To that city, surfeited with pleasure, a new sensation had come, and while Winn Hardy was aimlessly gathering news items, too disconsolate to read the amusement notes even, and caring not at all what happened in stage-land, it was slowly spreading. A little ripple at first, when the few who could appreciate the exquisite nature of Mona's simple music, heard her to go away charmed and come again, the while telling all whom they knew of it, until the "Alhambra" was packed each night and "Mlle. Mona in Scotch Melodies," as the sign that flanked either side of the stage read, was all the rage. Then the papers picked it up and the musical critics exhausted their vocabularies about her. They extolled her pose, expression, and inflection; they went into raptures over technique, time, and timbre; they lauded her classic profile, her arm, her throat, her eyes; while Mona, unmindful of all their clatter, forgot herself each night as she threw her very heart and soul into her playing.

And Fritz grew mad with love!

She practised still, hours each day on new and classic music; he insisted that she should, and when some soulless sonata, some delirious composition full of leaps and quivers and trills was learned, she executed it at night.

But it was the simple and sweet old songs of Bonnie Scotland that won applause.

And when, as happened almost nightly, some admirer gave a basket or bouquet of costly flowers to an usher to be passed up over the footlights to her, they were usually tied with tartan ribbon.

And the little German teacher had almost lost his reason.

Twice he had been on his knees before her, and with hand on heart and in broken English, disclosed his love for "Mein Fraulein Liebchen."

But Mona only shook her head.

He wept, he raved, he smote his breast, and would have kissed the shoes she wore, if she would have but stood still and allowed it.

There were others who sent her notes tucked in baskets of flowers, they begged for an interview, for just one word of reply. They covered pages with wild declarations of love, they sent her costly jewels tied to love missives, in the vain hope of an answer, and gathered at the stage door to see her pass in and out. But Jess, like an old watch dog, was always on guard. He went with her to the "Alhambra" each night and waited until she had "done her turn," and after she had changed her garb, helped her into a carriage and rode home with her.

He well might care for her, for each week the manager paid for her "act" what would have been regarded on Rockhaven as a small fortune, and considered it cheap at that price.

And Mona, growing accustomed now to the sea of faces she had once feared, watched them covertly each evening, hoping and yet dreading to catch sight of a certain one among them.

It was all a new wonder world, a strange, sweet intoxication, and like a dream to her. She rejoiced in her power, conscious, as well she might be, how she could sway the thousands to wild applause and some to tears. And when it was all over and she away from the scene of her triumph each time, she wondered if he had made one in that audience. And what would he say and think, if he was? And what would he do? Had he quite forgotten the simple child who amused him one summer, or would he seek her out?

And when she thought of how like a silly girl she had raised her lips to him at the moment of parting, and the tears she had shed, her face burned.

Then pride came forth, and she felt that, if he ever did seek her again, he would have to beg forgiveness on his knees, protesting even as Fritz had, before she would extend a hand even. For Mona was growing proud and conscious of her own power at this time.

The weeks during which she had nightly reigned as a queen over thousands, the storms of applause she had heard when bowing and smiling before them, and all the flatteries of flowers and words that had been showered upon her, had wrought its inevitable change. Only to Uncle Jess was she the same. And he?

Well, never in his life had so much happiness come as now. He seemed to grow younger each day, for in the new joy that had come to Mona he found his own. Then, too, a change came to Mona's mother. No longer did she consider "fiddlin' a man's business," and frown at her child. In their temporary home that daughter ruled supreme, her every wish gratified, her every whim considered just right.

"We'll go back 'n' visit the island fer a spell," Jess said, when the season at the "Alhambra" was nearing its close; "an' then we'll take ye 'round, girlie, an' let ye see the world. I kin 'ford it now, 'n' the best is none too good fer ye."

But the current of Fate twists and turns us at will, while adown the stream of life we float, and sometimes we drift into smooth waters and again we are dashed against the rocks. With our will or against our will, no matter, we are swept on.

And a Power quite beyond our ken is ever in control.

And one evening, despondent, aimless, and feeling life a hopeless fight and Fate against him, Winn Hardy drifted into the "Alhambra."

No knowledge of the star that nightly blazed there had reached him, and if he had read of her, it was as of others who were noticed by the press and unknown to him. He came in, as he entered other theatres, on a reporter's pass, privileged to take a seat if not occupied, or else stand. In this case, it seemed the latter, for the house was packed and a fringe of men circled the foyer. The boxes were also filled; and as Winn glanced across to them, there in one, dressed in evening gown, her arms and shoulders bare, and slowly fanning herself, sat Ethel Sherman. And with her—Simmons!

It was nothing to Winn, of course, and yet it awoke disgust.

The usual vaudeville acts were on in turn, and Winn, somewhat weary with life, and watching one particular box more than the stage, was about to leave when suddenly a wild burst of applause swept over the house, and there, just tripping on to the stage, bowing and smiling as she came was—Mona!

For one instant his heart stopped beating.

Great Heavens, could it be possible, or was this some insane dream! He gasped for breath.

The house seemed to twist and turn.

And then, as he leaned against a pillar to steady himself, a hush came.

And what a picture stood before him!

Not the half-developed, ill-clad girl who had sat with him in the cave! Not the timid child with wondering eyes, looking up to him as a superior being! Not the gentle Mona, the sweet flower, awaiting his hand. Oh, no!

Instead, a proud and beautiful woman, erect and smiling, with conscious power. A stately creature with rounded arms, dimpled throat, and perfect shoulders like marble, emerging from the soft white silk that trailed upon the stage. And in the crowning coils of hair, black as night, a single pink rosebud, half open, and in her hand the same old brown violin!

Then bowing to right and left, as she swept that vast audience with her eyes, while the storm of applause continued, she raised it to her chin.

Not a breath, not a whisper now, as the matchless voice of her music rippled forth, tinkling like tiny bells on a mountain side, murmuring like a brook in forest stillness, sweet as a bird singing in the sunlight.

And when she had held that vast throng spellbound, entranced, breathless, until the last exquisite note had vibrated in their hearts, and bowed again once more, a tornado of sound burst forth. While they cheered and shouted, adown each aisle ushers hurried with costly flowers and wreaths, and baskets and bunches of them were tossed upon the stage like so many leaves.

Then Winn saw Ethel Sherman rise in her box and throw the great bunch of orchids she had held into the pile at Mona's feet.

And then that queen in white raised her violin once more. And once again, as many times before, the old love song that has thrilled the world for centuries carried Winn's heart back to the cave on Rockhaven and the twilight hour when its voice of undying love had mingled with the ocean requiem.

Lost was he now to the time and place and that spellbound audience; lost to the burst of applause that again shook the very building, to the men who cheered, the women who wept. Lost to all and everything except his own heartache.

And as he brushed his eyes free from the mist that had gathered, and turned away, it was in utter despondency and humiliation, believing his love hopeless now, and forgiveness from Mona impossible.

The next morning, reading the double-leaded headlines announcing the farewell appearance of this peerless queen of melody and the columns of fulsome praise that followed, only increased that feeling. Her laurels had been won, her crown secured, and now his love would be a worthless toy in her estimation.

All that was left was to see her, if he could, and beg her forgiveness.

But even this was denied him.

"I'm a friend of Miss Hutton's," he said to the "Alhambra" manager early that day, "and I wish to obtain her address."

"I've no doubt of it," replied the man, in a sneering tone; "lots of her admirers have wanted it, and kept on wanting it for all me."

"But I am a friend of hers," persisted Winn, his ire rising, "and I wish to see her."

"Well, go hunt for her," came the insolent answer. "She's in the city; but her address is her private property, and you don't learn it from me." And he turned away.

And Winn did likewise, too angry for further parley.

And that night, impelled a little by penitence and more by despondency, he called on Ethel Sherman.

"How did you enjoy Scotch melodies last evening?" he said gently, not wishing to seem inquisitive; "I saw you in a box at the 'Alhambra.'"

"Enjoy hardly expresses it," she answered earnestly; "I was spellbound, enraptured, and moved to tears. It was silly, I know, but I couldn't help it. Did you see me throw my flowers at the girl?"

"I did," he replied, his heart throbbing; "and you were not alone in your enthusiasm. She seemed to carry the house by storm. It was her farewell appearance, I noticed by the papers this morning."

He was trying to speak indifferently, but it was not easy.

"I am sorry," she responded, eyeing him keenly; "I've heard her five times in the past two weeks, and yesterday learned she was from Rockhaven. Did you ever hear her before?"

Then Winn knew that his secret was a secret no longer.

"I have," he admitted modestly; "she is the niece of Jess Hutton."

"And it was to see her that you went to the island two weeks ago," pursued Ethel, smiling; "I thought as much then."

For a moment she tapped the carpet with one dainty slipper, while her lips were pressed tightly together, and then she continued:—

"I knew last summer," she said, in a cool and even voice, "that you had left your heart on the island when you came back. Permit me to congratulate you. The girl is a marvel."

"It is very kind of you to say so," he responded dejectedly, "but useless. I didn't find her when I went there, and it's all over between us, I presume."

Then Ethel laughed, but it was unnatural, and like the rattle of dry bones. "Not a bit of it," she said briskly; "women with such eyes as hers do not unlearn the lesson of love easily. You may have to beg forgiveness for your neglect on your knees, but you will receive it. It is such souls as hers that give the lie to all our worldly philosophy."

"Have you such a one?" he queried thoughtlessly.

Her eyes flashed.

"No," she answered bitterly; "no one ever accused me of such folly. I have no heart, and am for sale to the highest bidder."

"I beg your pardon, Ethel," he said humbly, "I was only thinking of the long ago, and forgot what I was then."

"You need not," she replied, turning away. "I only am to blame, but—it hurt—from you."

Then, covering her eyes with one hand, she added slowly, as if the words came hard: "It's all past and gone, Winn, but—but I did not know myself then, and now it's too late. God help me!"

At the door she laid a detaining hand on his arm.

"I wish you well," she said, with a quiver in her voice; "I wish you all that's best and holiest in life. Go to your island girl, and at once. She is worthy of you, and you of her. We have been good friends, and I hope always will be. Love is only an illusion, but friendship endless. And now, good-by, and God bless you!"

And Winn, going out into the night, knew that the proud girl was reaping the pain she had sown.