osition.

Drake looked absently round the gallery. It was only dimly lit by the
candles in the music stands, and the servants had respectfully drawn
back, so that Nell was still hidden; but she trembled with the fear that
those in front of her might move, and that he might see her; for she
knew how keen those eyes of his could be.

Drake felt that the dim light was a pleasant contrast to the brilliance
of the room below, and he lingered, leaning against the wall, his arms
folded, his head drooped. He was so near Nell that she could almost have
touched him--so near that she almost dreaded that he must hear the wild
throbbings of her heart. Once, as the violin wailed out a passionate,
despairing, yet exquisitely sweet passage of the Raff cavatina Falconer
was playing, she heard Drake sigh.

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 l