Aaron King was moved by the beauty of the picture as he had never been
stirred before. The peculiar charm of the music; the loveliness of the
girl herself; the setting of the scene in the little glade with its wild
roses, giant sycamores, dark cedars, and encircling mountain walls, all in
the soft mystery of the twilight's beginning; and, withal, the
unexpectedness of the vision--combined to make an impression upon the
artist's mind that would endure for many years.
Suddenly, as he watched, the music ceased. The girl lowered her violin,
and, with a low laugh, said to some one on the porch--concealed from the
painter by the trunk of a sycamore--"O Myra, I want to dance. I can't keep
still. I'm so glad, glad to be home again--to see old 'San Berdo' and
'Gray Back' and all the rest of them up there!" She stretched out her arms
as if in answer to a welcome from the hills. Then, whirling quickly, she
gave the violin to her companion on the porch. "Play, Myra; please, dear,
play."
At her word, the music of the violin began again--coming now, from behind
the trunk of the sycamore. In the hands of the unseen musician, the
instrument laughed and sang a song of joyous abandonment--of freedom and
rejoicing--of happiness and love--while in perfect harmony with the spirit
and the rhythm of the melody, the girl danced upon the firm, green carpet
of grass.
Pages:
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218