The Master's Violin Part 34

"Who else?" asked the Master, serenely. "In all the world is she not the most lovely lady? Who that has seen her does not love her, and why not I?"

Doctor Brinkerhoff sank into a chair, very much excited.

"It is one astonishment also to me," the Master went on. "I cannot believe that the dear G.o.d has been so good, and I must always be pinching mineself to be sure that I do not sleep. It is most wonderful."

"It is, indeed," the Doctor returned.

"But see how it has happened. Only now can I understand. In the beginning, mine heart is very hurt, but out of mine hurt there comes the power to make mineself one great artist. It was mine Cremona that made the parting, because I am so foolish that I must go in her house to look at it. It was mine Cremona that took her to me the last time, when she gave it to me. 'Franz,' she says, 'if you take this, you will not forget me, and it is mine to do with what I please.'

"So, when I have made mineself the great artist, I have played on mine Cremona to many thousands, and the tears have come from all. See, it is always mine Cremona. And because of this, she has heard of me afar off, and she has chosen to have mine son learn the violin from me, so that he also shall be one artist. Twice she has heard me and mine Cremona when we make the music together; once in the street outside mine house, and once when I played the _Ave Maria_ in her house when the old lady was dead."

Doctor Brinkerhoff turned away, his muscles suddenly rigid, but the Master talked on, heedlessly.

"See, it is always mine Cremona, and the dear G.o.d has made us in the same way. He has made mine violin out of the pain, the cutting, and the long night, and also me, so that I shall be suited to touch it. It is so that I am to her as mine Cremona is to me--I am her instrument, and she can do with me what she will.

"It is but the one string now that needs the tuning," went on the Master, deeply troubled. "I know not what to do with mine Fredrika."

"Fredrika!" repeated Doctor Brinkerhoff. He, too, had forgotten the faithful Fraulein.

"The bright colours are not for mine Liebchen," the Master continued.

"The bright colours," said the Doctor, by some curious trick of mind immediately upon the defensive, "why, I have always thought them very pretty."

A great light broke in upon the Master, and he could not be expected to perceive that it was only a will o' the wisp. "So," he cried, triumphantly, "you have loved mine sister! I have sometimes thought so, and now I know!"

The Doctor's face turned a dull red, his eyelids drooped, and he wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.

"Ah, mine friend," said the Master, exultantly, "is it not most wonderful to see how we have played at the cross-purposes? All these years you have waited because you would not take mine sister away from me, you, mine kind, unselfish friend! So much fun have you made of mine housekeeping before she came that you would not do me this wrong!

"And I--I could not send mine sister the money to take the long journey, and for many years keep her from her Germany and her friends, then after one night say to her: 'Fredrika, I have found mine old sweetheart and I no longer want you.'

"Mine Fredrika has never known of mine sorrow, and I cannot to-day give her the news. It is not for me to make mine sister's heart to ache as mine has ached all these years, nor could I give her the money to go back to her Germany because I no longer want her, when she has given it all up for me. It would be most unkind.

"But now, see what the dear G.o.d has done for us! When it is all worked out, and we come to the end, we see that you, also, share. I know, mine friend, I know what it has been for you, because I, too, have been through the deep waters, and now we come to the land together. It is most fitting, because we are friends.

"Moreover, you are to her as she is to you. She has not told me, but mine old eyes are sharp and I see. I tell you this to put the courage into your heart. If you make mine sister happy, it is all I shall ask.

Go, now, to mine Fredrika, and tell her I will not be back until late this evening! Is it not most beautiful?"

Limp, helpless, and sorely shaken, but without the faintest idea of protesting, Doctor Brinkerhoff found himself started up the hill. The Master stood at the foot, waving his hat in boyish fas.h.i.+on and shouting messages of good-will. At last, when he dared to look back, the Doctor saw that the way was clear, and he sat down upon a boulder by the roadside to think.

He would be ungenerous, indeed, he thought, if he could not make some sacrifice for Franz and for Mrs. Irving. Unwillingly, he had come into possession of Fraulein Fredrika's closely guarded secret, and, as he repeatedly told himself, he was a man of honour. Moreover, he was not one of those restless spirits who forever question Life for its meaning.

Clearly, there was no other way than the one which was plainly laid before him.

But a few more years remained to him, he reflected, for he was twenty years older than the Master; still life was very strange. Disloyalty to the dead was impossible, for she never knew, and would have scorned him if she had known. The end of the tangled web was in his hands--for three people he could make it straight again.

The long shadows lay upon the hill and still he sat there, thinking. The children played about him and asked meaningless questions, for the first time finding their friend unresponsive.

Finally one, a little bolder than the rest, came closer to him. "The good Fraulein," whispered the child, "she is much troubled for the Master. Why is it that he comes not to his home?"

With a sigh and a smile, the Doctor went slowly up the hill to the Master's house, where Fraulein Fredrika was waiting anxiously. "Mine brudder!" she cried; "is he ill?"

"No, no, Fraulein," answered the Doctor, rea.s.suringly, his heart made tender by her distress. "Shall not Franz sit in my office to await the infrequent patient while I take his place with his sister? You are glad to see me, are you not, Fraulein?"

The tint of faded roses came into the Fraulein's face. "Mine brudder's friend," she said simply, "is always most welcome."

She excused herself after a few minutes and began to bustle about in the kitchen. Surely, thought the Doctor, it was pleasant to have a woman in one's house, to bring orderly comfort into one's daily living. The kettle sang cheerily and the Fraulein hummed a little song under her breath. In the twilight, the gay colours faded into a subdued harmony.

"It is all very pleasant," said the Doctor to himself, resolutely putting aside a memory of something quite different. Perhaps, as his simple friends said, the dear G.o.d knew.

After tea, the Fraulein drew her chair to the window and looked out, seemingly unconscious of his presence. "A rare woman," he told himself.

"One who has the gift of silence."

In the dusk, her face was almost beautiful--all the hard lines softened and made tenderly wistful. The Doctor sighed and she turned uneasily.

"Mine brudder," she said, anxiously, "if something was wrong with him, you would tell me, yes?"

"Of course," laughed the Doctor. "Why are you so distressed? Is it so strange for me to be here?"

"No," she answered, in a low tone, "but you are mine brudder's friend."

"And yours also, Fredrika. Did you never think of that?" She trembled, but did not answer, and, leaning forward, the Doctor took her hand in his.

"Fredrika," he said, very gently, "you will perhaps think it is strange for me to talk in this way, but have you never thought of me as something more than a friend?"

The woman was silent and bitterly ashamed, wondering when and where she had betrayed herself.

"That is unfair," he continued, instantly perceiving. "I have thought of you in that way, more especially to-day." Even in the dusk, he could see the light in her eyes, and in his turn he, too, was shamed.

"Dear Fraulein Fredrika," he went on, "I have not much to offer, but all I have is yours. I am old, and the woman I loved died, never knowing that I loved her. If she had known, it would have made no difference.

Perhaps you think it an empty gift, but it is my all. You, too, may have dreamed of something quite different, but in the end G.o.d knows best. Fredrika, will you come?"

The maidenly heart within her rioted madly in her breast, but she was used to self-repression. "I thank you," she said, with gentle dignity; "it is one compliment which is very high, but I cannot leave mine Franz.

All the way from mine Germany I have come to mend, to cook, to wash, to sew, to scrub, to sweep, to take after him the many things which he forgets and leaves behind, even the most essential. What should he think of me if I should say: 'Franz, I will do this for you no more, but for someone else?' You will understand," she concluded, in a pathetic little voice which stirred him strangely, "because you are mine brudder's friend."

"Yes," replied the Doctor, "I am his friend, and so, do you think I would come without his permission? Dear Fraulein, Franz knows and is glad. That is why I left him. Almost the last words he said to me were these: 'If you make mine sister happy, it is all I ask.'"

"Franz!" she cried. "Mine dear, unselfish Franz! Always so good, so gentle! Did he say that!"

"Yes, he said that. Will you come, Fredrika? Shall we try to make each other happy?"

She was standing by the window now, with her hand upon her heart, and her face alight with more than earthly joy.

"Dear Fraulein," said the Doctor, rejoicing because it was in his power to give any human creature so much happiness, "will you come?"

Without waiting for an answer, he put his hand upon her shoulder and drew her toward him. Then the heavens opened for Fraulein Fredrika, and star-fire rained down upon her unbelieving soul.