at the door as it
opened. In the ordinary course of events it was likely to be the
laundry boy, or Thurza with coal, or one of the musicians who lived in
the house, or perhaps a collector. It might have been almost any one
but the liveried footman who now stood at the door, hat in hand, with a
look of inquiry upon his face. Von Barwig stared at the man in
astonishment. Liveries in Houston Street were most uncommon.

"Excuse me, sir, I am looking for a Mr. Von Barwig," he said. "I was
directed to come here. Is this the right place, sir?" The man's
manner was polite enough, but there was a decided attitude of
superiority in his somewhat supercilious tone. Jenny made her escape
hastily.

Von Barwig could not collect his thoughts. He simply looked at the man
and made no reply.

"He's a music master in the neighbourhood, I believe, sir," went on the
servant. "A music master," he repeated.

"Yes, he was; but he is no more," said Von Barwig, who now realised
that the man wanted to find him.

"Dead, sir?"

"No, I am Mr. Von Barwig. I teach, but I give up. You hear? I have
finished; I give up, I give up!" he repeated in a voice quivering with
emotion as he walked up to the window. There was such utter pathos in
the old man's bearing that it caused even the footman to turn and look
at the speaker more closely. There was a pause; the servant appeared
uncertain what to do.

"Did you find him, Joles?" asked some one coming into the room. The
voice was that of a young lady, who was accompanied by a little boy
carrying a violin case. At the sound of her voice Von Barwig started
as if he had been shot, and with a half articulate cry he turned and
gazed in the direction from whence the voice came. He saw in the dim
twilight, for the sun had now nearly gone down, the half-blurred vision
of a young lady dressed in the height of fashion. Her features he
could not distinguish, as her back was to the window, but he could see
that she was a handsome young woman of about twenty years of age. As
Von Barwig turned toward her she looked at her note-book and asked if
he were Herr Von Barwig.

The old man bowed, tried to speak, but could not. His tongue cleaved
to the roof of his mouth. He pointed to a chair, and indicated that
she should be seated. She noticed his embarrassment and addressed the
servant.

"You had better wait for me downstairs, Joles," she said quickly. Then
as the man closed the door behind hi