He extracted another shrill sound from the flute.
“B-r-r,” he said, “that goes through one’s nerves! I shall have to leave love and flute-playing to others.”
But at this moment there arose in the body of “Black Susy” that mysterious singing which had remained faithfully in his memory all these years. It sounded as if the fates were singing beneath the ash-tree.
“Ah, that is far better music!” he cried, springing up and throwing the flute away from him.... The iron door rattled.... The glowing jaws swallowed new heaps of coal. The shovel fell clattering to the ground.
“It will wake them up in the house,” he thought, startled for a moment. “But let it, let it,” he continued; “their happiness and their future are at stake.”
The singing grew louder and louder; then his joy came to a climax, so that he began to whistle aloud. “How nice that sounds! Yes, we understand how to make music; we are brave musicians, Susy.” The chimney sent forth mighty clouds of black smoke, which disseminated itself under the ceiling like a canopy, heaving and sinking as though a storm were driving it.... One of the valves sent forth a hissing sound, and a white cloud of steam spirted up, which quickly mixed with the black smoke.... The hissing grew louder and louder, the hand of the manometer went on and on....
“Now is the time!”
With a trembling hand he felt for the lever.... A jerk ... a swing ... and whirling, as if driven by supernatural force, the wheel went round.
“Victory! she lives, she lives!”
“Now they may hear, now they may come!” His hand pulled at the valve of the steam-whistle, and shrilly the night echoed her cry: