The Heart of a Mystery

by T. W. Speight

When Clem found himself with the longed-for opportunity ready to his hand, he shrank a little in dismay at the ordeal which faced him. Most of us can afford to be bold before the occasion, and he was no exception to the rule. It had seemed to him that it would be an easy enough thing, when the proper moment should have come, to give utterance, if not to all, at least to a portion of that with which his heart was charged; but now that it was here, he found himself as one suddenly stricken dumb. It was not merely words, but ideas that for the time being had taken wing and deserted him: and yet Clement Hazeldine was a man not usually lacking in either one or the other. Clear-headed and resolute of purpose in all the ordinary concerns of life, with a mind that was in the habit of marshalling its ideas with an almost mathematical precision, and a not unfluent tongue, he yet found himself in the presence of this April-eyed girl, in whose cheeks tender flushes of color came and went fitfully, without a word to say for himself. He raged inwardly, gnawing one end of his mustache meanwhile; but his doing so did not mend matters in the least. Opposite him sat Hermia, busy with her needle on some delicate piece of embroidery. She, too, seemed to have lost her tongue since Miss Brancker's departure. The silence was becoming strained.

Then, all at once, through the party-wall between the two houses, there came to them faintly the strains of John's flute, with which, a moment later, were mingled the deeper notes of Mr. Kittaway's 'cello. His gout notwithstanding, it seemed that the ex-wine merchant was making an heroic effort to accompany his friend on his favorite instrument.

Presently Hermia and Clem looked up and their eyes met. The air that was being played was one which they both recognized. They had heard it first one spring evening; heard it, softened by distance, as it was being played by some troupe of wandering musicians, and very sweet it had sounded. They had accidentally met, face to face, on the footpath which for miles follows the windings of the little River Dene, and Clem had ventured to turn back and walk with Hermia the way she was going. It was the first time they had found themselves alone together, and by neither of them would the occasion ever be forgotten. Then it was that a certain mischievous sprite, who had been lurking in their hearts for some time past, watching his opportunity, sprang full-armed and laughing into the light of day. From that hour Clem knew that he loved Hermia and she that she loved him, but neither guessed the other's secret until afterwards. How the softened strains that reached their ears brought back that eve as if it had been but yesterday, with all its golden burst of self-revelation which had then flashed dazzlingly upon them for the first time!

The magic of the music gave back his voice to Clem. "If I were to live to be a hundred I should never forget that air," he said. "Have you no recollection of having heard it before?"

"I seem to remember having heard it somewhere," answered Hermia, with a finger-tip pressed to her lips, as if in doubt, although in reality she had no doubt at all on the point.

"Oh! then you have not quite forgotten!" he cried, a great light of gladness breaking over his face. "We heard it played, in the distance, that evening last spring by the banks of the Dene. I have often wondered what it is called."

Hermia could have told him its name had she been minded to do so. She had chanced on it one day when she was buying some music, and had at once recognized it, but as it was she kept her own counsel.

"Yes," said Clem, at length, as if in continuation of some unspoken train of thought, "I shall never forget that evening. It was then that I first became sure of something which I had more than half suspected for months before."

"My own case exactly," whispered Hermia to herself; but she went on demurely with her work, and did not even lift her eyes in response.

"Can you not guess what it was that evening made me so sure of?" demanded Clem, next moment, as he leaned forward with crossed arms on the table which divided them. "Can you not guess?" he asked again. He had made the plunge and was becoming reckless.