The sobs fell
chokingly from his lips, and his arms were still reaching out to greet
this messenger of the God of his beloved; for Cummins was a man of the
wild and mannerless ways of a savage world, and he knew not what to
make of this sweetness that came to them from out of the depths of the
black forest.
"My Melisse! My Melisse!" he sobbed.
A figure came from the shadows, and with the figure came the music,
sweet and soft and low. John Cummins stopped and turned his face
straight up to the sky. His heart died within him.
The music ceased, and when he looked again the figure was close to
him, staggering as it walked, and a face white and thin and starved
came with it. It was a boy's face.
"For the museek of the violon--somet'ing to eat!" he heard, and the
thin figure swayed and fell almost into his arms. The voice came weak
again. "Thees is Jan--Jan Thoreau--and his violon--"
The woman's bloodless face and her great staring dark eyes greeted
them as they entered the cabin. As the man knelt beside her again, and
lifted her head against his breast, she whispered once more:
"It is the--music--of my people--the violin!"
John Cummins turned his head.
"Play!" he breathed.
"Ah, the white angel is seek--ver' seek," murmured Jan, and he drew
his bow gently across the strings of his violin.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25