Ranson's Folly (Fiscle Part 3) by Richard Harding Davis (dar e dil novel online reading TXT) 📕

Edouard An Added Power; His Head Lifted On His Shoulders With Pride;

His Bow Cut Deeper And Firmer,  And With More Delicate Shading; The

Notes Rose In Thrilling,  Plaintive Sadness,  And Flooded The Hot Air

With Melody.

Edouard Made His Way To Within A Short Distance Of The Table At Which

Miss Warriner Was Seated,  And Halted There As Though He Had Found His

Audience. He Did Not Look At Her,  Although She Sat Directly Facing

Him,  But It Was Evident To All That She Was The One To Whom His

Effort Was Directed,  And Corbin,  Who Was Seated With His Back To

Edouard,  Recognized This And Turned In His Chair.

The Body Of The Young Musician Was Trembling With The Feeling Which

Found Its Outlet Through The Violin. He Was In Ecstasy Over His Power

And Its Accomplishment. The Strings Of The Violin Pulsated To The

Beating Of His Heart,  And He Felt That Surely By Now The Emotion

Which Shook Him Must Have Reached The Girl Who Had Given It Life--

And,  For One Swift Second,  His Eyes Sought Hers. What He Saw Was The

Same Beautiful Face Which Had Inspired Him,  But Unmoved,  Cold,  And

Unresponsive. As His Eyes Followed Hers She Raised Her Head And

Looked,  Listlessly,  Around The Room,  And Then Turned And Glanced Up

At Him With A Careless And Critical Scrutiny. If His Music Had Been

The Music Of An Organ In The Street,  And He The Man Who Raised His

Hat For Coppers,  She Could Not Have Been Less Moved. The Discovery

Struck Edouard Like A Cold Blast From An Open Door. His Fingers

Faltered On The Neck Of His Violin,  His Bow Wavered,  Drunkenly,

Across The Strings,  And He Turned Away His Eyes To Shut Out The

Vision Of His Failure,  Seeking Relief And Sympathy. And,  In Their

Swift Passage,  They Encountered Those Of Corbin Looking Up At Him,

His Eyes Aglow With Wonder,  Feeling,  And Sorrow. They Seemed To Hold

Him To Account; They Begged,  They Demanded Of Him Not To Break The

Spell,  And,  In Response,  The Hot Blood In The Veins Of The Musician

Surged Back,  His Pride Flared Up Again,  His Eyes Turned On Corbin's

Like Those Of A Dog To His Master's. Under Their Spell The Music

Soared,  Trembling,  Paused And Soared Again,  Thrilling Those Who Heard

It With Its Grief And Tenderness.

Edouard's Heart Leaped With Triumph. "The Man Knows," He Whispered To

The Violin; "He Understands Us. He Knows."

The People,  Leaning With Their Elbows On The Tables Before Them,  The

Waiters Listening With Tolerant Smiles,  The Musicians Following

Edouard With Anxious Pride,  Saw Only A Young Man With His Arm Thrown

Heavily Across The Back Of His Chair,  Who Was Looking Up At Edouard

With A Steady,  Searching Gaze. But Edouard Saw In Him Both A Disciple

And A Master. He Saw That This Man Was Lifted Up And Carried With

Him,  That He Understood The Message Of The Music. The Notes Of The

Violin Sank Lower And Lower,  Until They Melted Into The Silence Of

The Room,  And The People,  Freed Of The Spell The Music Had Put Upon

Them,  Applauded Generously. Edouard Placed His Violin Under His Arm,

And With His Eyes,  Which Had Never Left Corbin's Face,  Still Fastened

Upon His,  Bowed Low To Him,  And Corbin Raised His Head And Nodded

Gravely. It Was As Though They Were The Only People In The Room. As

Edouard Retreated His Face Was Shining With Triumph,  For He Knew That

The Other Had Understood Him,  And That The Other Knew That He Knew.

That Night Until He Fell Asleep,  And All Of The Day Following,  The

Beautiful Face Of Miss Warriner Troubled Edouard,  And The Thought Of

Her Alternately Thrilled And Depressed Him. One Moment He Mocked At

Himself For Presuming To Think That His Simple Art Could Reach The

Depths Of Such A Nature,  And The Next He Stirred Himself To Hope That

He Should See Her Once Again,  And That He Should Succeed Where He Had

Failed.

The Music Had Moved Corbin So Deeply That When He Awoke The Day

Following The Effect Of It Still Hung Upon Him. It Seemed To Him As

Though All He Had Been Trying To Tell Miss Warriner Of His Love For

Her,  And Which He Had Failed To Make Her Understand In The Last Three

Months,  Had Been Expressed In The One Moment Of This Song. It Was

That In It Which Had So Enchanted Him. It Was As Though He Had

Listened To His Own Deepest And Most Sacred Thoughts,  Uttered For The

First Time Convincingly,  And By A Stranger. Why Was It,  He Asked

Himself,  That This Unknown Youth Could Translate Another's Feelings

Into Music,  When He Himself Could Not Put Them Into Words? He Was

Walking In Piccadilly,  Deep In This Thought,  When A Question Came To

Him Which Caused Him To Turn Rapidly Into Green Park,  Where He Could

Consider It Undisturbed.

The Doubt Which Had So Suddenly Presented Itself Was In Some Degree

The Same One Which Had Stirred Edouard. Was It That He Was Really

Unable To Express His Feelings,  Or Was It That Miss Warriner Could

Not Understand Them? Was It Really Something Lacking In Him,  Or Was

It Not Something Lacking In Her? He Flushed At The Disloyalty Of The

Thought And Put It From Him; But,  As His Memory Reached Back Over The

Past Three Months,  The Question Returned Again And Again With Fresh

Force,  And Would Not Be Denied. He Called Himself A Fatuous,

Conceited Fool. Because He Could Not Make A Woman Love Him Other Men

Could Do So. That Was Really The Answer; He Was Not The Man. But The

Answer Did Not Seem Final. What,  After All,  Was The Thing His Love

Sought--A Woman Only,  Or A Woman Capable Of Deep And Great Feeling?

Even If He Could Not Inspire Such Emotions,  Even If Another Could,  He

Would Still Be Content And Proud To Love A Woman Capable Of Such Deep

Feelings. But If She Were Without Them? At The Thought,  Corbin Stared

Blankly Before Him As Though He Had Stumbled Against A Stone Wall.

What Sign Had She Ever Given Him That She Could Care Greatly? Was Not

Any Form Of Emotion Always Distasteful To Her? Was Not Her Mind

Always Occupied With Abstract Questions? Was She Not Always Engaged

In Her Own Self-Improvement--With Schemes,  It Is True,  For Bettering

The World; But Did Her Heart Ever Ache Once For The Individual? What

Was It,  Then,  He Loved? Something He Imagined This Girl To Be,  Or Was

He In Love With The Fact That His Own Nature Had Been So Mightily

Stirred? Was It Not The Joy Of Caring Greatly Which Had Carried Him

Along? And If This Was So,  Was He Now To Continue To Proffer This

Devotion To One Who Could Not Feel,  To A Statue,  To An Idol? Were Not

The Very Things Which Rendered Her Beautiful The Offerings Which He

Himself Had Hung Upon Her Altar? Did The Qualities He Really Loved In

Her Exist? Was He Not On The Brink Of Casting His Love Before One Who

Could Neither Feel It For Him Nor For Any Other Man? He Stood Up,

Trembling And Frightened. Even Though The Girl Had Rejected Him Again

And Again,  He Felt A Hateful Sense Of Disloyalty. He Was Ashamed To

Confess It To Himself,  And He Vowed,  Hotly,  That He Must Be Wrong,

That He Would Not Believe. He Would Still Worship Her,  Fight For Her,

And Force Her To Care For Him.

Mrs. Warriner And Her Daughter Were To Sail On The Morrow,  And That

Night They Met Corbin At Dinner For The Last Time. After Many Days--

Although Self-Accused--He Felt Deeply Conscious Of His Recent Lack Of

Faith,  And,  In The Few Hours Still Left Him,  He Determined To Atone

For The Temporary Halt In His Allegiance. They Had Never Found Him

More Eager,  Tactful,  And Considerate Than He Was That Evening. The

Eyes Of Mrs. Warriner Softened As She Watched Him. As One Day Had

Succeeded Another,  Her Admiration And Liking For Him Had Increased,

Until Now She Felt As Though His Cause Was Hers--As Though She Was

Not Parting From A Friend,  But From A Son. But The Calmness Of Her

Daughter Was Impenetrable; From Her Manner It Was Impossible To Learn

Whether The Approaching Separation Was A Relief Or A Regret.

To Edouard The Return Of The Beautiful Girl To The Restaurant

Appeared Not As An Accident,  But As A Marked Favor Vouchsafed To Him

By Fate. He Had Been Given A Second Chance. He Read It As A Sign That

He Should Take Heart And Hope. He Felt That Fortune Was Indeed Kind.

He Determined That He Would Play To Her Again,  And That This Time He

Would Not Fail.

As The First Notes Of La Lettre D'amour Brought A Pause Of Silence In

The Restaurant,  Corbin,  Who Was Talking At The Moment,  Interrupted

Himself Abruptly,  And Turned In His Chair.

All Through The Evening He Had Been Conscious Of The Near Presence Of

The Young Musician. He Had Not Forgotten How,  On The Night Before,

His Own Feelings Had Been Interpreted In La Lettre D'amour,  And For

Some Time He Had Been Debating In His Mind As To Whether He Would

Request Edouard To Play The Air Again,  Or Let The Evening Pass

Without Again Submitting Himself To So Supreme An Assault Upon His

Feelings. Now The Question Had Been Settled For Him,  And He Found

That It Had Been Decided As He Secretly Desired. It Was Impossible To

Believe That Edouard Was The Same Young Man Who Had Played The Same

Air On The Night Previous,  For Edouard No Longer Considered That He

Was Present On Sufferance--He Invited And Challenged The Attention Of

The Room; His Music Commanded It To Silence. It Dominated All Who

Heard It.

As He Again Slowly Approached The Table Where Miss Warriner Was

Seated,  The Eyes Of Everyone Were Turned Upon Him; The Pathos,  The

Tenderness Of His Message Seemed To Speak To Each; The Fact That He

Dared To Offer Such A Wealth Of Deep Feeling To Such An Audience Was

In Itself Enough To Engage The Attention Of All. A Group Of

Guardsmen,  Their Faces Flushed With Burgundy And Pulling Heavily On

Black Cigars,