ut her brother's ear detected, also, its tone of
condescension. Did the convict notice it, as well? If so, his face
showed no sign.

"You did well, my man, very well. I think that there might be a bit
more time allowed for practice, and will speak to the warden about it.
But you, personally, have a remarkable gift. I hope you will profit by
it to your soul's good. I shall want you and your men again for a time
this evening. I have the warden's consent in the matter. A few arias
and dreamy waltzes, perhaps that sonata which you and 1001 played the
other day at my reception. Just your violin and the piano. You will
undertake it? The instruments shall be screened, of course."

Adrian was leaning forward, his hands clenched, his lips parted. His
gaze became more and more intense. Suddenly the convict raised his own
eyes and met the youth's squarely, unflinchingly. They were blue eyes,
pain-dimmed, but courageous. Margot's eyes, in very shape and color,
as hers might be when life had brought her sorrow. For a half-minute
the pair regarded one another, moved by an influence the elder man
could not understand; then Adrian's hand went out invitingly, while he
said:

"Allow me to thank you for your music. I've never heard a violin speak
as yours does."

The convict hesitated, glanced at the warden's lady, and replied:

"Probably because no other violin has been to any other man what this
has been to me."

But he did not take the proffered hand and, with a bow that would have
graced a drawing-room rather than a cell, clasped his instrument
closely and quietly moved away.

Kate was inured to prison sights, yet even she was touched by this
little by-play, though she reproved her too warm-hearted brother.

"Your generosity does you credit, dear, but we never shake the hand
of a prisoner, except when he is leaving. Not always then."

"Kate, wait a minute. Tell me all about that man. I thought the
prisoners were kept under lock and key. I thought---- Oh! it's so
awful, so incredible."

"Why, Adrian! How foolish. Your artistic temperament, I suppose, and
you cannot help it. No. They are by no means always kept so close.
This one is a 'trusty.' So were all the orchestra. So are all whom
you see about the house or grounds. This man is the model for the
whole prison. He is worth more, in keeping order, than a hundred
keepers. His influence is something wonderful, and his life is a
living sermon. His repentance is unmistakably