The Colonel waited to observe the effect upon the other two. Upon Gaspard the effect was immediate. Deep in his arm chair he allowed himself to sink, motionless, silent, and buried in thought. The demon of furious unrest was exorcised. As with Saul of old, the evil spirit departed from him, and for the hour at least he passed into peace. With a feeling of immense relief, the Colonel turned his eyes toward Sleeman, and could hardly believe but that his eyes were playing him false. With his face full in the glare of the lamp Sleeman sat, bolt upright, gripping the arms of his chair, held as by a spell, fascinated. Sleeman, material of soul, vulgar in taste, coarse in fibre, there he sat with a look as of another world in his face, as if another soul were gazing through his eyes. Bewildered, rebuked, humbled, the Colonel looked and listened, while the music poured out its melodious song, reminiscent of murmuring pines and running streams under the quiet stars. How long they sat thus, the Colonel could not reckon. It seemed that from some strange and far off country he was recalled as the music passed into the stately solemn chords of Handel’s Largo, with which the boy closed his improvisation. “Good night, Gaspard,” he said, as silence followed the music. “Now you will sleep.” “Good night, good night, old friend,” replied Gaspard, stretching up a hand from his chair. “Yes, I shall sleep now.” The Colonel touched Sleeman on the arm. “Come along,” he said quietly. As if wakened from a sleep; Sleeman rose, stretched himself and with a nod to Gaspard passed out into the falling evening. Together they walked their horses down the avenue of pines in silence. “Wonderful performance that, Sleeman, eh?” said the Colonel when they had almost reached the road. “Say, what was that little devil playing there? Ain’t he the limit? Say, he’s the limit.” “He’s a wonderful chap. Made me feel as if I had been in church.” “Say, ain’t he the limit? He made me feel like hell!” The emotions were similar, the phraseology varying as the personality of the speaker. When the men reached the parting of their ways the Colonel held out his hand. “Good night, Sleeman,” he said. “We’ve had a great afternoon.” “Good night, sir,” replied Sleeman, with a new respect in his tone. “Say, ain’t he the very devil, eh?” “That chap Sleeman isn’t a half had sort, after all,” the Colonel announced to his wife as he sat smoking his after dinner pipe. “Sleeman?” ejaculated Augusta. “Beast! That’s what he is!” But the Colonel, recalling the look in Sleeman’s eyes, shook his head, a puzzled wonder in his face. “My dear, my dear, I am not so sure that I am the one to judge. And, thank God, I don’t have to.” And his wife, noting the look on his face, ventured no reply. This was one of those rare moments with her when she wondered whether after all the man she had lived with all these years were the simple soul she thought him. CHAPTER XIII