As Emmie had expected, he held the Amati. He had thrown off his jacket and tie and stood in his shirt-sleeves, with his neck bare. His dark eyes were burning and dancing; his black hair was ruffled and pushed up on end; his face was hotly flushed. His whole attitude had in it something new, finely expressive of conscious power. "I knew it would make you come!" he said, with a triumphant nod. She entered and set down her light on the little chest of drawers. "You ought not to play at night," she said, faintly. "It disturbs people's sleep." "It wouldn't wake _them_!" he exclaimed, scornfully, "and if it did I shouldn't care, as long as they didn't come and bother. I wanted to call you, to make you come to me. I was sure I could. Are you cold, little mother dear? Get into my bed." He laid down his instrument; he came where she stood, with her silken hair tumbling over her shoulders, and felt her chilled hands. "No, no," she said, irritably, taking them from him, "it is unheard of, playing at this hour of the night. I must go." But she went mechanically to sit on the edge of his bed, that had not been lain in that night, and still kept towards him that wondering, dismayed face. "How did it sound?" asked the boy, whose excitement seemed to dull his perception, so that he remained unchilled by her want of warmth. "Did it say plainly, Arise, wrap your sky-blue gown about you, never mind tying up your gold hair, light your light, and come gliding through the shadow of the sleeping house, to your dear son, the only one who loves you, in his solitary room, far from all the others? That is what I meant it should say, but towards the end I meant it to say something else, towards the end it was explaining. Did you understand that part?" "How did you find it?" asked Emmie, still in her faint voice. "Why did you take it without asking our permission? Who taught you to play on it?" The boy laughed again his gleeful laugh. He got on to the bed beside her and sat with his chin in his hand, his glowing face full of pride in himself. "Ah, how I found it, when it was up in the garret? It was like that story of the Greek fellow--what's his name?--dressed like a girl. When the peddler brought shawls and ribbons and things, and a sword hidden among them, he took the sword, and the peddler knew by that sign that he was a man. In the garret there were old hoop-skirts, and broken mousetraps, and bird-cages, and boxes full of religious books and things--but my hand went straight to the violin!" "Tell me the truth, Dorastus," spoke his mother, wearily. "Well, then, after talking with a certain person, I concluded that it must be there. I looked for it and found it, months and months ago. I took it and learned to play, to give you a surprise. Do you think I can ever play as my father did?" "Whom have you heard speak of your fathers playing, Dorastus?"