Newspaper Page Text
So Hans wondered, in his supersti
tious way, if he had not jumped from
the frying pan into the fire. Finally
he summoned up the courage to ad
vance further to where the beach
melted into the greensward. He
tripped over what seemjd to be a
taut string set low in the grass.
With a resonant yell Hans dropped
his violin and ran. He dashed wildly
through a nest of underbrush. He
was out- of breath, frightened and
weak. He got Into the middle of a
prickly copse. The thorns held him
a. prisoner. He sank with a crash to
the ground and declined to keep up
Had Hans gone a hundred feet far
her he would have come to a clearing
and in its center he would have dis
covered a neat rustic hut. Through
its doorway, as the spring gun went
off', a human form passed. The ex
plosion warned of intruders. The
hermit of Lone isle set forth to inves
tigate. He was a thin, pale young man, but
his eyes, burning like two animated
coals of fire, told of vast, pent up
emotions. His restless probing glance
"roved everywhere as he strode on. At
last he came to the beach. He halted
as he came to the violin case, aban
doned by Hans in his mad flight He
picked it up, observed that it dripped
water and opened it
In the clear moonlight a strangely
subdued expression crossed the
classy face of the recluse.
"Five years," he murmured in a
hushed, intense tone. "Five years."
Ah ! what did they not comprise of
anguish and sorrow and heartbreak.
Like one in a trance he stood, dream
ily, reverentially regarding the first
violin he had seen since he had
dashed his own favorite. Stradivarius
to atoms in a fit of fury.
Music! How foreign it had become
to that music-loving soul! He re
called the effort of his life, a love ca
denza, composed only for the wom
an he loved. He recalled that last!
night of their meeting, Just such a
night as this, when he had rowed her
out into the lake and had played for
her ears only his great composition.
Memory seemed to leave him. And
almost involutarily he carried the vio
lin to a moss-covered rock, seated
himself, wiped the wet and damp
from the instrument, and, his bosom
heaving, his eyes blinded with tears,
drew the bow across the strings.
His heart cadenza! Ah, he could
never forget it! Like a sob it began,
its mellow tones growing into solace
and then the wild passionate longing
of triumph and love. He was ab
sorbed, his soul seemed telling his
sad story to the mystic spirits of
So lost was he in his weird occupa
tion that he did not notice a small
boat rowed by a woman, another
woman seated at its stern, approach
the spot The latter was dressed in
deep mourning. Was -it coincidence
or destiny that had brought this be
ing upon that fateful night, widowed
only a short time since, to the scene
rot her early girlhood, to revive sad
memories while they floated along?
Was she thinking of Adrian Hope?
Aye, and of the cruel persistency of
her selfish father, who for the sake
of wealth had forced her to wed a
man she despised!
And now that music the love ca
denza! It seemed to wrench her
heartstrings. The frail boat floated
ashore. She sprang out, sobbing, in
"Adrian it is I, Roselle!"
A new form came stumbling along
toward the spot as those two stood
facing one another, and explanation
and pleadings for forgiveness poured
brokenly from the Jips of the woman
at whom the recluse stood gazing as
thought she were a wraith.
The woman in the boat sat -spellbound.
The man coming down the
beach, Hans Breitung, heard all, mar
veled at it all and then comprehended.
As the two so long separated dre.w
nearer, until their arms entwined,