heir bed, and
individuality is still, then the dews and rains of music, finding the
way clear for them, soak and sink through the sands of the mind, down,
far down, below the thinking-place, down to the region of music, which
is the hidden workshop of the soul, the place where lies ready the
divine material for man to go making withal.

Weary at last with vain effort, she ceased to endeavor, and in a little
while was herself being molded by the music unconsciously received to
the further understanding of it. It wrought in her mind pictures, not
thoughts. It is possible, however, my later knowledge may affect my
description of what Mary then saw with her mind's eye.

First there was a crowd in slow, then rapid movement. Arose cries and
entreaties. Came hurried motions, disruption, and running feet. A pause
followed. Then woke a lively melody, changing to the prayer of some
soul too grateful to find words. Next came a bar or two of what seemed
calm, lovely speech, then a few slowly delivered chords, and all was
still.

She came to herself, and then first knew that, like sleep, the music
had seized her unawares, and she had been understanding, or at least
enjoying, without knowing it. The man was approaching her from his dark
corner. His face was shining, but plainly he did not intend more music,
for his violin was already under his arm. He made her a little awkward
bow--not much more than a nod, and turned to the door. He had it half
open, and not yet could Mary speak. For Letty, she was fast asleep.

From the top of the stair came the voice of Ann, screaming:

"Here's your hat, Joe. I knew you'd be going when you played that.
You'd have forgotten it, I know!"

Mary heard the hat come tumbling down the stair.

"Thank you, Ann," returned Joe. "Yes, I'm going. The ladies don't care
much for my music. Nobody does but myself. But, then, it's good for
me." The last two sentences were spoken in soliloquy, but Mary heard
them, for he stood with the handle of the door in his hand. He closed
it, picked up his hat, and went softly down the stair.

The spell was broken, and Mary darted to the door. But, just as she
opened it, the outer door closed behind the strange musician, and she
had not even learned his name.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

A CHANGE.

As soon as Letty had strength enough to attend to her baby without
help, Mary, to the surprise of her mistress, and the destruction of her
theory concerning her stay in Lon