The leader. [volume] (Brookhaven, Miss.) 1895-1905, 1899-03-01

a smiIe-a smile unlike his. for IL had
nauR'hf Of scorn in it--there broke upon
the silence the opening bars Of little
prelude. dainty and sweet in itself. but
the manner Of its playing veritable
cried laboriously above the Poets head,
and echoed above the window. II broke
into painful snatches and Indifferent
rhythm.
The Poet sprang TO his feet with an
exclamation Of impatience. TO spoil
that with this!" he cried. 20, how can
she?" He bit his lips wrathfully; but
he did not intend to have his dream
altogether spoiled. and, his anger con-
quering his weariness, ran lightly up
the narrow stair.
He burst into the room of the stran
ger without preface or prelude. and. be-
gan. m high-pitched. womanish voice:
''Whsl in the world" Then he paused
for he found she was crying. A little,
middle+ged woman. with a wrinkled
face, and funny elfin locks that fell in
a cloud about it. She was standing in
the middle OF the .oom. with her music
stretched out fatty on the table, and
her violin and bow in her hands: stand
ing, the tears running thickly down her
pale cheeks, witeout making any at.
tempt to wipe them away.
The Poet felt even angrier than be.
fore. Women of that age had no right
10 cry so openly, he thought; it went
against all his theories. He was angry
too, that he had imagi. ed her to be
young.
What an abominable rsS," he said
savagely. And what are you crying
about? But it is enough to make any
one cry!" He was not far fir, m tears
himself with vexation.
She looked up at him wistfu y-she
was but little thing-and with. ut any
apparent surprise at his presenc, or alb
rupt entrance. "Ah! ! should net have
played again" she sobbed, ''after-aft-
er had given it up"
"Then / had guessed aright." cried
the Poet. yesterday it was renun-
citation, and, to-day resignation. But
what had you given up? What have
YOU renowned? To what are you re.
signed?"
Il don't understand you," she said
uncompre hendingly. She laid her VIC
lin on the table, hanging over ii as
mother does over her child.
when you played yesterday"
But ! didn't play yesterday" she
cried. II wanted TOO, so badly! The
storm cried to me; the wind cried; and
the sea cried; and l heard them all. ]
took my violin in my hand, but could
tell nothing of what | hearfd. o. how
unhappy was! Then drew the bow
backward and forward across the
strings, but without touching them.
and imagined it all. caught the sob
bling of the sea-god on the end of my
bow; sent out the cry of the gulls-'
"And the spray of the sea-" cried the
Poet.
land the eddy and gathering of the
foam"
"And the mutter of the waves"
"And | thought of how | might have
played had not something, something
been wanting. o, cried to God to give
me the power to play as-as my soul
could play. but for this thing-this me
that cannot"
"The cry for the unattainable, the
Poet whispered to himself, but she did
not hear or heed him.
81 made resolution" She dried her
tears briefly at the recollection of it.
God would not give me my desire, so
| gave up my semblance of it, for
wanted TO keep my ideal. Then, when
l had quite made up my mind how
could have played then! But it would
not come"
THE triumph" said the Poet. He
smiled imperceptbly to himself.
But to-day it was all so dreary. II
was all over, and there was nothing left.
And after had thought how it was all
over and my last note played, thought
would again say good-by to my fiddle.
And l fetched it out and played good
by, but without making sound. And
felt not a bit sorry, but only strange
feeling here" she put her hand on her
heart. $50 | played real little bit to
see if it would take it away"
He did not speak. His dream had
come back to him; and his thoughts,
like white clouds, floated far, far away.
But ] am going away tomorrow"
she said. with white lips, but firmly;
land l will never play again. Will you
take it, please? Will you take it with
YOU? / shall never have one again"
She placed violin and bow in his arms,
and he let them rest there, seeing only
the beauty of his dream.
Then he turned away, and her eyes
followed him as if her heart lay in his
arms. But at the door he paused: You
have given me a gift for which | can
never thank you as | should" he said,
simply.
She thought he was speaking of the
violin, and her eyes, full of pain, smiled
in confederation of his words.
"But-I should never play again"
1t was their first meeting-it was also
their last.
In the early dawn the Poet blotted
the last leaf of what he knew to be the
greatest thing he had ever written, or
would ever write.
at will make the world weep" he
said, through his tears. - Black and
White.