He was ready to seize the Major by the throat; to fight for her; to say anything; to dash down the instrument in his rage; to turn and flee; but the next moment the cool, calm voice of the Colonel brought him to his senses, and he recalled that this was his secret--his alone--this secret of his love. "I did not know the Major was warm there. Well, she's a handsome girl, and he's welcome, I dare say." Linnell felt ready to choke again, but he could not speak. He must get out of this engagement, though, at any cost. As he was musing, though, he found himself drawn as it were to where the Major and his friends were standing in front of the silent house, and the Colonel said: "Come, my lad, let's run through the piece, and get home to bed. I'm too old for such tom-fool tricks as these." "I will not play! It is an insult! It is madness!" thought Richard Linnell; and then, as if in a dream, he found himself the centre of a group, fuming at what he was doing, while, as if in spite of his rage, he was drawing the sweet echoing strains from the violin, listening to the harmonies added by his friend, and all in a nightmare-like fashion, playing involuntarily on, and gazing at the windows he had so often watched. On, on, on, the notes poured forth, throbbing on the night air, sounding pensive, sweet and love-inspiring, maddening too, as he tried to check his thoughts, and played with more inspiration all the while till the last bar, with its diminuendo, was reached, and he stood there, palpitating, asking himself why he had done this thing, and waiting trembling in his jealous rage, lest any notice should be taken of the compliment thus paid. Did Claire Denville encourage the Major--that libertine whose amours were one of the scandals of the place? Oh, it was impossible. She would not have heard the music. If she had she would have thought it from some wanderers, for she had never heard him play. She would not notice it. She would not heed it. In her virgin youth and innocency it was a profanation to imagine that Claire Denville--sweet, pure Claire Denville--the woman he worshipped, could notice such an attention. No, it was impossible she would; and his eyes almost started as he gazed at the white-curtained windows, looking so solemn and so strange. No, no, no; she would not notice, even if she had heard, and a strange feeling of elation came into the jealous breast. "Come," he said hoarsely, "let us go." "One moment, lad. Ah, yes," said the Colonel. "Gloriana has heard the serenade, and is about to respond to her lover's musically amatory call. Look, Dick, look." Richard Linnell's heart sank, for a white arm drew back the curtain, and then the catch of the window fastening was pressed back, and a chord in the young man's breast seemed to snap; but it was only the spring of the window hasp. _Click_! Volume One, Chapter VII. AFTER THE STORM. The "ghastly serenade" it was called at Saltinville as the facts became known.