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realizing his argument was making an impression on the violinist； ‘‘you
would see the agony in store for the daughter if she married a man such as
you； a public servant； a public favorite。''
‘‘I would live my life not to excite her suspicions or jealousy；'' said the
artist； with boyish enthusiasm and simplicity。
‘‘Foolish fellow；'' retorted Sanders； skeptically； ‘‘women imagine； they
don't reason。 A scented note unopened on the dressing table can cause
more unhappiness to your wife than the loss of his country to a king。 My
advice to you is： do not marry； but if you must； choose one who is more
interested in your gastronomic felicity than in your marital constancy。''
Diotti was silent。 He was pondering the words of his host。 Instead of
seeing in Mildred a possibly jealous woman； causing mental misery； she
appeared a vision of single…hearted devotion。 He felt： ‘‘To be loved by
such a one is bliss beyond the dreams of this world。''
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XII
A tipsy man is never interesting； and Sanders in that condition was no
exception。 The old man arose with some effort； walked toward the window
and； shading his eyes； looked out。 The snow was drifting； swept hither and
thither by the cutting wind that came through the streets in great gusts。
Turning to the violinist； he said； ‘‘It's an awful night； better remain here
until morning。 You'll not find a cab； in fact； I will not let you go while this
storm continues；'' and the old man raised the window； thrusting his head
out for an instant。 As he did so the icy blast that came in settled any doubt
in the young man's mind and he concluded to stop over night。
It was nearly two o'clock； Sanders showed him to his room and then
returned down stairs to see that everything was snug and secure。 After
changing his heavy shoes for a pair of old slippers and wrapping a
dressing gown around him； the old man stretched his legs toward the fire
and sipped his toddy。
‘‘He isn't a bad sort for a violinist；'' mused the old man； ‘‘if he were
worth a million； I believe I'd advise Wallace to let him marry her。 A fiddler！
A million！ Sounds funny；'' and he laughed shrilly。
He turned his head and his eyes caught sight of Diotti's violin case
resting on the center table。 He staggered from the chair and went toward it；
opening the lid softly； he lifted the silken coverlet placed over the
instrument and examined the strings intently。 ‘‘I am right；'' he said； ‘‘it is
wrapped with hair； and no doubt from a woman's head。 Eureka！'' and the
old man； happy in the discovery that his surmises were correct； returned to
his chair and his toddy。
He sat looking into the fire。 The violin had brought back memories of
the past and its dead。 He mumbled； as if to the fire； ‘‘she loved me； she
loved my violin。 I was a devil； my violin was a devil；'' and the shadows on
the wall swayed like accusing spirits。 He buried his face in his hands and
cried piteously； ‘‘I was so young； too young to know。'' He spoke as if he
would conciliate the ghastly shades that moved restlessly up and down；
when suddenly ‘‘Sanders； don't be a fool！''
He ambled toward the table again。 ‘‘I wonder who made the violin？
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The Fifth String
He would not tell me when I asked him to… night； thank you for your pains；
but I will find out myself；'' and he took the violin from the case。 Holding it
with the light slanting over it； he peered inside； but found no inscription。
‘‘No maker's namestrange；'' he said。 He tiptoed to the foot of the stairs
and listened intently； ‘‘he must be asleep； he won't hear me；'' and
noiselessly he closed the door。 ‘‘I guess if I play a tune on it he won't
know。''
He took the bow from its place in the case and tightened it。 He listened
again。 ‘‘He is fast asleep；'' he whispered。 ‘‘I'll play the song I always
played for heruntil；'' and the old man repeated the words of the refrain：
‘‘Fair as a lily； joyous and free； Light of the prairie home was she；
Every one who knew her felt the gentle power Of Rosalie； the Prairie
Flower。''
He sat again in the arm…chair and placed the violin under his chin。
Tremulously he drew the bow across the middle string； his bloodless
fingers moving slowly up and down。
The theme he played was the melody to the verse he had just repeated；
but the expression was remorse。
***
Diotti sat upright in bed。 ‘‘I am positive I heard a violin！'' he said；
holding one hand toward his head in an attitude of listening。 He was wide
awake。 The drifting snow beat against the window panes and the wind
without shrieked like a thousand demons of the night。 He could sleep no
more。 He arose and hastily dressed。 The room was bitterly cold； he was
shivering。 He thought of the crackling logs in the fire…place below。 He
groped his way along the darkened staircase。 As he opened the door
leading into the sitting…room the fitful gleam of the dying embers cast a
ghastly light over the face of a corpse。
Diotti stood a moment； his eyes transfixed with horror。 The violin and
bow still in the hands of the dead man told him plainer than words what
had happened。 He went toward the chair； took the instrument from old
Sanders' hands and laid it on the table。 Then he knelt beside the body； and
placing his ear close over the heart； listened for some sign of life； but the
old man was beyond human aid。
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The Fifth String
He wheeled the chair to the side of the room and moved the body to
the sofa。 Gently he covered it with a robe。 The awfulness of the situation
forced itself upon him； and bitterly he blamed himself。 The terrible power
of the instrument dawned upon him in all its force。 Often he had played on
the strings telling of pity； hope； love and joy； but now； for the first time； he
realized what that fifth string meant。
‘‘I must give it back to its owner。''
‘‘If you do you can never regain it；'' whispered a voice within。
‘‘I do not need it；'' said the violinist； almost audibly。
‘‘Perhaps not；'' said the voice； ‘‘but if her love should wane how
would you rekindle it？ Without the violin you would be helpless。''
‘‘Is it not possible that； in this old man's death； all its fatal power has
been expended？''
He went to the table and took the instrument from its place。 ‘‘You won
her for me； you have brought happiness and sunshine into my life。 No！ No！
I can not； will not give you up；'' then placing the violin and bow in its case
he locked it。
The day was breaking。 In an hour the baker's boy came。 Diotti went to
the door； gave him a note addressed to Mr。 Wallace and asked him to
deliver it at once。 The boy consented and drove rapidly away。
Within an hour Mr。 Wallace arrived； Diotti told the story of the night。
After the undertaker had taken charge of the body he found on the dead
man's neck； just to the left of the chin； a dullish； black bruise which might
have been caused by the pressing of some blunt instrument； or by a man's
thumb。 Considering it of much importance； he notified the coroner； who
ordered an inquest。
At six o'clock that evening a jury was impaneled； and two hours later
its verdict was reported。
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The Fifth String
XIII
On leaving the house of the dead man Diotti walked wearily to his
hotel。 In flaring type at every street corner he saw the announcement for
Thursday evening； March thirty…first； of Angelo Diotti's last appearance：
‘‘To…night I play for the last time；'' he murmured in a voice filled with
deepest regret。
The feeling of exultation so common to artists who finally reach the
goal of their ambition was wanting in Diotti this morning。 He could not rid
himself of the memory of Sanders' tragic dea