The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1899-04-05
WHOLE NO. 24ss.

But as he lay there, hands clasped
behind his tired head, lips parted in
a smile-a smile unlike his, for it had
naught 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 a veritahle
triumph in mediocrity. II walled and
cried labOriousIy 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 impatienee. ''To spoil
that with this - he cried. so, how can
she?" He bit his lips wrathfuliy 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 stranger
without preface or prelude, and began,
in a high-pitched, womauish voice /;
'sWhat in the world" Then he paus-
ed, for he found she was crying. A lit
tie, middle aged woman, with a wrink-
led face, and funny elfin locks that fell
in cloud about it. She was standing
in the middle of the room, with her
music stretched out fatty on the table,
and her violin and bow in her hands;
standing, the tears running thickly
down her pale cheeks, without making
any attempt to wipe them away.
The Poet felt even angrier than be-
fore. Women OF that age had no right
10 cry 50 openly, he thought; il went
against all his theories. He was an
cry, too, that he had imagined her 10
be young.
what an abominable row." he said,
savage'y. "And what are you crying
about? But it is enough to make any
one cryT He was not far from tears
himself with vexation.
She looked up at him wistfully-
she was but a little thing-and without
any apparent surprise at his presence
or abrupt entrance. "Ahl / should
not have played again." she sobbed,
"after-after / had given it up.n
"Then had guessed Alright - cried
the Poet. Yesterday it was renun-
citation, aud To day resignation. But
what had you given up? What have
you renounced? To what are you re-
sigaed?"
al don't understand you" she said,
uneomprehendingly. She laid her vio-
lin on the table. hanging over it as
mother does over her child.
"When you played yesterday
"But didn't play yesterday - she
cried. wanted to %, 50 badly The
storm cried to me the wind cried and
the sea cried and heard them all. /
took my violin in my hand, but could
tell nothing Of what heard O, how
unhappy l was Then drew the bow
backward and forward across the
strings, but without touching them,
and imagined it ali. caught the sob
bing 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.
"And the eddy and gathering of the
foam"
Aud the mutter of the waves ~
"And thought Of how might have
played had not something, something
been wanting. OIL cried to God to
give me the power to play as-as my
soul could play, but for this thing this
me that cannot."
1.-The cry for the unattainabIe, 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 de-
sire, so l gave up my semblance of it,
for wanted to keep my ideal Then,
when ha1 quite made up my mind,
how could have played then But it
would not come"
"The triumph" said the Poet. He
smiled imperceptibly to himself.
'But to-day it was all 80 dreary 1t
was all over, and there was nothing
Left Aud after had thought how it
was all over and my las: note played,
l thought would again say goOd-by to
my fiddle. And | fetched it out and
played gOodby, but without making a
sound. And felt not bit sorry, but
only a strange feeling here; :" she put
her hand on her heart $50 / played
3 real little bit to see if it would take it
away"
He did not speak. His dream had
come back to him aud his thoughts,
like white clouds, floated far, far away.
but am going away to- morrow, "
she said, with white lips, but firmly,
aud I will never play again. Viii
you take it, please? VIII you take il
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 eye:
followed him as if her heart lay in hi.
arms. But at the door he paused 'YoJ
have given me a gift for which / car
never thank you as should, he said
simply.
She thought he was speaking Of th'
violin, and her eyes, full Of pain
smiled in cOrroboratiOn Of his words.
Butt should never play again"
II was their first meetiug-it wa
also their last.
In the early dawn the poet blotteC
the last leaf of what he knew 10 be th'
greatest thing he had ever written, Ol
would ever write.
at win make the world weep" b,
said, through his tears.-Black ant
White.
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