g and fanning that he simply could not help looking
at her, and she evidently could not help smiling. As he explained to
the skeleton, her tempo was against the beat, or in other words, the
rhythm of her rocking and fanning conflicted with the rhythm of the
music he was playing. The skeleton did not altogether understand Von
Barwig's explanation, but he accepted it willingly, for it was clear
that the professor had withdrawn from the candidacy for the fat lady's
affections!

It must by no means be understood, however, that Von Barwig liked his
new occupation. On the contrary, it grieved his very soul; but it was
far less painful than he had anticipated. Mr. Costello seemed to
realise that his night professor was not in his element and he made it
as easy for him as possible. The weary months went on, and Von Barwig
by teaching during the day and working at night just barely made ends
meet.

"I am getting thinner and thinner," thought he as a ring slipped from
his finger and rolled under the old sofa which had been in his room for
a long time. In looking for it he came across an old portmanteau which
had been slipped under the sofa and had entirely escaped his memory
during his residence in Miss Husted's house. He opened it and his
heart beat rapidly as he saw the case of pistols he had brought from
Leipsic intending to force Ahlmann to fight a duel. He looked at
them--there they lay, old-fashioned, duelling pistols--weapons for the
shedding of blood. He had found no use for them in all these years and
now he would not use them if he could, so he gently laid them down on
the piano and looked further into the portmanteau.

Within its depths, among many relics of the past he found one or two of
his compositions, pieces for the piano. He lifted them up and
underneath lay the symphony played by his orchestra the night she left
him--the symphony that had never been heard in its entirety. He let
the lid of the portmanteau fall. The dust flew up in his face, but he
did not notice it, for memories of that fatal night came thronging into
his brain and he could think of nothing but that never-to-be-forgotten
scene. A great longing to hear that music again came upon him, a
longing he could not resist. It was dusk and the gas lamps were being
lit when he sat down at the piano. How long he played he never knew,
for when they found him several hours later, it was quite dark and the
old man was completely unconscious;