The Master's Violin Part 28

"I see," said Lynn, again; "with all my heart I thank you."

He went away soon afterward, insensibly comforted. Overnight, he had come into his heritage of pain, had lost the girl he loved, and in swift rest.i.tution found comrades.h.i.+p with the Master.

That stately figure lingered long before his vision, grey and rugged, yet with a certain graciousness--simple, kindly, and yet austere; one who had accepted his sorrow, and, by some alchemy of the spirit, trans.m.u.ted it into universal compa.s.sion, to speak, through the Cremona, to all who could understand.

XVII

"He Loves Her Still"

When Doctor Brinkerhoff came on Wednesday evening, he was surprised to discover that Iris had gone away. "It was sudden, was it not?" he asked.

"It seemed so to us," returned Margaret. "We knew nothing of it until the morning she started. She had probably been planning it for a long time, though she did not take us into her confidence until the last minute."

Lynn sat with his face turned away from his mother. "Did you, perhaps, suspect that she was going?" the Doctor directly inquired of Lynn.

He hesitated for the barest perceptible interval before he spoke. "She told us at the breakfast table," he answered. "Iris is replete with surprises."

"But before that," continued the Doctor, "did you have no suspicion?"

Lynn laughed shortly. "How should I suspect?" he parried. "I know nothing of the ways of women."

"Women," observed the Doctor, with an air of knowledge,--"women are inscrutable. For instance, I cannot understand why Miss Iris did not come to say 'good-bye' to me. I am her foster-father, and it would have been natural."

"Good-byes are painful," said Margaret.

"We Germans do not say 'good-bye,' but only 'auf wiedersehen.' Perhaps we shall see her again, perhaps not. No one knows."

"Fraulein Fredrika does not say 'auf wiedersehen,'" put in Lynn, anxious to turn the trend of the conversation.

"No," responded the Doctor, with a smile. "She says: 'You will come once again, yes? It would be most kind.'"

He imitated the tone and manner so exactly that Lynn laughed, but it was a hollow laugh, without mirth in it. "Do not misunderstand me," said the Doctor, quickly; "it was not my intention to ridicule the Fraulein. She is a most estimable woman. Do you perhaps know her?" he asked of Margaret.

"I have not that pleasure," she replied.

"She was not here when I first came," the Doctor went on, "but Herr Kaufmann sent for her soon afterward. They are devoted to each other, and yet so unlike. You would have laughed to see Franz at work at his housekeeping, before she came."

A shadow crossed Margaret's face.

"I have often wondered," she said, clearing her throat, "why men are not taught domestic tasks as well as women. It presupposes that they are never to be without the inevitable woman, yet many of them often are. A woman is trained to it in the smallest details, even though she has reason to suppose that she will always have servants to do it for her.

Then why not a man?"

"A good idea, mother," remarked Lynn. "To-morrow I shall take my first lesson in keeping house."

"You?" she said fondly; "you? Why, Lynn! Lacking the others, you'll always have me to do it for you."

"That," replied the Doctor, triumphantly, "disproves your own theory. If you are in earnest, begin on the morrow to instruct Mr. Irving."

Margaret flushed, perceiving her own inconsistency.

"I could be of a.s.sistance, possibly," he continued, "for in the difficult school of experience I have learned many things. I have often taken professional pride in closing an aperture in my clothing with neat st.i.tches, and the knowledge thus gained has helped me in my surgery. All things in this world fit in together."

"It is fortunate if they do," she answered. "My own scheme of things has been very much disarranged."

"Yet, as Fraulein Fredrika would say, 'the dear G.o.d knows.' Life is like one of those puzzles that come in a box. It is full of queer pieces which seemingly bear no relation to one another, and yet there is a way of putting it together into a perfect whole. Sometimes we make a mistake at the beginning and discard pieces for which we think there is no possible use. It is only at the end that we see we have made a mistake and put aside something of much importance, but it is always too late to go back--the pieces are gone.

"In my own life, I lost but one--still, it was the keystone of the whole. When I came from Germany, I should have brought letters from those in high places there to those in high places here. It could easily have been done. I should have had this behind me when I came to East Lancaster, and I should not have made the mistake of settling first on the hill. Then----" The Doctor ceased abruptly, and sighed.

"This country is supposed to be very democratic," said Lynn, chiefly because he could think of nothing else to say.

"Yes," replied the Doctor, "it is in your laws that all men are free and equal, but it is not so. The older civilisations have found there is cla.s.s, and so you will find it here. At first, when everything is chaotic, all particles may seem alike, but in time there is an inevitable readjustment."

"We are getting very serious," said Margaret.

"It is an important subject," responded the Doctor, with dignity. "I have often discussed it with my friend, Herr Kaufmann. He is a very fine friend to have."

"Yes," said Lynn, "he is. It is only lately that I have learned to appreciate him."

"One must grow to understand him," mused the Doctor. "At first, I did not. I thought him rough, queer, and full of sarcasm. But afterward, I saw that his harshness was only a mask--the bark, if I may say so.

Beneath it, he has a heart of gold."

"People," began Margaret, avoiding the topic, "always seek their own level, just as water does. That is why there is cla.s.s."

"But for a long time, they do not find it," objected the Doctor. "Miss Iris, for instance. Her people were of the common sort, and those with whom she lived afterward were worse still. She"--by the unconscious reverence in his voice, they knew whom he meant--"she taught her all the fineness she has, and that is much. It is an argument for environment, rather than heredity."

Lynn left the room abruptly, unable to bear the talk of Iris.

"I wish," said the Doctor, at length, "I wish you knew Herr Kaufmann.

Would you like it if I should bring him to call?"

"No!" cried Margaret. "It is too soon," she added, desperately. "Too soon after----"

The Doctor nodded. "I understand," he said. "It was a mistake on my part, for which you must pardon me. I only thought you might be a help to each other. Franz, too, has sorrowed."

"Has he?" asked Margaret, her lips barely moving.

"Yes," the Doctor went on, half to himself, "it was an unhappy love affair. The young lady's mother parted them because he lived in West Lancaster, though he, too, might have had letters from high places in Germany. He and I made the same mistake."

"Her mother," repeated Margaret, almost in a whisper.

"Yes, the young lady herself cared."

"And he," she breathed, leaning eagerly forward, her body tense,--"does he love her still?"

"He loves her still," returned the Doctor, promptly, "and even more than then."