Her white throat and arms were bare, she
leaned forward a little and swayed with the melody, her eyes fast on
the clouds above her, her lips parted, a pink tinge of exercise in
her cheeks as she drew her bow. She played as only a peculiar chain of
circumstances puts it in the power of a very few to play. All nature had
grown still, the violin sobbed, sang, danced and quavered on alone, no
voice in particular; the soul of the melody of all nature combined in
one great outpouring.
At the doorway, a white-faced woman endured it as long as she could and
then fell senseless. The men nearest carried her down the hall to the
fountain, revived her, and then placed her in the carriage to which she
directed them. The girl played on and never knew. When she finished,
the uproar of applause sounded a block down the street, but the
half-senseless woman scarcely realized what it meant. Then the girl came
to the front of the stage, bowed, and lifting the violin she played her
conception of an invitation to dance. Every living soul within sound of
her notes strained their nerves to sit still and let only their hearts
dance with her. When that began the woman ran toward the country. She
never stopped until the carriage overtook her half-way to her cabin. She
said she had grown tired of sitting, and walked on ahead. That night
she asked Billy to remain with her and sleep on Elnora's bed. Then she
pitched headlong upon her own, and suffered agony of soul such as she
never before had known.
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