The cavatina came to an end, the last notes--those wonderful

notes!--floating lingeringly like a human voice, and yet more exquisite

than any human voice. Falconer lowered his violin, the applause broke

out again as vehemently and enthusiastically as if the crowd below were

at an ordinary concert, and Drake made his way to the player. As he did

so, he stumbled over a violin case, the servants with a little cry--for

the stumble of an Earl of Angleford is a matter of importance--moved

apart, and Drake, putting out his hand as he recovered himself, touched

Mrs. Hawksley's arm.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "Ah! is it you, Mrs. Hawksley? You are so

pleasantly dark up here."

His eyes wandered from her face to that of the girl who had been

shrinking behind her, and he paused, as if smitten by some sudden

thought or memory. But Nell rose quickly and hid herself in the group,

and Drake went on to Falconer.

"Thank you again," he said. "I have never heard the cavatina--it was it,

wasn't it?--better played. I am the bearer of a message from the Duchess

of Cleavemere, Mr. Falconer. If you are not engaged, the duchess would

be very glad if you could play for her at Cleavemere Court on the ninth

of next month. I ask you at once and so unceremoniously, because her

grace is anxious to know. The ninth."

Falconer bowed.

"May I consider, my lord?" he began hesitatingly.

"Why, certainly," said Drake, in the frank, pleasant fashion which Nell

knew so well. "Will you send me word? Thanks. That is a fine violin you

have."

"It was my father's," said Falconer simply, and unconsciously pressing

the instrument closer to him, as if it were a living thing, a

well-beloved child.

He had often sold, pawned his belongings for bread, and as often had

forgotten his cold and hunger because his precious violin had remained

in his possession; that he had never pawned.

Drake nodded, as if he understood; then he looked round.

"Isn't there some supper going, Mrs. Hawksley?" he said pleasantly.

The old lady curtsied in stately fashion.

"Yes, my lord."

"Then it's high time Mr. Falconer--and the rest of us--were at it," he

said; and, with a smile and a nod, he left the gallery.

He would have taken Falconer with him to the supper in the banquet room

below, but he knew that, though none of the men or women there would

have remarked, or cared about, the old velvet jacket, the musician would

be conscious of it, and be embarrassed by it.




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