: The Master's Violin by Reed Myrtle - Love stories; Villages Fiction; Violinists Fiction

@FreeBooksWed 07 Jun, 2023

Posted in: #FreeBooks #FreeBooksIndia #FreeBooksApp #gg

Vote Up Vote Down

prepared to depart.

She saw her reflection in the long mirror, and, for the moment, it startled her. "I feel like a thief," she said to herself, "even though I am only taking my own."

She went up into the attic, found the box, and came down again. The old house was so still! Surely it would do no harm if she took just one sniff at the cedar chest before she went away. She loved the fragrance of the wood, and it would delay her only a moment longer.

Then, all at once, she paused like a frightened bird. Someone was there! Someone was walking back and forth in Lynn's room! Scarcely knowing what she did, Iris crouched on the floor at the end of the chest, trusting to the kindly shadows to screen her if the door should open.

But no one came. Lynn had taken the Cremona from its case with something very like a smile upon his face. The brown breasts had the colour of old wine, and the shell was thin to the point of fragility.

He had feared to touch it, but the Master had only laughed at him. "What!" he had said, "shall I not sometimes lend mine Cremona to mine son, who like mineself is one great artist? Of a surety!"

Lynn placed the instrument in position, and dreamily, began to play. His mother was out, and he played as he could not if he had not thought himself alone. All his heartbreak, all his pain, the white nights and the dark days went into the adagio, the one thing suited to his mood.

At the first notes, Iris drew a quick, gasping breath. Surely it was not Lynn! Yet who else should be in his room, playing as no one played but the great?

Primeval forces held her in their grasp, and all at once her shallowness fell away from her, leaving her free. The blood surged into her heart with shame--she had wronged Lynn. She had been so blind, so painfully sure of herself, so pitifully important in her self-esteem!

The music went on without hindrance or pause. Deep chords and piercing flights of melody alternated through the theme, yet there was the undertone of love and night and death. Iris clenched her hands until the nails cut into her palms. All her life, she seemed to have been playing with tinsel; now, when it was out of her reach, she had discovered the gold.

Why should it seem so strange for Lynn to play like this? Had he not written the letters? Had he not offered her his whole heart--the gift she had so insultingly thrown aside? Iris knelt beside the chest, in bitter humiliation.

One thing was certain--she must go away, and quickly. She could not wait there, trembling and afraid, until someone found her; she must get away, but how? She was sorely shaken, both in body and soul.

Free books android app tbrJar TBR JAR Read Free books online gutenberg

Login to post a comment!