to
bow again and again, but the audience refused to be satisfied, until
Anne, in her clear, musical voice, made a little speech of appreciation,
which was received with acclamation.

The concert drew to a triumphant close. After Eleanor's second solo, she
repaired to the dressing room, where she was immediately surrounded by a
group of admiring girls and kept so busy answering questions as to how
long she had studied the violin and where, that she did not see Grace
Harlowe enter the right wing with Miss Nevin and a tall, dark-haired
stranger who glanced quickly about as though in search of some one.
"Where is she?" he said. "Find her at once. But, no, wait a moment. She
shall hear me play! I will win the heart of my child through the music
she loves, I may add one little solo to your programme?" he turned
questioningly to Grace.

"Well, I should rather think so," gasped Grace. "It is an honor of which
we never dreamed. This concert will be recorded in Oakdale history."

"It is well," said the virtuoso. "Bring me the violin of my child. I
will speak to her through it."

Grace flew to the dressing room, where Eleanor's violin lay in its open
case upon a table near the door. Hastily securing both violin and bow,
she flitted out of the room--without having been noticed by the girls at
the further end.

"Here it is," she breathed, as she handed it to Eleanor's father. "I
will arrange for you to play after the Glee Club, who are just going on
now."

"I thank you," replied the great man. "I pray you do not announce me. I
shall need no one to accompany me."

"It shall be as you wish," promised Grace.

There was a moment's wait after the Glee Club had filed off the stage,
then Guido Savelli appeared, violin in hand.

A faint ripple of surprise stirred the audience. Who was this
distinguished stranger! They could not identify him as belonging among
Oakdale musicians.

The virtuoso made a comprehensive survey of the house, then placing the
violin almost caressingly to his throat, began to play.

His hearers listened in growing astonishment to the exquisite sounds
that he drew from the instrument. There was a plaintive, insistent
appeal in his music that was like the pleading of a human voice. It was
a pathetic cry wrung from a hungry heart.

The dressing-room door stood partly open, and as the full, sweet notes
of the violin were carried to her ears, Eleanor gave a cry of rapture.

"Who is playing?" she cried. "I