THE days had passed swiftly by, and Philip had been for more than three years in the household of Signor Marini at Milan. To be sure he had been carried off by Lord Ashden for a month or two at the end of the first year’s work, and a glorious holiday it had been. The two travelled together through Switzerland, and Philip surprised his companion by his powers of endurance and his ability to undertake the most difficult and often dangerous feats of mountain-climbing without nervousness or fatigue. The joy of being united was equally great on both sides, and despite the great difference in their ages, Lord Ashden found in Philip the most congenial of companions, while the boy looked up to his friend with a glowing admiration and affection which day by day increased and strengthened.

It was a painful moment for both when, the vacation over, Philip returned to Milan for another twelve months of work and study, while Lord Ashden made a visit to England, promising to return for Philip’s dÉbut the following autumn, for Signor Marini had pushed his private scholar with might and main, and his enthusiastic hopes for Philip’s future made the old man quite young again.

“I live over again in your playing, my boy,” he would say, and he himself made all the arrangements for his pupil’s first public appearance at La Scala.

Philip himself was strangely unmoved by the prospect of playing before the largest, and perhaps the most critical, audience in all Europe.

“I can but do my best,” he said quietly with his flashing smile, and he was far more excited over the promise of Lord Ashden to come to Milan for the occasion than at the thought of the promised presence of royalty itself in the audience.

The night came, and Signor Marini was not disappointed in his pupil. The effect upon the audience of his uncommon beauty and youthfulness, and his wonderful playing, were instantaneous and lasting, and round upon round of applause greeted each appearance and exit.

Lord Ashden stood at the wings, pale with excitement, and when Philip came quietly towards him, saying simply: “They seem to like my playing, do they not?” he folded the boy in his arms, saying in a voice trembling with emotion:

“My darling boy, this is the proudest and happiest moment of my life! And now that the world recognizes your talent, and you have won your place in the topmost ranks, my dear boy, we must give you a long vacation,” he said later, when, the performance being over, they were taking supper in his lordship’s room at the hotel.

Lord Ashden then unfolded a plan of taking Philip with him on an extended tour through Europe and the East.

The boy was overcome with gratitude, but quietly firm in his refusal to accept the tempting invitation.

“But please,” he said, forcing himself to speak calmly, “please do not think me ungrateful for your kindness. You came to me like an angel, and supported me all these long years, and gave me the opportunity to acquire my beloved art. You have given me the power to live by my own efforts, to be happy in the only way that happiness is possible to me. Even if I could do it, you would not accept the repayment of the money I have cost you; but if you took it, the debt would be in no way cancelled, for a thousand times the sum would be far from paying for the kindness that trusted and befriended me, and made me what I am.

“Oh! Lord Ashden,” he went on, quite breaking through his usual shy reserve, “I can never kneel to pray without returning thanks for such a friend as you; and I can never touch my beloved violin without thinking of you, and hoping that some day it may be my turn to do some little thing for you. Now, before the impression I have had the good fortune to make has faded away, I must work for a place in the world. Maestro Marini says teaching is the surest support, but to-night makes me hope that I may continue upon the stage; and, if you approve, I shall try for an engagement. But I must go to England first—I owe it to dear Aunt Delia. I suppose there is no one else there who will care much, but she writes to me so tenderly, and every letter says: ‘Dear boy, come home.’”

“It shall be as you please,” said Lord Ashden, “and the travelling shall be postponed till you are ready. But don’t feel burdened with gratitude to me—your success quite repays me. I am sorry to start off on my travels without you, but I expect to hear great things of you when I come back. Unless I am mistaken, the newspapers will tell me something of your career while I am away. You are not destined to obscurity, my boy; such talent as yours will make you famous, and I dare to tell you so because I know that nothing will make you conceited; if anything, you are too humble.”

Praise from such a source was very precious to Philip, and often afterward he repeated the words again to himself as an encouragement to the hope he hardly dared to cherish, that some day his father’s family might be just a little, a very little, proud of him, and that even Marion might perhaps be no longer ashamed to own him for a relative.

Philip’s engagement at La Scala lasted for a week, and each night he repeated his triumphs; the city rang with the fame of the boy violinist, and he was petted and flattered and fÊted to a degree which might have completely turned the head of an ordinary boy of thirteen, but Philip remained quite un-spoiled, and was secretly glad when the week neared its close.

It had been arranged that he should return at once to England with Lord Ashden, for he longed to see the dear friends at Lowdown whom he had never once forgotten in his long separation from them. Nevertheless, when at last the day arrived upon which they were to leave Milan, Philip was sad at the thought of parting from good Signor Marini and his fellow-pupils at the Conservatory. The famous teacher had greatly prided himself upon being always able to conceal his emotions; he was indeed inclined to look with disdain upon any display of feeling, and to consider it quite out of place for one in his position; yet when the moment came for him to bid farewell to his little pupil, his feelings quite overcame him and he burst into tears.

“My dear boy,” he said, straining Philip to his heart, “what shall I do when you are gone? I have loved you like a dear son, and you—you will soon forget your poor old teacher, who has been so often cross and severe.”

“Oh, no, no, my dear, dear master!” replied the boy, his own eyes swimming with tears; “you have been always the wisest of teachers and the kindest and best of friends; indeed, indeed, I will never forget you and good Signora Marini.”

“And you will come again to Milan?”

It was now Lord Ashden’s turn to speak; he had not remained unmoved during this touching scene, which exhibited his old friend, the hard, rather unfeeling music teacher in quite a new light.

“I will see to it,” he said kindly, laying one hand on the shoulder of the old man and the other on Philip’s fair head, “that two such fast friends meet again, and that before very long. The distance between Milan and London grows shorter every year, you know, and I am not sure but I shall turn up here again myself before long, and perhaps I can persuade our young friend to come too.”

So the sadness of their parting was lessened for both teacher and pupil, between whom there existed a very true and real friendship and affection, and as Philip turned away from the dingy old house which had been his home for three years, he waved his cap to the sad little group on the doorstep, shouting, “Addio, addio, my friends, until next winter.”

When they reached Paris a friend of Lord Ashden, who was just starting on a cruise on his yacht, begged the travellers to accompany him.

“Our little violinist is looking decidedly thin and pale,” he said, “and it will never do to send him back to England until he has some color in his cheeks. His friends will surely think that he has been starved and ill-treated in Italy; come off with me for a fortnight and I promise you the time will not be wasted.” And Lord Ashden, when he came to look more critically, at Philip remarked that it was as his friend said.

“You are right,” he said; “the dear boy is pale and thin. What an idiot I was not to have noticed it before! I know you are impatient to see the dear friends in England, Philip, but just this once I must have my way.”

And Philip, although he was at first keenly disappointed to delay for another two weeks the joyous home-coming to which he had looked forward for so long, was yet forced to admit the wisdom of Lord Ashden’s decision. Indeed, he had not realized how thoroughly tired he was until he went aboard the yacht and his exhausted nerves and muscles could thoroughly relax.

There were long delicious days when the yacht drifted lazily through the calm blue waters of the Mediterranean, and life seemed only a hazy dream of warm sunshine and opalescent sea and sky. Philip would lie in a steamer-chair under a green sun-umbrella, with half-closed eyes, and sometimes with an unopened book in his lap, thinking over the days in Milan, or picturing the delight of once again sitting in the pleasant drawing-room at Lowdown, with the rector, dear Aunt Delia, Dr. Norton and his gentle wife, and the little girls. Philip smiled as he thought of how many questions he should have to ask and to answer; he wondered if he should find them all much changed in the years since he had seen them. Lillie and Rose would be much taller, he supposed, and Marion quite a young lady—Lord Ashden had told him that she was preparing to make her dÉbut into London society the following winter; and Dash—dear old fellow! He had never been quite the same, Aunt Delia wrote, since Philip’s departure, and he had not forgotten him—oh, no! For whenever Philip’s name was mentioned he would prick up his ears and give a little excited bark. Philip loved to think of how Dash would come running down the path when he should hear his master’s familiar whistle at the gate. Oh, it was glorious to have learned really to play the violin, and to feel that he could without shame take his place among the great musicians whom only three years ago he had regarded reverently as beings of another sphere; but, after all, the boy thought, there was no joy in the world quite so great as the joy of going home, and of being united once again with the dear friends who loved him, not because he was talented or famous, but for himself.

Lord Ashden left Philip a great deal to himself during these long, lazy days on the yacht, and the complete rest and freedom from exertion and excitement were just what the tired boy needed. At the end of the first week a faint color began to appear in his pale cheeks, and before the fortnight had ended he was romping about on the deck, his old happy, light-hearted self again.

“Who would think,” said his host to Lord Ashden one day, as they sat together in the cabin, the sound of Philip’s merry laughter floating down to them from the deck above, “who would think that that mischievous sprite could be the same boy as the pale, spiritual-looking child violinist of La Scala?”

“I confess I like him better this way,” said Lord Ashden. “The Philip of La Scala awed and frightened me a little. I was afraid he would not live to grow up, such children so often die young; and I have lost so many of those I have loved that it would be very dreadful to think what life would be to me without this dear child.”

“Dear old Frederick!” said his friend, laying his hand affectionately on his broad shoulders. “It is not strange that you love the boy, and I hope with all my heart that he may be spared to you for many, many happy years to come.”