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.

From the instrument there came something so soft and sweet that John