And this time it was something that stirred John until he felt he must cry out. It was the exquisite pain of it. As he watched Lindon he was strangely attracted; the latter was no longer smiling. He sat with compressed lips and stern eyes. The slender hands flew over the thundering bass and swept like a whirlwind into the treble. The player's hair, shaken with the energy of his execution had fallen over his brow. There was something fierce about Lindon as he sat there, something that made John draw in his breath with half fear and wonder. He had never seen this Lindon before. The gracious, laughing young hero whom he worshipped had changed into a being capable of great passion, and perhaps cruelty. It was the _Drum Polonaise_ which Lindon played. It began like the slow murmur of thunder, and then it broke into a wild ecstatic music like the mad flight of a thousand horses across a prairie. John wondered how so much sound and furious activity could be torn out of that piano, and the player's frenzy almost terrified him as he turned the music, but his fear suddenly changed to a feeling of dread and helplessness. The second movement had begun with its monotonous bass. John listened, breathless; it was the sound of that drum which enthralled him. It grew in intensity and passion, it called, called, called with a horrible fascination. John looked at Lindon, but the latter seemed oblivious of all but the page before him. The sound swelled up and smote on John's ears like a flood of waters; a curious numbness stole over him--the drum seemed nearer now, it was soothing, he would know nothing soon, already feeling had left him, he-- Lindon was the first to jump up as John swayed and fell in a heap on the floor. He sprang from the stool and lifted up the insensible lad. Fletcher and his wife were pending over John when he opened his eyes again. Where was he? He did not quite know, yet he was very tired. Then he heard some one call "Scissors!" and looking up again saw Lindon bending over him, with anxious face. He was safe; he could feel the rigid muscles of his arms as he held him. He let his head sink with a sigh. "I think it's the air, sir, we're rather warm in here," said Lindon to Fletcher. "Carry him into the hall, Lindon--you boys stop here." "Let me take him," said Mrs. Fletcher, all the mother nature of her sounding in her voice. "It's all right, Mrs. Fletcher, I can carry him. I think the porch would be the best place. The cold air will bring him round." Lindon lifted John like a baby and went out into the porch followed by Fletcher and his wife. He deposited his burden in a wicker chair. "Don't wait, sir, I'll bring him in in a bit--look, he's all right now." John sat up and looked at the anxious trio. "Better?" asked Fletcher, cheerfully. "Yes, sir--I'm awfully sorry," replied John. "Don't worry, my boy--you've played too hard to-day. Now sit here a bit with Lindon. Ah, here we are!"