olin maker, who disappeared mysteriously and was never heard of
afterwards. It has a most beautiful tone, but for one note, and that
one note is hideous. Ugh!--I hate it."

She shuddered. "I would have destroyed it long ago only my father
prizes it as a great curio and as an heirloom."

The convict showed deep interest.

"Isn't it strange that a beautiful instrument like this should have a
discordant note in it that no one seems to be able to explain away?"
she asked, as they stood together near the window, losing themselves
in their interest.

"Yes,--it is strange," returned the man, examining the violin closely.
"I have read of something similar somewhere. The discord, I think, is
called the _wolf note_, and it is well named. I believe its presence
is difficult to explain, and such an instrument has occasionally been
produced by the best violin makers. They usually destroyed them, as
the discord is unalterable, making the instrument, of course,
unmarketable as a music producer."

Eileen remained in thought for a while, then she held out her hand for
the violin, took it from the man and went to the wall where she hung
it up, as if dismissing a distasteful subject.

Back to the young man's face came the hopeless look of remembrance. "I
had almost forgotten myself," he remarked. "Thank you! I must be off.
I should not be here. I--I should never have intruded."

"One moment!" said Eileen. "The air is chilly and you have nothing but
that thin, torn, cotton shirt on your back. Get into this! It is an
old sweater of mine; it is loose and big. It will keep the cold out."

"No! You have already done more than I can ever hope to pay back. I
might get caught with it on----"

"But you must," she put in imperiously. "I have several of them. This
is the oldest of those I have. You are not depriving me of anything,
and you will be glad of it before the morning, for it is cold up here
at nights."

He took it from her with reluctance, pushed his arms into it and drew
it over his head and shoulders.

"Thank you!" he said in a quiet voice. "I was sick and in prison--I
was anhungered--I was thirsty--I was naked. I don't know exactly how
it goes," he apologised, "but it is something like that and it
certainly does apply to you, miss."

His mood changed. He turned up part of the sleeve of the sweater and
put it to his lips.

Eileen's face took on a flood of colour despite herself.

A smile flitted across the unshaven face