It was her father’s violin, the one she had wept at leaving behind her. What was she playing? Strange, old-world melodies they seemed, tossed into the air, now laughing, now wailing like sorrowing women voices. Oh, the violin in her hands! Oh, the rapture of hearing it, as her soul vibrated through it and called to him––called to him!––But he would not hear the call. He turned sorrowfully and went down again to the shed and there he lay upon his face and clasped his hands above his head and whispered her name. It was as if his heart were beating itself against prison walls and the clasped hands were stained with blood.
He rose next morning, haggard and pale. The snow was falling––falling––softly and silently. It fell like lead upon his heart, so full of anxiety was he for the good friend who might even then be climbing up the trail. Madam Manovska observed his drawn face, and thought he suffered only from anxiety and tried to comfort him. Amalia also attempted to cover her own anxiety by assurances that the good St. Christopher who watches over travelers would protect Larry Kildene, because he knew so well how many dangers there were, and that he, who had carried the Christ with all his burden of sorrows could surely keep “Sir Kildene” even through the snows of winter. In spite of an 272 inherent and trained disbelief in all supposed legends, especially as tenets of faith, Harry felt himself comforted by her talk, yet he could not forbear questioning her as to her own faith in them.
“Do you truly believe all that, Amalia?”
“All––that––? Of what––Mr. ’Arry?” She seemed truly mystified.
“I mean those childish legends of the saints you often quote?”
Amalia laughed. “You think I have learn them of the good sisters in my convent, and is no truth in them?”
“Why––I guess that’s about it. Did your father believe them?”
“Maybe no. But my father was ‘devoué’––very––but he had a very wide thought of God and man––a thought reaching far out––to––I find it very hard to explain. If but you understood the French, I could tell you––but for me, I have my father’s faith and it makes me glad to play in my heart with these legends––as you call them.”
He gave her a quick, appealing glance, then turned his gaze away. “Try to explain. Your English is beautiful.”
“If you eat your breakfast, then will I try.”