The Bridgeport times and evening farmer., 1922-08-15
CHAPTER VI (Continued)
 The Warming.

The Warning. Morals eyes filled with tears. "I understand everything now" she said.
 'sI have to thank you for so much" resumed the voice.
 'It is your playing that has help ed me to bear everything with a pa tient spirit. I was always fond of music, and when, in the beginning. I was banished into this darkness my dear mother engaged one after an- other to play to me. But each one only irritated me. Nobody seemed to be able to play in the dark.
 "The slightest fault is magnified in darkness, and my ears were sensi tive. At length I begged my mother 10 try no more. The true musician was not to be found who would live at Staten House to play at a blind mans will 'T used to play myself. but my own playing was inadequate, and failed to give me the. oblivion I sought When I grew better in health, I induced my mother to go away on a sea trip for her health, which had broken down through the strain of nursing me.
 ftShe went to San Francisco to rel atives, and on the return voyage she met you and heard you play. It was the kind of playing that I had been looking for-that I had given up seeking. You seemed like an an- swer to her prayer. You were some interest in life. She asked you to come and-you came."
 ''Why did she not tell me about your" asked Nora
 "At first because she feared you might be self-conscious and nervous answered the voice. Her one idea was to bring you into an apparent 1y empty dark room to play. She wanted you to play as you played that night on the boat. That was everything to me. Well, after I hard heard your nu- sic I dreaded losing it. and dared not utter a word. lest you might be frightened and go away. When I first sang to you my mother suggested telling you every | thing. But I wouldn't let her. The novelty of the situation entertained me. It gave me food for thought T found diversion in talking to you. knowing how ignorant you were here I used to get my mother to speak of you. I knew all you did how you looked. where you went.
 'FWhen my mother told me you had decided to leave us, that time, real ized exactly what you and your play ing meant to me. Nora. little friend, if you had gone you would have taken the only light I had in my life, apart from my dear mothers love. And so you can understand how grate- full I was and am that you stayed.'' Something like a sob came from | the direction of the piano. 1 Nora" said the voice, "are you crying?''
 "No," was the muffled answer, which should have been "yes"
 -'But you are," said the voice And why?"
 l Silence.
 Nora was at loss for a reply It was clear that Mrs. Sanderson had not told her son of the projected departure-possibly had meant to spare him till the last moment.
 sense of he1plessness came over the girl. The pitiful story she had just heard had ignited every spark | of sympathy in her. It had put be- fore her so human1y this poor mans need for what she had given and | could still give him. She knew well enough how difficult it would be for Mrs Sanderson to re- place her in that dark roorn-indeed how impossible. now that he had 1 DaTClCuldT playing.
 A great pain filled her heart
 How could she fulfil her duty to | her father without forsaking-the voice?
 Mora. why don't you say some | thing?" it asked
 'I was thinking
 | 'tOr what ?'
 Nothing, in partfcular-every- thing"
 The voice laughed softly | ''Nothing-everythin 1t repeat- ed. Then. I come into it, anyway. for I am embodied in everything. Are you sorry for me?''
 l ''Yes-oh, yes!"
 And you are guad you didn't go?'' T-oh-please don't ask me- Nora sought refuge in the piano and what she played was as wild as an Hungarian dance. Her nerves were going beyond her control. She wondered how much longer it would