him."

"Certainly, my child," said she, ringing; and presently a servant guided
me to the door of the music-rooms, and in answer to my knock I was
bidden _herein!_

I entered. The room was in shadow; but a deep glowing fire burned in a
great cavernous, stone fire-place, and shone upon huge brass andirons on
either side of the hearth. In an easy-chair sat Brunken, the old
librarian, and his white hair and beard were also warmed into rosiness
by the fire-glow. At his feet lay Sigmund, who had apparently been
listening to some story of his old friend. His hands were clasped about
the old man's knee, his face upturned, his hair pushed back.

Both turned as I came in, and Sigmund sprung up, but ere he had advanced
two paces, paused and stood still, as if overcome with languor or
weariness.

"Sigmund, I have come to see you," said I, coming to the fire and
greeting the old man, who welcomed me hospitably.

I took Sigmund's hand; it was hot and dry. I kissed him; lips and cheeks
were burning and glowing crimson. I swept the hair from his brow, that
too was burning, and his temples throbbed. His eyes met mine with a
strange, misty look. Saying nothing, I seated myself in a low chair near
the fire, and drew him to me. He nestled up to me, and I felt that if
Eugen could see us he would be almost satisfied. Sigmund did not say
anything. He merely settled his head upon my breast, gave a deep sigh as
if of relief, and closing his eyes, said:

"Now, Brunken, go on!"

"As I was saying, _mein Liebling_, I hope to prove all former theorists
and writers upon the subject to have been wrong--"

"He's talking about a Magrepha," said Sigmund, still not opening his
eyes.

"A Magrepha--what may that be?" I inquired.

"Yes. Some people say it was a real full-blown organ," explained
Sigmund, in a thick, hesitating voice, "and some say it was nothing
better than a bag-pipe--oh, dear! how my head does ache--and there are
people who say it was a kettle-drum--nothing more nor less; and Brunken
is going to show that not one of them knew anything about it."

"I hope so, at least," said Brunken, with a modest placidity.

"Oh, indeed!" said I, glancing a little timidly into the far recesses of
the deep, ghostly room, where the fire-light kept catching the sheen of
metal, the yellow whiteness of ivory keys or pipes, or the polished case
of some stringed instrument.

Strange, grotesque shapes loomed out in the uncertain, flickering light;