The Camden chronicle. (Camden, Tenn.) 1890-current, 1903-11-20

that2" spring 10 his feet and almost
ooaslng 10 breathe as certain notes.
hating, faulty, but still glorlously
beautiful. reached his ear. who IA
thatg What Is that?"- A long pause.
then he said deliberately. resolutely.
though his face was white as now.
That Is the music that shall win the
prizel IL Is mine. not hisl / dreamed
It. | can write II into something that
will electrify the world; my harmonies
shall be transcendentally beautiful his
are hopelessly faulty; tho melody Is
worthless to him, to me II is salvation
for soul and body
The notes we're played through again
slowly, tenderly, with wrong chords
with right chords, with one finger on
ly. a rich deep voice hummed them. a
girls clear soprano corrected the man
to a curious minor resolution that CO.
Inns soul lad already leapt to-they
these unknown two-had given him
the clew to his dream melody; theirs
was Of the earth earthly; he would turn
II into something that was worthy
even OF heaven itself
Down he sat and set feYerishly 10
work, and the melody fitted the words
as a glove the hand;
Hail victor in the generous strife,
This is the golden hour of life;
The struggle and the task are done,
The guerdon and the chaplet won.
Thine is the fadeless olive crown,
Blazon and badge of bright renown;
For thee the poets Tyre is strung,
For thee the song Of triumph won.
He wrote on and on, and on! Night
passed into day, and day nearly into
night again before it was finished, and
he managed to stagger out and post 1t
himself; then he tainted, and Mrs. Will
cox told him ne must leave her house
at the end of the week She couldn't
abide inyalids, besides which she had
chance Of letting her rooms for al
most double the money; her first floors
were going, and new people coming in
who wanted an extra room.
Colin was thankful 10 go. He felt
like a thief who has robbed a blind
man. He was a thief, and he HAD stol-
en- what was far more precious than
gold-he had stolen fame from an old
man, a foreigner from a girl perhaps
as poor as himself-and he hated him
self for it. He had done it almost in
his delirium, but as health and
strength returned every hour, 50 did
his moral sense of right and wrong.
He was a thief.
The letter with the good news came
to dreary London attic, one of those
tiny, ill-furnished rooms which shelter
broken hearts and hide blighted hopes
from the mock of the world.
Colin Stuart had won the prize for
his superb setting of the classic ode
he held the check in his hand for
$3.50, with the formal offer Of the post
he had craved, with more than formal
appreciation Of his work, for the ia
nous Signor Tiorno pronounced it wor-
thy of the highest praise.
Colin threw the letter down in Bit
ter contempt. Stolen honors-a giant
robe" he muttered only, thank heay-
en-, there is still time to make restitu-
ton. will take it there onight-now,
it may be to them what it was to ne
what it would have been to me If II
were honestly mine. Perhaps the mel
ody was hers-that beautiful dark eyed
girl used to see passing up and down
to the second floor back-perhaps /;
was the old foreigners l saw with her
just before l was taken ill-they will
pity and forgive, the temptation was
so great"
But they also had left Mrs. Wilcox
apartments, he found-they had gone q
few days before he himself had done so
''She-Miss Giacomo-was a gov
erness and had lived here for three
years" explained Mrs. Wilcox, vexed
ly, and paid to the day all that time
Then her uncle came and took he
away-he hadn't any children, and il
quite rich old man, / believe, an
she's going abroad with him. She wa
his sisters child, an there'd been
quarrel over the marriage, an they
lost sight Of each other. Anyhow, tn
parents are dead now, and the slgno
he's adopted Miss Giacoma for hi
own; their address, sir? Now, let m
see, they went from here to one G
them big hotels-Cecil, l think
vas
Colin contriyed to cut short the res
Of her voluble talk, and started off t
walk to the Hotel Cecil; he was gla
from his heart that the girl had foun