Then she took down the old violin
from the wall and began to play, her low, sweet voice accompanying the
instrument in a Cree melody which Iowaka had taught her during Jan's
absence at Nelson House and the Wholdaia.
Surprised, he faced her, his eyes glowing as there fell from her lips
the gentle love-song of a heart-broken Indian maiden, filled with its
infinite sadness and despair. He knew the song. It was a lyric of the
Crees. He had heard it before, but never as it came to him now,
sobbing its grief in the low notes of the violin, speaking to him with
immeasurable pathos from the trembling throat of Melisse.
He stood silent until she had finished, staring down upon her bowed
head. When she lifted her eyes to him, he saw that her long lashes
were wet and glistening in the lamp-glow.
"It is wonderful, Melisse! You have made beautiful music for it."
"Thank you, Jan."
She played again, her voice humming with exquisite sweetness the
wordless music which he had taught her. At last she gave him the
violin.
"Now you must play for me."
"I have forgotten a great deal, Melisse."
She was astonished to see how clumsily his brown fingers traveled over
the strings. As she watched him, her heart thrilled uneasily. It was
not the old Jan who was playing for her now, but a new Jan, whose eyes
shone dull and passionless, in whom there was no stir of the old
spirit of the violin.
Pages:
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184