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have been caused by the pressing of some blunt instrument； or by a man's
thumb。 Considering it of much importance； he notified the coroner； who
ordered an inquest。
At six o'clock that evening a jury was impaneled； and two hours later
its verdict was reported。
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The Fifth String
XIII
On leaving the house of the dead man Diotti walked wearily to his
hotel。 In flaring type at every street corner he saw the announcement for
Thursday evening； March thirty…first； of Angelo Diotti's last appearance：
‘‘To…night I play for the last time；'' he murmured in a voice filled with
deepest regret。
The feeling of exultation so common to artists who finally reach the
goal of their ambition was wanting in Diotti this morning。 He could not rid
himself of the memory of Sanders' tragic death。 The figure of the old man
clutching the violin and staring with glassy eyes into the dying fire would
not away。
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。
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The Fifth String
‘‘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。
He went toward the door； and in a voice that sounded like the echo of
despair； protested： ‘‘Mildred； I love you； love you a thousand times more
than I do my life。 If I should destroy the string； as you ask； love and hope
would leave me forevermore。 Death would not be robbed of its terror！''
and with bowed head he went forth into the twilight。
She ran to the window and watched his retreating figure as he
vanished。 ‘‘Uncle Sanders was right； he loves another woman； and that
string binds them together。 He belongs to her！'' Long and silently she stood
by the window； gazing at the shadowing curtain of the coming night。 At
last her face softened。 ‘‘Perhaps he does not love her now； but fears her
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The Fifth String
vengeance。 No； no； he is not a coward！ I should have approached him
differently； he is proud； and maybe he resented my imperative manner；''
and a thousand reasons why he should or should not have removed that
string flashed through her mind。
‘‘I will go early to the concert to… night and see him before he plays。
Uncle Sanders said he did not touch that string when he played。 Of course
he will play on it for me； even if he will not cut it off； and then if he says
he loves me； and only me； I will believe him。 I want to believe him； I want
to believe him；'' all this in a semi…hysterical way addressed to the
violinist's portrait on the piano。
When she entered her carriage an hour later； telling the coachman to
drive direct to the stage…door of the Academy； she appeared more
fascinating than ever before。
She was sitting in his dressing…room waiting for him when he arrived。
He had aged years in a day。 His step was uncertain； his eyes were sunken
and his hand trembled。 His face brightened as she arose； and Mildred met
him in the center of the room。 He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss upon
it。
‘‘Angelo； dear；'' she said in repentant tone； ‘‘I am sorry I pained you
this afternoon； but I am jealous； so jealous of you。''
‘‘Jealous？'' he said smilingly； ‘‘there is no need of jealousy in our lives；
we love each other truly and only。''
‘‘That is just what I think； we will never doubt each other again； will
we？''
‘‘Never！'' he said solemnly。
He had placed his violin case on the table in the room。 She went to it
an