an attitude of supplication, reveled in
the glory of a new found emotion.

As the violinist concluded his
performance an oppressive silence pervaded
the house, then the audience, wild with
excitement, burst into thunders of
applause. In his dressing-room Diotti
was besieged by hosts of people,
congratulating him in extravagant terms.

Mildred Wallace came, extending her
hands. He took them almost reverently.
She looked into his eyes, and
he knew he had struck the chord responsive
in her soul.



VIII

The sun was high in the heavens
when the violinist awoke. A great
weight had been lifted from his heart;
he had passed from darkness into dawn.

A messenger brought him this note:


My Dear Signor Diotti--I am at home this