Merle was as dark as the Professor, but unlike him had rosy cheeks. He was slender in figure, the very expression of grace in movement. He wore no beard, and copied the Professor in the arrangement of his hair—an arrangement that displayed to the best possible advantage their well-shaped foreheads. There was, however, a very marked difference in the shape of their heads, and the color and expression of their eyes. Merle's face was longer and thinner, while his eyes were a decided brown, large, pensive and beautiful, fringed with long, thick, dark lashes. The two men might easily have passed for brothers, and almost any person, if asked for an opinion of the two, would have said, "the younger is the handsomer, and you can approach him easier, but the older is the one I would go to in trouble."
There was not so great a difference in their ages as many persons supposed, but the firmness and sternness habitual to the Professor's face made him look older than he really was. As you become better acquainted with them, you will be able to picture them far more clearly than my words can possibly do.
* * * * *
There is a perceptible hush and awe passing over the large audience. They are awaiting the rhythmic harmony that only such musicians as those now before them can produce, for these men represent the very acme of excellence in their various lines. They are all in their places, and only await the movement of their leader to burst forth into one of their inimitable performances.
Instinctively all eyes are riveted upon the stage, and all seem to hold their breaths, as there is borne into their ears such an influx of sweet and soothing symphony as transports them from the present, with all its agitation and conflicting influences, and carries them to that realm where harmony and concord reign supreme. It is over. The Professor and Merle instinctively seek each other's gaze, each drawing a long sigh of satisfaction.
"Wasn't that glorious?" asked Merle, and the Professor, with one of those flashes of his brilliant and dazzling eyes replied "It rewards us for all our arduous work for the day. Let us drink our fill of this nectar of the Gods, for it will give us new life and courage."
This was said with the joyous candor of a boy, and was the expression of a side of his nature few persons were privileged to witness, or even believed him to possess.
They appeared to enjoy to the full the musical treat, until suddenly Merle was stricken faint and ill, so much so indeed, that, despite the Professor's efforts to restore him to his usual strength, they were obliged to leave the scene.
Merle had seemed well and happy all through the entertainment and appeared to look forward with keen expectation to the advent of the singer, (her name was Rosalie Earle) but just as she entered, he was looking toward some friends whom he had discovered at a distance, when a loud burst of applause drew his attention to her. He shuddered, grew cold and faint, but as he looked in her direction, he could see nothing clearly; everything became dark and distant and in the fading light he could not see the woman.
He heard singing, but it seemed far away, and indistinct. Where was William? He had the power to restore him. His voice rang out, clear and trenchant—"William! William!" then he sank to unconsciousness.