y reached the Commandant's house and Colonel
Fortescue swung Anita from her saddle she walked into the house slowly,
her eyes fixed on the ground. At the door the After-Clap met her with
a shout, but instead of a romp with his grown-up playmate, he received
only an absent-minded kiss. Almost at the same moment Neroda walked
into the hall.

"Here I am, Signorina," he said, "ready for the practice. Mr.
Broussard sings too well for you to do less than play divinely."

Anita, taking off her gloves and veil, went, unsmilingly, into the
drawing-room, Neroda following her, and putting up the top of the grand
piano.

It was Neroda's rule that Anita should tune her own violin. Usually
she did it with beautiful accuracy, but on this evening it was utterly
inharmonious. As she drew her bow across the strings Neroda jumped as
if he were shot.

"Great God! Signorina," he shouted, "every string is swearing at the
G-string! The spirit of music will not come to you to-night unless you
tune your violin better."

Anita stopped and laid down her bow, and once more holding the violin
to her ear, began tuning it. That time the tuning was so bad that she
handed the violin to Neroda.

"You must tune it for me, Maestro," she said, with a wan smile. "The
spirit of music seems far away to-night."

Neroda, in a minute, handed her back the instrument in perfect tune.
Anita, testing the strings, her bow wandered into the soft heart-moving
music of Mascagni's Intermezzo. Neroda said nothing, but watched his
favorite pupil. Usually she took up her violin with a calm confidence,
like a young Amazon taking up her well-strung bow for battle, because
the violin must be subdued; it must be made to obey; it must feel the
master hand before it will speak. But to-night the master hand failed
Anita, and she played fitfully and sadly and could do nothing as Neroda
directed her.

"Shall we give up the rehearsal?" asked Neroda presently, seeing that
Anita was not concentrated and that her bow arm showed strange weakness.

"No," replied Anita, with a new courage in her violet eyes, "Let us
rehearse for the whole hour."

If Neroda had been puzzled at Anita's inability he was now surprised at
her strength. She stood up to her full height and the bow was firm in
her grasp. Neroda was a hard master, but Anita succeeded in pleasing
him. Even Kettle, who had an artistic rivalry with Neroda, passing the
drawing-room door, cried:

"Lord, Mis