He raised his hands in supplication. “Mildred! Mildred! Stop! do not ask it!”
“You refuse after I have come repentant, and confessing my doubts and fears? Uncle Sanders said you would not play upon it for me; he told me it was wrapped with a woman’s hair, the hair of the woman you love.”
“I swear to you, Mildred, that I love but you!”
“Love me? Bah! And another woman’s tresses sacred to you? Another woman’s pledge sacred to you? I asked you to remove the string; you refused. I ask you now to play upon it; you refuse,” and she paced the room like a caged tigress.
“I will watch to-night when you play,” she flashed. “If you do not use that string we part forever.”
He stood before her and attempted to take her hand; she repulsed him savagely.
Sadly then he asked: “And if I do play upon it?”
“I am yours forever—yours through life—through eternity,” she cried passionately.
The call-boy announced Diotti’s turn; the violinist led Mildred to a seat at the entrance of the stage. His appearance was the signal for prolonged and enthusiastic greeting from the enormous audience present. He clearly was the idol of the metropolis.
