He looked thoughtfully across the hall, and
wondered why the beautiful gray-haired woman looked so
listless, and what the little man could be whispering about. He
would not like to be listless and idle, he thought, for he felt
with the music the movement of power within him. If he but
had some master-work, some life-service, hard,--aye, bitter
hard, but without the cringing and sickening servility, without
the cruel hurt that hardened his heart and soul. When at last a
soft sorrow crept across the violins, there came to him the
vision of a far-off home, the great eyes of his sister, and
the dark drawn face of his mother. And his heart sank below the
waters, even as the sea-sand sinks by the shores of Altamaha,
only to be lifted aloft again with that last ethereal wail of the
swan that quivered and faded away into the sky.
It left John sitting so silent and rapt that he did not for some
time notice the usher tapping him lightly on the shoulder and
saying politely, "Will you step this way, please, sir?" A
little surprised, he arose quickly at the last tap, and, turning
to leave his seat, looked full into the face of the fair-haired
young man.
Pages:
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312