There was an expectant lull, then mighty applause. She was coming. At a door to the right she appeared. Down a narrow way between rows of musicians she passed, a tall, slim, gracefully beautiful lady.
In the center of the stage she paused to bow in recognition of the applause, then again, and yet again. Then, turning with such grace as only a trained musician knows, she moved to her place and with a slight nod to the leader, placed her hands upon the keys, then sent them racing over the keys, bringing forth such glorious music as only might be learned beside a rushing brook in the depths of the forest.
Lucile gripped her seat until her fingers ached. She strove to remain seated while her face went white and then was flushed with color.
“It is she,” she whispered to herself. “It cannot be, yet it is! The same eyes, the same nose, the same hair. I cannot be mistaken. It is she! Patricia Diurno, the celebrated, the most wonderful virtuoso, is the Mystery Lady and the Spirit of Christmas! And I? How am I to remain in this seat for two mortal hours while before me sits a woman pouring forth bewitching music, a woman who for a handclasp has the power to make me rich, yes, rich? Two hundred in gold. How—how can I?”
CHAPTER XIX
MEG WIELDS A BELAYING PIN
Florence started back at sight of the one who opened the door in response to Meg’s “Come in.” It was indeed the small man of the burning, hawk-like eyes. His disposition appeared to have been changed by his battle with the storm. It was plain from the first that he was now a man not to be trifled with; at least not by two girls in a lonely ship’s cabin at an hour fast approaching midnight. He twisted his face into an ugly grin. His smile was more horrible than a snarl would have been. His white teeth showed like an angry dog’s.
“The bag!” he said in a tone that was a command. It was evident that he was both angry and desperate.
“What bag?” said Meg, rising as her companion, wrapping her blanket closer about her, slunk further into the corner.
“My bag!” His tone was threatening. He advanced a step.
Florence could see a deep red stealing up beneath the natural tan of the daughter of the sea as she too advanced a step. Meg showed not the slightest fear.