passed on
to the Pastoral itself, opening it, as of custom, with the fine
Andante movement--the presage of coming storm.

None among all that wondrous thirty-two is so saturate with open-air
cheerfulness and vigour as this Sonata, aptly christened the Pastoral.
Here we are made accomplices of Nature's moods, and set in the midst
of her voices. Here, in swift succession, are storm and sunshine;
falling rain-drops; the plash and ripple of mountain streams; bird
notes of rare verisimilitude, from the anxious twitterings before the
thunder-shower, to the chorus of thanksgiving after it has swept
vigorously past. And Theo Desmond, lying in semi-darkness, with pain
for his sole comrade, knew that the hand of healing had been again
outstretched to him,--not all in vain.

The Sonata ended in a brisk ripple of sound; and for a while Honor sat
motionless, her shapely hands resting on the keyboard as if awaiting
further inspiration.

Desmond moved again uneasily. He wondered what her unfailing intuition
of his need would lead her to play next; and even as he wondered,
expectancy was lulled into a great rest by the measured tranquillity
of Beethoven's most stately and divine Adagio--the Moonlight Sonata.

There are some people who get deeper into a piano than others, who
breathe a living soul into the trembling wires. The magic of Honor's
music lay in this capacity; and she exerted it now to the limit of her
power.

The Moonlight Sonata is cumulative from start to finish, passing from
the exalted calm of the Adagio, through the graciousness of the
Allegretto, to that inspired and inspiring torrent of harmony the
Presto Agitato. Its incomparable effect of the rush and murmur of many
waters, through which the still small voice of melody rings clear as
a song dropped straight from heaven, leaves little room in a
listener's soul for the jangling discords of earth. Into that movement
the great deaf musician seems to have flung the essence of his
impatient spirit;--that rare mingling of ruggedness and simplicity, of
purity and passionate power, which went to make up the remarkable
character of the man, and which sets Beethoven's music apart from the
music of his compeers. Wagner, Chopin, Grieg,--these range the whole
gamut of emotion for its own sake. But in the hands of the master it
becomes what it should be--the great uplifting lever of the world.

The listener in the darkened room drew a long breath, and clenched his
teeth s