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The Master's Violin   By: (1874-1911)

The Master's Violin by Myrtle Reed

First Page:

THE MASTER'S VIOLIN

BY MYRTLE REED

Author of

"Lavender and Old Lace" "Old Rose and Silver" "A Spinner in the Sun" "Flower of the Dusk" Etc.

New York GROSSET & DUNLAP Publishers

COPYRIGHT, 1904 BY MYRTLE REED

BY MYRTLE REED:

A Weaver of Dreams Old Rose and Silver Lavender and Old Lace The Master's Violin Love Letters of a Musician The Spinster Book The Shadow of Victory Sonnets to a Lover Master of the Vineyard Flower of the Dusk At the Sign of the Jack o' Lantern A Spinner in the Sun Later Love Letters of a Musician Love Affairs of Literary Men Myrtle Reed Year Book

This edition is issued under arrangement with the publishers G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS, NEW YORK AND LONDON

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I THE MASTER PLAYS 1 II "MINE CREMONA" 20 III THE GIFT OF PEACE 33 IV SOCIAL POSITION 50 V THE LIGHT OF DREAMS 65 VI A LETTER 81 VII FRIENDS 91 VIII A BIT OF HUMAN DRIFTWOOD 105 IX ROSEMARY AND MIGNONETTE 120 X IN THE GARDEN 127 XI "SUNSET AND EVENING STAR" 144 XII THE FALSE LINE 159 XIII TO IRIS 177 XIV HER NAME FLOWER 182 XV LITTLE LADY 199 XVI AFRAID OF LIFE 215 XVII "HE LOVES HER STILL" 233 XVIII LYNN COMES INTO HIS OWN 247 XIX THE SECRET CHAMBER 265 XX "MINE BRUDDER'S FRIEND" 280 XXI THE CREMONA SPEAKS 298

I

The Master Plays

The fire blazed newly from its embers and set strange shadows to dancing upon the polished floor. Now and then, there was a gleam from some dark mahogany surface and an answering flash from a bit of old silver in the cabinet. April, warm with May's promise, came in through the open window, laden with the wholesome fragrance of growing things, and yet, because an old lady loved it, there was a fire upon the hearth and no other light in the room.

She sat in her easy chair, sheltered from possible draughts, and watched it, seemingly unmindful of her three companions. Tints of amethyst and sapphire appeared in the haze from the backlog and were lost a moment later in the dominant flame. In that last hour of glorious life, the tree was giving back its memories blue skies, grey days just tinged with gold, lost rainbows, and flashes of sun.

Friendly ghosts of times far past were conjured back in shadows outspread wings, low lying clouds, and long nights that ended in dawn. Swift flights of birds and wandering craft of thistledown were mirrored for an instant upon the shining floor, and then forgotten, because of falling leaves.

Lines of transfiguring light changed the snowy softness of Miss Field's hair to silver, and gave to her hands the delicacy of carved ivory. A tiny foot peeped out from beneath her gown, clad in its embroidered silk stocking and high heeled slipper, so brave in its trappings of silver buckles that she might have been eighteen instead of seventy five.

Upon her face the light lay longest; perhaps with an answering love. The years had been kind to her had given her only enough bitterness to make her realise the sweetness, and from the threads that Life had placed in her hands at the beginning, had taught her how to weave the blessed fabric of Content.

"Aunt Peace," asked the girl, softly, "have you forgotten that we have company?"

Dispelled by the voice, the gracious phantoms of Memory vanished. There was a little silence, then the old lady smiled. "No, dearie," she said, "indeed I haven't. It is too rare a blessing for me to forget... Continue reading book >>




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