LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2547, 7 June 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

THK TWO FOLD DEBT. Only a broken violin ! There it lay In the mod, a worthless piece of wood, rudely snapped In twain, with a few loose fragments of string, soundless, voiceless ; yet beside it, as reverently as though bending over something that had died—with a passionate burst of grief as for some dearly loved friend, knelt a little lad of some thirteen summers.

Out of the mud with tender caressing touch he lifted up the shattered remnants, hla tears falling the while thick and fast, his slight frame convulsed with the scbs that would not be repressed. He made no outcry, but his face was white with anguish and despair. He had lost his all—the friend to whom he poured out all his wcea ; the companion who, until now, had never failel him ; his second, better, nobler self Not many puces distant on the sidewalk stood the perpetrator of the outrage, a sort of undefined remorse gnawing within his breast. For mere bravado he had wrenched from the little musician his instrument and broken it across his knee, throwing the pieces into 'he mud. Realising dimly that he had committed a coward’s and a bully’s act, he took from his docket a small coin and tossed it toward the boy. * Take that,’ he cried, 1 and stop your whimpering! You’ve no business to play your music in the public streets. You are a beggar and a nuisance.’ Bat in an instant, with flashing eyes, head thrown poudly back, the street Arab had flung the mcney back. ‘ Ton think you can pay me thus 1’ he said in frenzied tones. *ltis I who owe you a debt I jet will live to wipe out 1’ They stood au instant looking steadily into each other’s e-. es —one the senior of the other by some three or four years, tall and powerful, clad lu broadcloth and fine linen one a little shrinking lad, his ragged clothes bespattered with mud from the streets. At this moment an open carriage rolled by, but the litt'e girl seated within had with her quick eyes, discovered something amiss. She hod seen the disdainful return of the rejected coin; she bad heard the boy’s words ; she had marked the truces of passionate grief upon his face, and with a hasty command to the coachman to stop, she called him to her.

‘ What are you about to do, Miss Selma ?’ questioned the lady with her, her governess. * Nothing naughty, dear Miss Irwin,’ she replied, ‘This poor boy—see his violin la broken. lam so sorry for him.’

The lad slowly approached the carriage in obedience to her command; bnt there was no light in his faoa, no eagerness in his step, ‘How dd this happen?’ asked the little girl. Carl looked up. Was it an angel who had spoke to him ? ho had never teen anyone half so lovely. Her hair floated about her shoulders ia a shower of gold, and resting on

it was a white hat with a long white plume drooping far down behind ; her eyes were like two purple pancles ; on her oheeka was tho flush of tho sunrise; her lips were red aa the carnation, though they quivered with her unspoken sympathy. The boy held up tho broken pieces of hia violin.

‘lt was my all,’ ho said. ‘ I shall starve no v ; but I am glad of that, for I did not ore it only that it brought mo bread, I loved it—l loved it baoause it talked to mo a <1 with it I was never lonely,’ 1 Bit can you n t buy another ?’ • 1 have no money, bliss ; I can never earn cn ugh since this has gone. I had hoped one day to buy something better than this, bui now the day will never come.’

A shade of thoughtfulness crept over the sweet fair face. In the little gloved hand she held a tiny puree, and within it three, bright, glittering gold pieces shone. They were to purchase a coveted doll, her fond father’s birthday gift. She turned hastily to her governess. • Please. Mies Irwin, do yon think papa would be displeased if I do not bay any doll? No, no —I know he would not.’

1 Then, waiting for no reply, aha pressed the purse into tho boy’s band. *Go buy your violin, she said. ‘ No, you must not return this as you did the other money : but some day when yon ere a great musician you ehal repay mo. Who knows ? You may play at my wedding.’ And with a little laugh, aa the carriage started forward, the ohild, with a wave of her baud, disappeared. Tho boy stood motionless, wrapped In a sort of ecstaoy. No doubt that a veritable oogel visited him, crossed hia mind. Had he been dreaming. No ; for within hia hand lay the little purse. Opening it almost with reverence, the shining pieces of gold met his gaze ; but something else as well—a little piece of pasteboard and upon it written a name and address. The lad lifted it to hia lips. * It is another debt I owe* he said softly to himself.

Ten years later, and on a bright starlit night in January, the New York Academy of Music was filled from pit to dome Tho great violinist, Herr Oarl Selocrt, was to appear. Ho was very young, not twentythree, the critics said, and yet he had reached tho zenith of his fame. A great wave of applause greeted him as he came forward In the centre of the stage. Ho was tall, but slight, with large dreimy eyes, and a mouth whose sensitiveness the blonde moustache could not wholly bide. With a soft, caressing motion, he drew tho bow across tho strings. An almoit human voice of exquisite melody seemed to respond. The h use hold its breath to listen.

In ono of the lower procenium boxes sat a yoong girl of nineteen. She '•ore no hat, and in her hair there gleamed a diamond star. She was beantifnl with a rare loveliness. There was no fairer face in all that crowded assemblage. Behind her leaning on the back of a chair, was a young man whoso gazs of rare admiration never withdrew itself—a man of superb height and breadth of form, and with eyes and hair dark as the night —eyes which glow.d with feeling as they dwelt upon her faoe, for the hope nearest Fairfax Farley’s heart was to win the womm for his wife. She turned toward him as the music died, with a quick indrawing of her braath, ‘Tell me,’ she whispered, ‘was it not perfect V • I did not hoar It,’ he replied, ‘ I was thinking but of you.’ A vivid flush, almost of annoyance, rose to her brow ; but at that moment the young musician, recalled by the thundering plaudits of the people, re appeared. His gaze now wandered over the house, finally resting on that exquisite face. He gave a sudden start. Of what, of whom did it remind him? For a full moment their eyes met; then, with a sudden Inspiration, ho drew bis bow.

What was he playing ? It was a cadence no man had ever heard of before. It seemed io tell an unknown story, if bat one could have interpreted it. It began in a storm of grief, of passionate despair, unreasoning, hopeless ; then followed a lull, a rift in the clouds, a sudden gleam of sunshine, then a heavy toiling of weary feet, often torn and bleeding, but with that rift of sunshine never quite hidden by the olouds overhead, no matter how dark or how dense they gathered; then came a burst of triumph, a song of victory, a transport of passion and then peace. The late note seemed to have no ending. Its echoes lingered in a melodious hush, and rang in peals of applause. 'lhe girl in tho box tore the violets from her br'ast and threw them at Herr Selburg’a fact. Flowers rained everywhere, but those only he stooped to gather. These he held ao tightly their crushed fragrance was wafted to bis senses as he bowed his adieux.

The young musician was the lion of the hour. Fashionable ladies sought him out. Invitations to fetes and receptions, and dinners rained upon him. It was at one of these latter that he and Miss Lawrence met

‘ I hava pressed yonr flowers, ’ he said to her in a low voice.

‘ My flowers ?’ she answered, with a blush. Then she remembered the violets she had so impulsively thrown him, ‘ I had almost forgotten,’ she added. ‘ What was it Herr Pelburg, that you played. It has haunted me ever since. • Some day,’ he replied, ‘ I will tell yon. Now ycu shall know only that you were Its inspiration ’ Were these words presumptuous ? She could not answer neither could she know the strange power that over swayed her in this man’s presence. ‘ You do cot teach ?’ she said to him one day.

‘ No,’ho answered But if you will be my pupil,’ It would be indeed a pleasure.’ * And your terms 1 His face flushed. ‘I need no gold,’ he responded. 'lt is that some day you shallhear my story.

* I see nothing of you,’ said Farley daring this time. Do yon forget that I have some claims ?’

‘No. I forget nothing she said. But there was sadness rather than happiness in her tone.

‘ Are yon not ready to give me yonr answer, dear?’ tho man continued, ’why, darling, may I not have the sweet promise that I crave ?’

Did she shudder? If so, It was but momentary, as the sweet young voice made answer.

‘ True,’ it is said, ‘ you have been very patient, but be so yet a little longer. Let me be sure of myself. It is only for this assurance, Fairfax, that I wait.

But underneath Fairfax Farley’s courteous calm was a seething maelstrom a burning jealousy. Two weeks after he waited outside Miss laurence’s home until Herr Selberg stood on the steps in the moonlight. He had been passing the evening with her. The two had dined at her table. An hour before Mr Farley had made his adieu. ‘ Herr Selberg !’ It was hla voice addressing tho musiolan.

• Yes,’ he responded, his surprise showing in his tone.

‘I have waited for yon,’continued Mr Parley, In order to ask you a favor. It ia a great favor, but money need bo no object between us lam willing to pay you any price, however fabulous ; and although I kaow it is out of your line, I want very much that you should play one solo at my wedding.’ In the moonlight Herr Selberg’s face showed a strange pallor. ‘At your wedding 1 Yon are to be married ? May I inquire to whom ? ‘Miss Laurence is my betrothed. Had yon not heard ?’ Both in question and answer rang a strange intensity, but the silence that followed had in its dumbness more force than either. Then Herr Selberg spoke. ‘ To-monqw night, at this hour, you shall have my deoielon, ’ he said, and rapidly strode away. Before noon, the day following, Miss Laurence received Herr Heiberg’s card. Penciled on it wore these words—- ‘ Pardon my intrusion, and grant me a half-hour’s Interview in which to bid yon farewell.’ Farewell! There was a certain spasmodic flattering of the heart she dimly realised its purport. What did this sudden departure portend P and why—why did it cause this faint sickness which stole through her every pulse and fire her heart f ‘ Show Herr Selberg up,’ she said to the servant; then, schooling herself to be calm, she sat awa tiug him.

On the threshold of the room he p»nssd. ‘ You asked me onoe, M!as Laurence,’ he began, * the story my violin told on the night we met,’ I answered you that some rinr e you should know. Would it weary you t > hear it now ?’ She bowed assent and motioned him to a chair, hut he stood still. • I must go bach many years,’ ha said, ‘ to the time I was a little lad, footsore and Meudlesa, Nay, not friendless ? I bad one frh nd—a poor piece of wood with ittinga across it; but I forgot that it was wood. In my hours of loneliness, snd grief, and sadness, I would take to it, and then, by idly drawing the bow across the strings, it would answer me. Ah, no one would have believed it bat myself, but It painted to me tho future—it told me all that I might bo. It whispered courage —lt breathed hope. ‘ Well, one day strolling through tho streets, touching its chords, asking no alms —I never begged—a boy older than I, taller, stronger, a boy richly drotood, and with a gold chain hanging at bis vest, stopped and mooted me I walked on silently. He followed me, and In an unprepared moment, snatched my violin, and snapping it across his knee, threw It into the filth and mud of tho street

‘ I was stunned, The magnitude of my loss overwhelmed me. The surging tide of my despair closed in about my soul. I saw neither earth nor sky—nothing save the shattered, voiceless wood. Then he who had wrought tho wicked wanton act, threw mo a cola, I caught and hurled It back. Not thus might he pay tho debt I owed to him.

•In a moment a carriage passed. Seated within was a beautiful child—a girl. She ordered the coachman to stop. She had heard something of what had happened. She inquired the cause of my distress. Then, with a tender pity in her eyes, aud a voice like music, aha put her purse into my hands, and bade ma nse Its contents as I would.

‘Some day,’c-ho said, ‘ when you fire a great musician, you shall repay me. Who knows P You may play at my wedding. ’ Iha girl’s head was bowed now. Her hnaom rose aud fell. Two sparkling tsars glimmered on the lashes which swept her cheek. Like a dream it all came back to her ; like a vision she aiw the boyish laae uplifted to hers through a mist of tears. Herr Selhsrg strode to her aide. He put his hand within his coat aud drew something forth. Instinctively she knew It to be tho little parse. • It has never loft me, ’ he said hoarsely. ‘I owe all that lam to you. The gulf between na is as wide now ts it was then. You are the heiress of a rich man. I too have wealth bat that cannot wipe out the past. Let me tell yen though what X did. I took your money and bought with it my violin. The man who sold It to ma had a kindly face, aud when I paid him for It, I asked of him a favor.

• * The money with which I puroha'ed this was lent to me,’ I said, ‘I would like—oh, to very much !—too keep this same gold. Will yon lay it aside for three months, when I may redeem it ? I do not know that I can, but I will save every penny that I earn, if you will but do this for me. 1 ‘The man stniied and consented.’

* He marked the gold in my sight and laid It away. Within the time I had regained possession of it. It Is here, Mias Laurence. It seems a trifling sum to both of ns, but remember it has made me all that I am. Yet its payment does not pay my debt. You said perhaps I might play at your wedding. Command mo nnd I will obey, even though I thus forswear my second debt to the boy, who, second time, in my manhood causes mo tho deepest misery my life has over known.’

‘ He paused and held outstretched toward her the open purse. His face was like marble ; his eyes alone shone with a wonuerful fire.

•Of what are yon speaking ? ’ she said gently. ‘ Whom am Ito marry ? ’ ‘ Last night he told mo you were his betrothed.’ I He ? Who f ’

1 Fairfax Farley.’ 'lt is not irue. He has wished it so, but I did not know my own heart, and asked that ho should wait. I know it now. I know that it can never be. Oarl, you spoke of a gulf between ua. Is it one that love will not bridge ? ’ That night Fairfax Farley and Herr Selberg met.

‘lt is impossible,’ Oarl replied; ‘bat since you kindly have asked ma to play at your wedding, may I not ask yout to dance at mine V

‘ Ah, you are betrothed than V ‘Yes’ ‘ And to whom ?’ ‘ Miss Laurence,’ the young musician answered proudly. Two little words—a name soon to bo merged into another identity ; but their momentary utterance had cancelled his twofold debt—redeemed his boyhood’s vow.