His one care was that the child should not be frightened. She had always answered to his control, and he took up the violin now and began to play.
“Listen, darling, listen!” he said, holding her eyes with his own, and drowning in a flood of rich, keen melody the noise of the rushing water.
And Rose-Jewel answered to the insistence of those swelling sounds of music as unquestioningly as she had ever done. She forgot everything, as she bent forward to listen. He leaned close to her, that she might not lose one sound. The beauty of the music that swelled out over those turbulent waters was entrancing, even to himself. He did not know what he was playing—something he had never heard before, but something fit to play in those choirs of heaven to which he was going so quickly. He could not wonder that the child was under the spell of it. It came to him without one interruption—an unbroken strain of divinest sweetness, such as he had never heard before. In the very midst of it, the ever-narrowing, ever-quickening current gave the little boat such a wrench, that the violin was knocked out of his hand into the leaping waters.
Then Rose-Jewel gave a little cry, and turned to look about her, but before she had faced the sight of those terrifying waves, he caught her in his arms. She felt her little golden head drawn down upon its sweet, familiar resting-place, and the arms of her father folded close about her. Words of love and comfort and reassurance were whispered in her ear. She was being rocked into repose and rest quite naturally, as she had so often been before, upon her father’s breast.
There was a sudden rush of something cold and strange—a swish of sound—a lurch—a fall—and then, still holding each other in the dear fondness of that close embrace, the musician and his little child sank together into death, and their spirits soared forth into infinite music.
The Masked Singer
The Masked Singer
The only objection which Edward Randall had to his new bachelor apartments was found in the fact, that they looked out upon some very dingy, dull, and gloomy houses opposite. This had been his chief obstacle in deciding to take these rooms, but there were advantages which soon proved a sufficient offset.
The fact that he was the only lodger in Mrs. Green’s extremely well-ordered house, and that the elderly widow had a delicate feeling for his old china and other perishable property, and looked after the cleaning and arranging of his rooms, herself, was a great thing for him; and the fact, also, that his back windows looked out upon a beautiful little bit of old garden and a wealth of greenery made the other outlook seem comparatively unimportant. He had the whole of Mrs. Green’s second floor, and beyond the sitting-room there was a pleasant, vine-screened porch supplied with hammocks and easy chairs, where, when the weather was mild, he could sit and smoke with his friends, or read or meditate, as the humor of the hour dictated.
He was not over thirty-five, and yet the fact was universally conceded that he was a confirmed bachelor—a matter of some regret to those of his friends who held that in that condition his good income, personal attractions, and lovable domestic qualities were more or less wasted.