of a
violin.

She paused a moment, thinking at first that this was due to the wind's
whining through some narrow passage betwixt the outbuildings of the
house, then, as the chromatic wailing broke suddenly into vibrating
harmonies, she realized that some one actually _was_ playing the violin,
and playing it remarkably well, too.

Instinctively she yielded to the fascination of it, and, drawing
nearer to the house, leaned against a sheltered wall, all her senses
subordinate to that of hearing.

Whoever the musician might be, he was a thorough master of his
instrument, and Sara listened with delight, recognizing some of the
haunting melodies of the wild Russian music which he was playing--music
that even in its moments of delirious joy seemed to hold always an
underlying _bourdon_ of tragedy and despair.

"Hi, there!"

She started violently. Entirely absorbed in the music, she had failed
to observe a man, dressed in the style of an indoor servant, who had
appeared in the doorway of one of the outbuildings and who now addressed
her in peremptory tones.

"Hi, there! Don't you know you're trespassing?"

Jerked suddenly out of her dreamy enjoyment, Sara looked round vaguely.

"I didn't know that Monk's Cliff was private property," she said after a
pause.

"Nor is it, that I know of. But you're on the Far End estate now--this
is a private road," replied the man disagreeably. "You'll please to take
yourself off."

A faint flush of indignation crept up under the warm pallor of Sara's
skin. Then, a sudden thought striking her, she asked--

"Who is that playing the violin?"

Mentally she envisioned a pair of sensitive, virile hands, lean and
brown, with the short, well-kept nails that any violinist needs must
have--the contradictory hands which had aroused her interest on the
journey to Monkshaven.

"I don't hear no one playing," replied the man stolidly. She felt
certain he was lying, but he gave her no opportunity for further
interrogation, for he continued briskly--

"Come now, miss, please to move off from here. Trespassers aren't
allowed."

Sara spoke with a quiet air of dignity.

"Certainly I'll go," she said. "I'm sorry. I had no idea that I was
trespassing."

The man's truculent manner softened, as, with the intuition of his kind,
he recognized in the composed little apology the utterance of one of his
"betters."

"Beggin' your pardon, miss," he said, with a considerable accession of
civility, "b