Evening Republican, Volume 15, Number 177, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 July 1911 — The Magic Strain [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Magic Strain

BY DOROTHY DOUGLAS.

The Marion ploughed her way silently through the moonlit sea. There waa scarcely a tipple stirring to break the perfect calm. ”It seems almost superhuman—this wonderful night, doesn't It?” A mere slip of a girl, leaning far over the railing and peering at the ripples scrambling at the boat's sides, looked up at her companion. “I should certainly call it so,” replied the man. meeting the glance in her eyes. , . ■ .. Suddenly Mildred Vaughan started. "What’s that!” She darted off and stood a few yards distant listening to the strains of a rioHn which crept up from below. She ran back and took the man by the hand. “Come!” she cried breathlessly, “somebody wonderful la on this boat and I want to see who it is!” Mark Eldridge followed her to the stern of the boat, where she came to an abrupt stop. Instinctively hushed by the picture before her. Perhaps every passenger on board was a spellbound listener to a boy who played a violin. With the unconsciousness of their arrival on the scene, Mildred and her companion had assumed a point of vantage and could see the musician as he sat there on the steerage deck. His profile outlined against the dark of his violin was like a cameo carved in idoonlight. Mildred’s heart gave a strange flutter as she gazed on so perfect a picture. She glanced at the steerage passengers; there was an abandonment In their listening which spoke volumes. They had succumbed completely to the magic of the boy's touch. When he had finished and the last dote hung like a celestial breeze over the boat, he slipped quickly away and was gone before his listeners realized that they were living humanity. One by one they stirred and drew in a

long breath of the night air. In the nervous effort at conversation which followed. Mildred Vaughn drew near her father, who had been a tense listener. Professor Vaughn, the worldfamous instructor of the violin, had been spellbound during the playing of Herman Celeda. He awoke with a start when Mildred asked breathlessly: “Who is he, father?” Her eyes were sparkling. “I don’t know. Kiddie. We will go down to the steerage tomorrow and see him." “He must be dreadfully poor, daddy.” “With that gift, child?” “Is his talent so great, daddy?” “He is one of the chosen rich —but come, it’s time little girls were tucked In their berths." He turned to his wife. “Isn’t it, Molly?” “And we will see him tomorrow?" As Mark Eldridge walked as far as the companion way door with Mildred he felt a strange depression—as if some dear treasure were slipping from his grasp. The next morning Mildred followed her father down the long passages which let them out on the steerage deck. They found the boy of the violin standing at the very nose of the boat, his head thrown back to the full force of the wind. He turned upon hearing footsteps ana Mildred met the Inviting charm of his smile. He was only a lad, perhaps twenty-two or three, and there was in him the spontaneous freedom of a broad nature. His face was of an ivory pallor with Ups of scarlet; his eyes alone, blazoned forth the brilliant color of his soul, for the face otherwise was more of the dream type. Mildred Vaughn was scarcely eighteen, yet her temperament had given her a sensitive intuition and she felt nothing so much as a desire to run awwy and hide before meeting this boy musician. But Professor Vaughn was already in conversation with him and she listened while the younger man spoke of his Use. , b •I ran away from home —from Austria,” he said, ebosing his words with tbs caution of a foreigner new to the language. “My parents want me to

sell wine—my father is a wine merchant He thinks 1 waste my time on music and threatened to bum my violin,' the one which Fradler gave me when he died and told me—” "Not Paul Fradler!” cried Vaughn. “My dear friend Paul wrote often of 4 boy—surely you are not that boy, Herman Celeda?" “Yes, yes,” exclaimed Celeda with quick emotion. “Fradler —be was so good to me. He taifeht me all 1 know and when he knew that the end waa coming he —he told me that he would trust me to but one pereon for the few more months of study I require.. I have his address here.” He drew forth a card and as Professor Vaughn took If he smiled, for the name was his own, with minute detail as to how to reach his studio. “We will take our first lesson this afternoon, then.” laughed Professor Vaughn, extending a hand to Celeda. “You are—” began the boy. “Yes; I am—and this is my daughter,” said the professor, drawing Mildred heafer. The eyes of the two met for a bHef moment, then drew quickly apart. Celeda turned to the professor. “I had intended filling any engagements 1 might secure, restaurants or anything, so that I might add to the small maintenance I have, but now,” he paused, “I will respect my name—for you.” He did not look at Mildred when he spoke, but something gave the one word “you" a personal significance. During the rest of the voyage, as if by accord, Celeda and Mildred kept at opposite ends of the boat. It was as if an electric wire marked the dividing line that neither might cross. Upon the Saturday night before reaching New York Mildred found that almost without her will she had strolled to the very nose of the boat and was standing alone in the breeze and the moonlight. “May I return your scarf, Miss Vaughn?" Herman Celeda stood beside her holding the light scarf which had blown oft unheeded. “Thank you—" She looked out over the water, then back at him. "You have avoided me,” she said swiftly, and not knowing why she spoke, “and I don’t see any reason for it!” He did not speak; his hand tightened it’s grip ou his violin. Suddenly Mildred felt a desire to break this man’s control. Ih her youth the only weapon which came to her mind was the power to hurt. “Please don’t imagine I mind,” she said finally. Still Celeda remained sil«m but be leaned against the big vtfttftatoi which completely hid them from view, and took out his violin. Me drew his bow and played a gent’,%, delicate melody. The girl listened with bate* breath and rising tears, then sank in a huddled heap on the deck with shoulderstrembling. “Mildred, Mildred!” Celeda put down his violin and dropped beside her on the deck. “I don’t want to tell you how much I love you until I am worthy. Dear, I have my fame to make before I can claim you." “But why am I crying?” she asked tearfully. "You are crying because you love me. You didn’t know, what was the matter with you. I knew that this was coming, that first night, when I saw your eyes like stars, in the moonlight.” He looked into her smiling eyes. “Homer said that Achilles was taught music to moderate his emotions.” He bent over and touched her hand with his lips. “Well —this violin has to moderate my love for you until such time as I can lift you up to a wonderful height. You will come then, won’t you?” "Yes, boy,” she said.

The Marion Silently Ploughed Her Way.