"Bah!" said he, at the close, with his old cheerful manner; "it is too sad! When one is possessed only for minor strains better cease fiddling. Do you want me to break this, or throw it into the fire when I get home, Gurdon? Then take her, lad! She 's a fine one, finer than yours. Take her in all good faith. Come!"
Gurdon reached out his hand, hesitating, voiceless pity in his honest eyes.
Notely sat and listened to the others; applauded in the old way. "You are beyond my teaching, lads," he said—and they played exquisitely. "You excel your master now. Well, well, my mellow old fiddle is better here with you." But he would never once look at Vesty, so pale and beseeching.
As he passed out Vesty started impulsively, then looked at her husband.
"Go and speak to him, Vesty," said Gurdon. "Maybe he wanted to speak with you a moment."
Vesty stepped out into the dark, and she called, almost in a breathless voice: "Notely!"
"Ah!" He came back.
She held out her hands to him. "Forgive me, Notely! I meant it for your—I meant——"
He took her hands firmly in his and pressed his lips down to hers. "My wife!" he said, slowly and solemnly; "my wife!" and dropped her hands and left her.
She stepped back through the doorway, sobbing.