When he reached the hotel he tried to rest, but his excited brain banished every thought of slumber. Restlessly he moved about the room, and finally dressing, he left the hotel for his daily call on Mildred. It was after five o'clock when he arrived. She received him coldly and without any mark of affection. She had heard of Mr. Sanders' death; her father had sent word. "It shocked me greatly," she said; "but perhaps the old man is happier in a world far from strife and care. When we realize all the misery there is in this world we often wonder why we should care to live." Her tone was despondent, her face was drawn and blanched, and her eyes gave evidence of weeping. Diotti divined that something beyond sympathy for old Sanders' sudden death racked her soul. He went toward her and lovingly taking her hands, bent low and pressed his lips to them; they were cold as marble. "Darling," he said; "something has made you unhappy. What is it?" "Tell me, Angelo, and truly; is your violin like other violins?" This unexpected question came so suddenly he could not control his agitation. "Why do you ask?" he said. "You must answer me directly!" "No, Mildred; my violin is different from any other I have ever seen," this hesitatingly and with great effort at composure. "In what way is it different?" she almost demanded. "It is peculiarly constructed; it has an extra string. But why this sudden interest in the violin? Let us talk of you, of me, of both, of our future," said he with enforced cheerfulness. "No, we will talk of the violin. Of what use is the extra string?" "None whatever," was the quick reply. "Then why not cut it off?" "No, no, Mildred; you do not understand," he cried; "I can not do that." "You can not do it when I ask it?" she exclaimed. "Oh Mildred, do not ask me; I can not, can not do it," and the face of the affrighted musician told plainer than words of the turmoil raging in his soul. "You made me believe that I was the only one you loved," passionately she cried; "the only one; that your happiness was incomplete without me. You led me into the region of light only to make the darkness greater when I descended to earth again. I ask you to do a simple thing and you refuse; you refuse because another has commanded you." "Mildred, Mildred; if you love me do not speak thus!" And she, with imagination greater than reasoning power, at once saw a Tuscan beauty and Diotti mutually pledging their love with their lives. "Go," she said, pointing to the door, "go to the one who owns you, body and soul; then say that a foolish woman threw her heart at your feet and that you scorned it!" She sank to the sofa.