For a few days Winn Hardy was the busiest man on Rockhaven. What with setting up the steam drill that had been sent him, finding a man to work it, adjusting the derricks, and laying out work for the dozen men Jess had secured, he had no more time than occasionally to think of who the mysterious violin-playing maid might be. He arose early, worked late, and evenings wrote his firm a detailed statement of his progress, or discussed matters with Jess at the store. By tacit consent that had become a sort of office for the Rockhaven Granite Company, and evening lounging place for not only the men who were at work for Winn, but others interested in the new enterprise, and, in fact, all who were not away on fishing trips.

Here, also, Winn met the Rev. Jason Bush, a worthy, if attenuated, parson and pedagogue, who had so astonished Winn that first Sunday and who seemed more interested than any one else in the quarry. It was all the more pleasant experience to Winn, thus to feel that he was bringing a business blessing to these hard-working and needy people, and the barometer of his hopes and spirits was at top notch when Friday came and with it funds from the firm to pay the men. He felt, indeed, that his mission was bearing excellent fruit.

Then, too, he received a letter of praise from his employers, congratulating him on the progress he was making, and reminding him that, as soon as advisable, he should endeavor to interest those who had means and induce them to invest in Rockhaven stock. It was all right, of course, and a part of his mission there; and Winn, guileless of the cloven hoof hidden beneath it, assured himself that he must carry out their wishes as soon as possible.

It was while speculating on this part of his duty the next afternoon, and wondering who except Jess was likely to have money to invest in this stock, that he felt an unaccountable impulse to visit the gorge again and at once. It was as if some invisible voice was calling him and must be answered, and yet he could not explain what it was and how his thought, at that particular moment, had turned to this spot. He was not a believer in fate; he was just an ambitious and practical young man, with good common sense and wholesome ideas, and though a little embittered by the treatment he had received at the hands of Ethel Sherman and not likely to fall in love easily with another girl, yet he was the last person who would admit that fate was playing, or would play, any part in his movements, as it did; and more than that, it led him that balmy June afternoon, when the sea and sky were in perfect accord, to the gorge and to the very spot where, ten days before, he had been mystified. And now he was more so, for not only did he hear the same low, sweet strains mingling with the ocean's murmur, but he began to realize that some invisible influence, quite beyond his understanding, had brought him hither. What it was he could not tell, or where, or from whence it came, only that he felt it and obeyed.

And so forcibly did this uncanny sense of helplessness oppress him, that the weird strains of music, issuing from the rocks below, seemed ten times more so. For one instant he could not help feeling almost scared, and thought it well to pinch himself to see if he were awake, and the music and his presence there not a dream. Then he sat down. Surely, if it were a dream, it was a most exquisite one, for away to the eastward and all around, a half-circle, the boundless ocean, with here and there a white-winged vessel, and white-crested waves flashing in the sunlight, lay before; while beneath him and sloping V-shaped a hundred feet below, and to where the billows leaped over the weed-clad rocks, lay this chasm. Back of him, and casting their conical shadows over the chaos of boulders in the gorge, was a thicket of spruce, and to add a touch of heaven to this desolate but grand vision, the faint whisper of music mingling with the monotone of the waves and the sighing of winds in the spruces.

And then the wonder of it all, and what a romantic and singular fancy of this fisher maid to thus hide herself where only the mermaids of old might have come to sing sad ditties while they combed their sea-green tresses. That it was Mona Hutton he felt almost certain, and his first impulse was to descend into the chasm at once and surprise her. Then he thought, if perchance it were not, would that be the act of a gentleman? Doubtless whoever it was had come there to find seclusion, and for him to thus intrude would certainly be rude. The next thought, and the one he acted upon, was to go back a little of the way he came, hide himself, and, when she appeared, advance to meet her. The way to the village was over a rounded hill a full mile in length, with scattered clusters of bayberry bushes between. Back over this a hundred rods Winn retreated, and not thinking how his presence there would affect this unknown girl, hid himself behind a rock. He had not long to wait, and soon saw the same lithe figure, and under her arm the same bundle, emerge from the gorge, and, as she advanced rapidly, saw that it was Mona. Still unthinking, he stepped out into view and forward to meet her. In one instant he saw her halt, turn back a step, then around, facing him, and stand still; and as he neared her and she saw who it was, she sank to the earth. Then, as he reached her side and saw her, half reclining against a small ledge, and looking up at him, her face and lips ashen white, he realized for the first time what a foolish thing he had done.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Hutton," he said earnestly, and removing his hat on the instant, "I see that I have scared you half to death and I am sorry; I didn't mean to."

And as she sat up, still looking at him with pitiful eyes, a realizing sense of his own idiotic action came to him, and he told her, a little incoherently, perhaps, but truthfully how he had come there both days, and for what reason.

Frankness is said to be a virtue, and in this case it was more, for it saved the reputation of Winn Hardy as a man of honor and a gentleman, in the eyes of Mona Hutton.

"Yes, I was frightened," she said at last, in response to his repeated plea for forgiveness, after he had told her his story, "and I almost fainted. It is foolish of me to go there, I know, for mother has told me it is not safe."

Then as she picked up the green bag that had fallen at her feet and started to rise once more, Winn's wits came to his rescue, and in an instant he grasped her hand and arm and almost lifted her to her feet.

"I shall never forgive myself for this day's stupidity," he said, "but I have wondered a hundred times since that day who on earth it could be that hid herself in that forbidding spot. I heard you play only one air then, and that the sweetest ever composed by mortal man. I have heard it many, many times, but never once when it reached my heart as it did that day. What blind intuition brought me here I cannot say; but some impulse did, and if you will believe what I say and that your playing has wrought a spell over me, I shall be grateful."

To simple and utterly unsophisticated Mona Hutton words like these were as new as life to a babe, and while she could not and did not believe he meant them all, as uttered, nevertheless they were sweet to her. It is likely, also, they were colored by the plight Winn found himself in and his desire to set himself right in the eyes of Mona.

"I do not know why it is," she responded, "but when I go there I seem to enjoy my practice better, and then I feel that no one can hear me. Mother says that no one will ever want to," she added naÏvely.

Winn smiled.

"But I want to," he said, "I want to go there with you some day and hear you play 'Annie Laurie' again; will you let me?"

"I won't promise," she replied, and perhaps mindful of her mother's opinion added: "Mother doesn't approve of my playing a fiddle. She says it's not graceful."

This time Winn laughed. "I don't believe you could do anything and not be graceful," he said. "As for that, I have seen Camilla Urso playing one before an audience of thousands, and no one thought her ungraceful."

"Who is Camilla Urso?" asked Mona.

"She was a wonderful violinist," answered Winn, "and charmed the whole world, years ago. If you will let me come to this spot with you, I will tell you all about her."

Mona turned her face away.

"I don't go there very often," she replied evasively; "and if you have heard such wonderful playing, I wouldn't dare let you hear me. I don't know anything except what Uncle Jess has taught me." Then as she started onward she added, "You must ask him to play for you some time; he knows how."

"But it is you I want to hear," Winn asserted, and then, as an intuition came to him, he added: "I think it best you go on home alone, Miss Hutton; it might cause comment if we go on together. I passed a most delightful hour with you and your mother last Sunday evening, and, with your permission, I shall repeat it."

And then, having delivered this polite speech, so utterly unlike what Mona was accustomed to hear, he raised his hat and turned away.

On the brink of the gorge he halted, and, turning again, watched her rapidly nearing the top of the hill. Reaching its crest, she faced about and looked back.