``Though you would not remove it at my wish this afternoon, Angelo; I know you will not refuse to play on it for me now.''
He raised his hands in supplication.
``Mildred! Mildred! Stop! do not ask it!''
``You refuse after I have come repentant, and confessing my doubts and fears? Uncle Sanders said you would not play upon it for me; he told me it 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? Another woman's pledge sacred to you? I asked you to remove the string; you refused.
I ask you now to play upon it; you re-fuse,'' and she paced the room like a caged tigress.
``I will watch to-night when you play,'' she flashed. ``If you do not use that string we part forever.''
He stood before her and attempted to take her hand; she repulsed him savagely.
Sadly then he asked: ``And if I do play upon it?''
``I am yours forever--yours through life--through eternity,'' she cried passionately.
The call-boy announced Diotti's turn; the violinist led Mildred to a seat at the entrance of the stage. His appearance was the signal for prolonged 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 and silvery rays upon his face and shoulders. The expectant audience scarcely breathed as he began his theme. It was pity--pity molded into a concord of beautiful sounds, and when he began the second movement it was 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 that string; you refuse my wish?'' and the sounds of mighty applause without drowned his pleading voice.
``I told you if you refused me I was lost to you forever! Do you understand?''
Diotti returned slowly to the center of the stage and remained motionless until the audience subsided. Facing Mildred, whose color was heightened by the in-tensity of her emotion, he began softly to play. His fingers sought the string of Death. The audience listened with breathless interest. The composition was weirdly and strangely fascinating.
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 an eternal day; higher and higher, softer and softer grew the theme until it echoed as if it were afar in the realms of light and floating o'er the waves of a golden sea.
Suddenly the audience was startled by the snapping of a string; the violin and bow dropped from the nerveless hands of the player. He fell helpless to the stage.
Mildred rushed to him, crying, ``Angelo, Angelo, what is it? What has happened?'' Bending over him she gently raised his head and showered un-restrained kisses upon his lips, oblivious of all save her lover.
``Speak! Speak!'' she implored.
A faint smile illumined his face; he gazed with ineffable tenderness into her weeping eyes, then slowly closed his own as if in slumber.
The Conspirators Arriving opposite the Franklin house, Tom Foley took position in a near-by alley, where he could keep close watch on the front gate. After hours of nervous waiting, little Lillian Franklin came out, and Tom's heart gave a jump.
She was alone, and began to roll a hoop, which her friend 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 the alley to intercept her. When he emerged into the street, he saw her resting on a rustic bench, and hastened to join her. As he came up, he was 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 I couldn't git up no courage to go,'' answered the boy with simulated contrition. What d'yer say? let's s'prise Gil, and go down to the landin' 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 hold of her hand.
The night was fast approaching and Foley was leading the child through unfrequented 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 its winter dress. The restless splash of the water sent icy sprays over the child, and, clinging still closer to her treacherous companion, she stopped him for a second and begged him to return.
``Don't be afear'd, nuthin's goin' ter happen to yer,'' he said, jerking her 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, without waiting 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 the cave, 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 the terrified child into the cave, and then roughly into the arms of his father.
``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 too near the city, an' if we're tracked here we'll stand no more chance than a snowball on Beelzebub's gridiron.''
``What's yer lay, Dennis?'' questioned Hildey.
