The Strand Magazine, Volume VII, Issue 38, February 1894

u, Robert; I shall require nothi

well

e, muttering now and then between his teeth: "If-yet, no, it is impossible, impossible! Yes, Arthur, my boy, you'd have to give it all up, lands, positi

table poured out a glass of w

e cheerfully round his luxurious sanctum-half library, half music-room-an

and searched among the heterogeneous mass of music it contained. Music is somehow always hard to find, but at lengt

grizzled Arthur Dalziel's hair. He was but two-and-thirty, though he looked like forty-five. Again and again he played the melody, and an unwonted moisture gathered in his cold grey eyes. The music seemed to affect him strangely. Pausing

e known is easily learned again. The wind howled in strange unison with the plaintive air, but

, nervous fool! That air is known to yourself a

cy (whatever it was) had been all imagination, for he struck the opening chords softly, and with the air of one who listens for a response he is but half certain of receiving. Clear above the notes of the piano, above th

e gas. Then flinging open the window, heedless how the gusts of night-wind scattered his papers about the room, he seated himself once more

ered. Dalziel suddenly abandoned the air and dropped into an accompaniment, but t

st particular!" Dalziel cried. "I

the gas lamps shivered in the blast and threw an uncerta

OVER THE PITIFU

but a voice came out of the dar

niment again. From the beginning this time, please: I'd like to

are

ova

and picked up the air," Dalziel thought; "but then, that var

, as he began to make out the dim outline of a form hudd

relight and the piano? Oh

ere-go up the steps and I'll open the door for you. He's got a pretty dash of an Italian accent, this my

g there motionless. Dalziel stooped over the pitiful little bundle, and gently disengaged a violin from the nerveless hands. Swiftly la

shock at the sight which presented itself; but none of Arthur Dalziel's servants, even

Johnson her

ent butl

et-musician that's been taken ill j

sir. Some brandy, sir, so. Now you're better, aren't you, you poor little dear? You're nigh frozen; and hungr

hung

t, Mrs. Johnson. You just lie still, young man, till it comes, and don't talk.

the sofa in quiet enjoyment of the music. His eyes grew very large and bright as the player proceeded, and once or twice hi

ate eagerly, but with evident self-restraint, and Dalziel noted with the i

ngth disappeared Giovanni

tain

where is

nd, my man; I'll

d clasped it eagerly, ran his thumb lightly over the strings,

e child, struck the required note. In a second or two Giovanni had br

what is it?"

it, sir: the one I heard out in

he child's pleading eyes overcame him, so he turne

g strength as the spell of the music possessed him. Dalziel looked from time to time at the bo

ir," said Giovanni, w

ful player, child

poor mother will be wearied to death for me. I am selfish to stay, but I was so ha

towards

ain. Tell me where mother lives and I'll go to

nd taking the address Giovanni gave him he left the house

n the worn-out little brain had for a