never
played so well--not half so well!'

She entered upon a vivid description of her feelings. On first stepping
forward, she could see nothing but a misty expanse of faces; she could
not feel the boards she trod upon; yet no sooner had she raised her
violin than a glorious sense of power made her forget everything but
the music she was to play. She all but laughed with delight. Never had
she felt so perfect a mastery of her instrument. She played without
effort, and could have played for hours without weariness. Her
fellow-musicians declared that she was 'wonderful'; and Harvey, as he
listened to this flow of excited talk, asked himself whether he had
not, after all, judged Alma amiss. Perhaps he had been the mere dull
Philistine, unable to recognise the born artist, and doing his paltry
best to obstruct her path. Perhaps so; but he would look for the
opinion of serious critics--if any such had been present.

At Baker Street they had to wait for a train, and here it happened that
Alma saw the evening placards. At once she changed; her countenance was
darkened with anxiety.

'Hadn't you better get a paper?' she asked in a quick undertone.

'I have one. Do you wish to see it now?'

'Is there anything more?'

'Yes, there is. You don't know, I suppose, whether Carnaby and his wife
were at the Hall?'

'I could hardly distinguish faces,' she replied, with tremor. 'What is
it? Tell me.'

He took out his newspaper and pointed to the paragraph which mentioned
Carnaby's name. Alma seemed overcome with painful emotion; she moved
towards the nearest seat, and Harvey, alarmed by her sudden pallor,
placed himself by her side.

'What does it mean?' she whispered.

'Who can say?'

'They must have quarrelled about business matters.'

'Perhaps so.'

'Do you think he--Mr. Carnaby--means to hide away--to escape?'

'He won't hide away,' Harvey answered. 'Yet he may escape.'

'What do you mean? Go by ship?--get out of the country?'

'I don't think so. He is far more likely to be found somewhere--in a
way that would save trouble.'

Alma flashed a look of intelligence.

'You think so,' she panted. 'You really think he has done that?'

'I feel afraid of it.'

Alma recovered breath; and, but that her face was bent low over the
newspaper, Harvey must have observed that the possibility of his
friend's suicide seemed rather to calm her agitation than to afflict
her with fresh dismay.

But she could speak no more of h