The San Francisco call., 1896-12-25

The strangers dark eyes ran over the
stoIid faces with look of mingled impa- 9
tience and contempt
"You don't Understand mep' he cried
almost passionately. "Then I'll speak to
you in another tongue. Let me see ii you
will understand it any better!"
They could not imagine what ne meant,
and they gaped at him. open outhed
with astonishm ent as he dragged an oddly
SHAPED black case from under the settle at
his side, opened it and produced violin.
In another moment it was under his chin
and the bow was working furiously. 1t
seemed as he was working off his emotion
by means of the strong, rich chords that
he drew from the instrument. He played
wild, martial, passionate melody, and
the faces OF his hearers frightened as they
heard it, for they were mus1c-lovers. one
and all, and knew good performer when
they heard one. And the stranger played
magnificently; there was no doubt OF that.
His languor, his fatigue, his look OF Ill
ness all dropped from him like garment
| as he stood in the cen ter OF the room play
ing with the fury and the fervor OF Paga-
mini. Nobody present had ever heard
such music in all their lives before.
BY and by he dropped into minor
key, and his music became sad and pite-
ous as if it expressed the depths OF de-
| spair too terrible to be put into words.
Then strain of sweetness stole into the
measure, as if a comforter had appeared
with words of healing and of hope. And
gradually it seemed as if the clouds of de-
spair and sorrow cleared away, and the
blue sky appeared and the sun shone, and
the birds sang, end the world was full OF
/ love, human and divine And then by
some touch of art that was prompted per-
haps by sympathy, the player glided into
the simplest of all melodies-the tune
which every one knows, and by which
every one has some time or other been
touched TO the heart-the melody of
Home, Sweet Home" 1t spoke to these
rough and unIearned men as perhaps no
other strain of music could have done
Then he stopped short. The men were
looking down. CATER Jones was wiping
away the ready tears of old age with
snuffy blue handkerchief. The landlord
blew his nose loudly and prepared to offer
consolation to wounded hearts In the
shape of hot brandy and water or warm
spiced beer.
Don't you feel it now2' cried the
stranger, lowering his violin. "Don't you
think it pity that a woman should have
no home but one where her father will not
speak to herr"
SAY, ay, it do seem hard on her." NUT
tered one of the men.
"Poor critturl' Ay, poor soulP'
moaned CATER Jones.
I'VE be main sorry for poor Miss
El'nor," said another, land always have
been. let Squire say what he will"
The stranger broke into a discordant
laugh, which Jared on his listeners
nerves as if he had drawn his bow at ran
dom over the strings of his violin.
II haven't lost my power, thenp' he ex-
claimed, with toss of his black hair back
from the forehead, where beads of perspi-
ration were shining in the lamplight.
81 can still mold the hearts and wills of
men little to my liking. Good friends,
[ am glad you are of my way OF thinking,
and hope your change OF mind has done
you good. Landlord, I'll stand drinks
round to the com pany if you'll allow me.
l wish you goodnight, gentlemen"
And with low bow, which breathed Of
mockery rather than of respect, he threw
down his violin, tossed a sovereign to the
landlord and went out into the night.
"a strange man, surely" said Gaffor
Jones, shaking his head. "But his gold
rings true. I'll have it steaming hot,
landlord, if it please tha, an we'n drink
to the health of Squoire, and better
| agreement atween him and his daughter2"
| CHAPTER II.
"Whats q white Christmas, grand
| papa?" asked little Molly. she always
| came in at dessert, and sat demurely be-
side the Squire, who piled her with
oranges and raisins, and daintier sweet
meats now and then. She was a fair,
pretty child, with long golden hair and
blue eyes; while ive-year-old Jack was
dark as a Spaniard, aud not like the Car
terets at all. The Squire was fond of them
both, but his love for them had no soften.
| ing influence upon his manner to his
daughter, to whom he was uniformly
harsh and cold.
The villagers were wrong in one re-
spect. MIR. Carteret had never left off
| speaking to his daughter. He conferred
with her respecting the management of
| the house and children whenever it was
necessary to do so. He spoke to her
about dinner and told her when he ex-
pected visitors. But he gave her no ten
derness, no confidence. He never met
her eye nor kissed her cheek, never
| touched her hand. They lived as
strangers, as if she were the hired house
keeper and he the stern employer. And
this state of things had continued for
three years.
She sat opposite the Squire at table, with
big silver epergne between her face and
his. A gentle old lady, generally known
! as Aunt Maria, sat at the side. The
Squire addressed observations to her from
time to time, and she in her turn occa-
sionally conversed with Mrs. Hervey.
The meals were not lively. but they were
decorous. And at breakfast and lunch
and dessert Molly was present to make
things go more easily, and Jack was ex-
pected to join the dining-room party as
soon as he was six, The bread that she
/ ate must sometimes have been bitter to