stage people putting them all in one classas
puppets who danced for played or talked for an idle and unthinking public。
So it was with the thought of a wasted evening that he accompanied
Mildred to the concert。
The entertainment was a repetition of the others Diotti had given； and
at its end； Mildred said to her father： ‘‘Come； I want to congratulate
Signor Diotti in person。''
‘‘That is