THE FIFTH STRING
The old man puffed away in silence for a moment, then with logical directness continued: "Perhaps the string that's mute upon Diotti's violin is mute for some such reason."
"Nonsense," said the girl, half impatiently.
"The string is black and glossy as the tresses that fall in tangled skeins on the shoulders of the dreamy beauties of Tuscany. It may be an idle fancy, but if that string is not a woven strand from some woman's crowning glory, then I have no discernment."
"You are jesting, uncle," she replied, but her heart was heavy already.
"Ask him to play on that string; I'll wager he'll refuse," said the old man, contemptuously.
"He will not refuse when I ask him, but I will not to-night," answered the unhappy girl, with forced determina-
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