The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1903-09-17

"But I don't want to sing" and, I'M
needing alike entreaty and command,
the child, a girl of about II years, with
willful, yet beautiful gypsy face,
whirled away into another dance.
AS one watched her he noted the
grace and fire of every motion She
seemed a creature of air. so light was
she. With perfect ease and abandon,
she followed every change of the mu-
sic. seeming never to tire.
As the players fingers wandered of
into some sweet minor chords there
came startled look into her face. Then,
as the music continued in the plaintive
strain, she yielded TO the spell. Once
more her body Swayed to that fantas-
tic dance of her childhood, once more
her voice rose and fell to that weird
sweet song
And, as he listened, over the face
Of the master there came look of rap
ture, while with the instinct of the
true musician, he accompanied the
strange air with all its subtle changes.
Then, as the song ended in breathing
of heartbreak and despair. he turned
to the child. the tears streaming down
his gentle old face
"Ah, monsieur, monsieur!" he cried,
cit is the voice of an angel"
While her child was singing far away
across the sea, the mother was dying.
On poor bed with scarcely covering
for her wasted body, she lay, clasping
to her breast a little dress, old and
worn.
AS her husband bent over her, trying
in his rude fashion to adjust the ragged
pillow
"Hark!" she whispered. Listen! 1
hear my Leah singing"
The great auditorium was filled to
overlooking. Every seat in the vast
room was taken and the boxes were
taxed to their utmost capacity.
Never had a prima donna sung to
more cultured and enthusiastic audience.
Time after time, the great house had
broken out into uncomfortable APP
plause, and now, as the performance
neared its close, Leah, the gypsy"
again appeared, and the people once
more settled into the eXpectant quiet
that always accompanies the presence
of a star
A perfect type of gypsy beauty was
she; hair the blackness of night, eyes
where hid that dangerous blending of
love and fire, cheeks through whose
olive the tint of carmine cleaned, lips
Of the rich red that belongs to all tropi-
cal natures.
A moment she stood gazing out over
that vast sea of faces.
One among them she knew was there
watching her with eyes full of question
and longing.
So she had met his gaze for years, al
most since the morning he first saw her
little child asleep in his fathers IL
brary.
That she was gypsy he knew, but
where she came from or why to his
fathers house he had never learned.
That father, a stern, silent man, had
never cOurted inquiry. About a year
before LEANS coming to their home the
light Of the place had gone out with
the death of an only daughter, the idol
of the widowed father. To that lost
darling Leah bore more than a passing
resemblance and because of this like
ness, the boy shrewdly guessed that the
little girl had come to take the dead
child's place.
Though he loved Leah, to hin% he had
always been an enigma. Together they
had grown to manhood and woman
hood, and as yet he could not fathom
her dual nature.
Nor could she help him. To his ques-
ton and pleading she could only say:
Some day, when the evil power leaves
me, you shall claim me; till then be
content. Some day | shall be free; the
stars have told it. And with freedom
will come the memory of that gypsy
song my mother taught me. Once it
returned and l thought heard her call
ing me-but it was only fancy-and the
song is forgotten"
And now, aS he gazed longingly at
this woman, so strange, yet so beautiful,
a woman in whose soul two spirits
seemed striving for the mastery, one
good, the other evil, he noted a startled
listening expression fit across her face.
Her eyes looked far beyond. She saw
not the great audience; unheeded was
the orchestral prelude.
Her soul was far away; she saw a
gypsy camp, a circle of admiring faces
clustered round little child; she heard
the thrum. thrum of an old guitar and
a mothers voice pleading: Again,
Leah" Once more, as if led by power
other than her will, the 1.-THE form
swayed to that dance of long ago; once
more was heard the song so sad and
sweet. Again she felt the tender, low
ing presence of her mother; a gentle
peace stole into her heart, her soul
seemed filed with rapture; and, as her
song died away in the last weird notes,
she turned TO her lover, her eyes wet
with the sweet due of love, her voice
full of the tender notes of surrender,