the fifth string- 第9部分

hair；　and　no　doubt　from　a　woman's　head。

Eureka！''　and　the　old　man；　happy　in　the

discovery　that　his　surmises　were　correct；

returned　to　his　chair　and　his　toddy。



He　sat　looking　into　the　fire。　The

violin　had　brought　back　memories　of　the

past　and　its　dead。　He　mumbled；　as　if

to　the　fire；　‘‘she　loved　me；　she　loved

my　violin。　I　was　a　devil；　my　violin

was　a　devil；''　and　the　shadows　on　the

wall　swayed　like　accusing　spirits。　He

buried　his　face　in　his　hands　and　cried

piteously；　‘‘I　was　so　young；　too　young

to　know。''　He　spoke　as　if　he　would

conciliate　the　ghastly　shades　that　moved

restlessly　up　and　down；　when　suddenly

‘‘Sanders；　don't　be　a　fool！''



He　ambled　toward　the　table　again。

‘‘I　wonder　who　made　the　violin？　He

would　not　tell　me　when　I　asked　him　to…

night；　thank　you　for　your　pains；　but　I

will　find　out　myself；''　and　he　took　the

violin　from　the　case。　Holding　it　with

the　light　slanting　over　it；　he　peered

inside；　but　found　no　inscription。　‘‘No

maker's　namestrange；''　he　said。　He

tiptoed　to　the　foot　of　the　stairs　and

listened　intently；　‘‘he　must　be　asleep；　he

won't　hear　me；''　and　noiselessly　he

closed　the　door。　‘‘I　guess　if　I　play　a

tune　on　it　he　won't　know。''



He　took　the　bow　from　its　place　in　the

case　and　tightened　it。　He　listened

again。　‘‘He　is　fast　asleep；''　he　whispered。

‘‘I'll　play　the　song　I　always

played　for　heruntil；''　and　the　old　man

repeated　the　words　of　the　refrain：





‘‘Fair　as　a　lily；　joyous　and　free；

Light　of　the　prairie　home　was　she；

Every　one　who　knew　her　felt　the　gentle　power

Of　Rosalie；　the　Prairie　Flower。''





He　sat　again　in　the　arm…chair　and

placed　the　violin　under　his　chin。

Tremulously　he　drew　the　bow　across　the

middle　string；　his　bloodless　fingers　moving

slowly　up　and　down。



The　theme　he　played　was　the　melody

to　the　verse　he　had　just　repeated；　but　the

expression　was　remorse。



***



Diotti　sat　upright　in　bed。　‘‘I　am

positive　I　heard　a　violin！''　he　said；　holding

one　hand　toward　his　head　in　an　attitude

of　listening。　He　was　wide　awake。　The

drifting　snow　beat　against　the　window

panes　and　the　wind　without　shrieked　like

a　thousand　demons　of　the　night。　He

could　sleep　no　more。　He　arose　and

hastily　dressed。　The　room　was　bitterly

cold；　he　was　shivering。　He　thought　of

the　crackling　logs　in　the　fire…place　below。

He　groped　his　way　along　the　darkened

staircase。　As　he　opened　the　door　leading

into　the　sitting…room　the　fitful　gleam

of　the　dying　embers　cast　a　ghastly　light

over　the　face　of　a　corpse。



Diotti　stood　a　moment；　his　eyes

transfixed　with　horror。　The　violin　and　bow

still　in　the　hands　of　the　dead　man　told

him　plainer　than　words　what　had　happened。

He　went　toward　the　chair；　took

the　instrument　from　old　Sanders'　hands

and　laid　it　on　the　table。　Then　he　knelt

beside　the　body；　and　placing　his　ear

close　over　the　heart；　listened　for　some

sign　of　life；　but　the　old　man　was　beyond

human　aid。



He　wheeled　the　chair　to　the　side　of

the　room　and　moved　the　body　to　the

sofa。　Gently　he　covered　it　with　a　robe。

The　awfulness　of　the　situation　forced

itself　upon　him；　and　bitterly　he　blamed

himself。　The　terrible　power　of　the

instrument　dawned　upon　him　in　all　its

force。　Often　he　had　played　on　the　strings

telling　of　pity；　hope；　love　and　joy；　but

now；　for　the　first　time；　he　realized　what

that　fifth　string　meant。



‘‘I　must　give　it　back　to　its　owner。''



‘‘If　you　do　you　can　never　regain　it；''

whispered　a　voice　within。



‘‘I　do　not　need　it；''　said　the　violinist；

almost　audibly。



‘‘Perhaps　not；''　said　the　voice；　‘‘but

if　her　love　should　wane　how　would　you

rekindle　it？　Without　the　violin　you

would　be　helpless。''



‘‘Is　it　not　possible　that；　in　this　old　man's　death；

all　its　fatal　power　has　been　expended？''



He　went　to　the　table　and　took　the

instrument　from　its　place。　‘‘You　won　her

for　me；　you　have　brought　happiness

and　sunshine　into　my　life。　No！　No！

I　can　not；　will　not　give　you　up；''　then

placing　the　violin　and　bow　in　its　case　he

locked　it。



The　day　was　breaking。　In　an　hour

the　baker's　boy　came。　Diotti　went　to

the　door；　gave　him　a　note　addressed　to

Mr。　Wallace　and　asked　him　to　deliver　it

at　once。　The　boy　consented　and　drove

rapidly　away。



Within　an　hour　Mr。　Wallace　arrived；

Diotti　told　the　story　of　the　night。　After

the　undertaker　had　taken　charge　of　the

body　he　found　on　the　dead　man's　neck；

just　to　the　left　of　the　chin；　a　dullish；

black　bruise　which　might　have　been

caused　by　the　pressing　of　some　blunt

instrument；　or　by　a　man's　thumb。　Considering

it　of　much　importance；　he　notified

the　coroner；　who　ordered　an　inquest。



At　six　o'clock　that　evening　a　jury　was

impaneled；　and　two　hours　later　its

verdict　was　reported。







XIII



On　leaving　the　house　of　the　dead　man

Diotti　walked　wearily　to　his　hotel。

In　flaring　type　at　every　street　corner　he

saw　the　announcement　for　Thursday

evening；　March　thirty…first；　of　Angelo

Diotti's　last　appearance：　‘‘To…night　I

play　for　the　last　time；''　he　murmured　in

a　voice　filled　with　deepest　regret。



The　feeling　of　exultation　so　common

to　artists　who　finally　reach　the　goal　of

their　ambition　was　wanting　in　Diotti　this

morning。　He　could　not　rid　himself　of

the　memory　of　Sanders'　tragic　death。

The　figure　of　the　old　man　clutching　the

violin　and　staring　with　glassy　eyes　into

the　dying　fire　would　not　away。



When　he　reached　the　hotel　he　tried　to

rest；　but　his　excited　brain　banished

every　thought　of　slumber。　Restlessly

he　moved　about　the　room；　and　finally

dressing；　he　left　the　hotel　for　his　daily

call　on　Mildred。　It　was　after　five　o'clock

when　he　arrived。　She　received　him　coldly

and　without　any　mark　of　affection。



She　had　heard　of　Mr。　Sanders'　death；

her　father　had　sent　word。　‘‘It　shocked

me　greatly；''　she　said；　‘‘but　perhaps　the

old　man　is　happier　in　a　world　far　from

strife　and　care。　When　we　realize　all　the

misery　there　is　in　this　world　we　often

wonder　why　we　should　care　to　live。''

Her　tone　was　despondent；　her　face　was

drawn　and　blanched；　and　her　eyes　gave

evidence　of　weeping。



Diotti　divined　that　something　beyond

sympathy　for　old　Sanders'　sudden　death

racked　her　soul。　He　went　toward　her

and　lovingly　taking　her　hands；　bent　low

and　pressed　his　lips　to　them；　they　were

cold　as　marble。



‘‘Darling；''　he　said；　‘‘something　has

made　you　unhappy。　What　is　it？''



‘‘Tell　me；　Angelo；　and　truly；　is　your

violin　like　other　violins？''



This　unexpected　question　came　so

suddenly　he　could　not　control　his　agitation。



‘‘Why　do　you　ask？''　he　said。



‘‘You　must　answer　me　directly！''



‘‘No；　Mildred；　my　violin　is　different

from　any　other　I　have　ever　seen；''　this

hesitatingly　and　with　great　effort　at

composure。



‘‘In　what　way　is　it　different？''　she

almost　demanded。



‘‘It　is　peculiarly　constructed；　it　has

an　extra　string。　But　why　this　sudden

interest　in　the　violin？　Let　us　talk　of

you；　of　me；　of　both；　of　our　future；''　said

he　with　enforced　cheerfulness。



‘‘No；　we　will　talk　of　the　violin。　Of

what　use　is　the　extra　string？''



‘‘None　whatever；''　was　the　quick　reply。



‘‘Then　why　not　cut　it　off？''



‘‘No；　no；　Mildred；　you　do　not

understand；''　he　cried；　‘‘I　can　not　do

that。''



‘‘You　can　not　do　it　when　I　ask　it？''

she　exclaimed。



‘‘Oh　Mildred；　do　not　ask　me；　I　can

not；　can　not　do　it；''　and　the　face　of　the

affrighted　musician　told　plainer　than

words　of　the　turmoil　raging　in　his　soul。



‘‘You　made　me　believe　that　I　was　the

only　one　you　loved；''　passionately　she

cried；　‘‘the　only　one；　that　your　happiness

was　incomplete　without　me。　You　led

me　into　the　region　of　light　only　to　make

the　darkness　greater　when　I　descended

to　earth　again。　I　ask　you　to　do　a　simple

thing　and　you　refuse；　you　refuse　because

another　has　commanded　you。''



‘‘Mildred；　Mildred；　if　you　love　me　do

not　speak　thus！''



And　she；　with　imagination　greater　than

reasoning　power；　at　once　saw　a　Tuscan

beauty　and　Diotti　mutually　pledging　their

love　with　their　lives。



‘‘Go；''　she　said；　pointing　to　the　door；

‘‘go　to　the　one　who　owns　you；　body　and

soul；　then　say　that　a　foolish　woman　threw

her　heart　at　your　feet　and　that　you

scorned　it！''　She　sank　to　the　sofa。



He　went　toward　the　door；　and　in　a

voice　that　sounded　like　the　echo　of

despair；　protested：　‘‘Mildred；　I　love　you；

love　you　a　thousand　times　more　than　I

do　my　life。　If　I　should　destroy　the

string；　as　you　ask；　love　and　hope　would

leave　me　forevermore。　Death　would

not　be　robbed　of　its　terror！''　and　with

bowed　head　he　went　forth　into　the　twilight。



She　ran　to　the　window　and　watched

his　retreating　figure　as　he　vanished。

‘‘Uncle　Sanders　was　right；　he　loves

another　woman；　and　that　string　binds　them

together。　He　belongs　to　her！''　Long

and　silently　she　stood　by　the　window；

gazing　at　the　shadowing　curtain　of　the

coming　night。　At　last　her　face　softened。

‘‘Perhaps　he　does　not　love　her　now；　but

fears　her　vengeance。　No；　no；　he　is　not

a　coward！　I　should　have　approached

him　differently；　he　is　proud；　and　maybe

he　resented　my　imperative　manner；''

and　a　thousand　reasons　why　he　should

or　should　not　have　removed　that　string

flashed　through　her　mind。



‘‘I　will　go　early　to　the　concert　to…

night　and　see　him　before　he　plays。

Uncle　Sanders　said　he　did　not　touch　that

string　when　he　played。　Of　course　he

will　play　on　it　for　me；　even　if　he　will　not

cut　it　off；　and　then　if　he　says　he　loves

me；　and　only　me；　I　will　believe　him。　I

want　to　believe　him；　I　want　to　believe

him；''　all　this　in　a　semi…hysterical　way

addressed　to　the　violinist's　portrait　on

the　piano。



When　she　entered　her　carriage　an　hour

later；　telling　the　coachman　to　drive　direct

to　the　stage…door　of　the　Academy；　she

appeared　more　fascinating　than　ever　before。



S