Good G.o.d, how can it be?" His brain was in a whirl; the possibilities came to him in an overwhelming flood.

"You really must see that pearl necklace," said Helene, "and some of the other presents are very beautiful. Do look at them!"

"One, two, three; one, two, three," came in monotonous tones from the old man. Completely gone was his sense of rhythm now. "One, two, three; one, two, three," he continued, trying to collect his scattered thoughts. "Does it mean that she is my--my-- Oh, G.o.d! I must be mad, crazy! Barwig, Barwig, pull yourself together, for G.o.d's sake; or you lose her again." One, two, three; one, two, three seemed to be the only safe ground for him to tread on!

Helene felt that he was not following the music, for her fingers strayed idly over the keys, playing s.n.a.t.c.hes of different melodies, a fact which he apparently did not notice.

"The necklace is over there," she said.

"Yes, yes," he gasped, going in the direction she pointed. "One, two, three; one, two, three. It is beautiful; beautiful!" He scarcely looked at it.

"Did you ever see my dolls? I don't think I ever showed them to you.

They're over there in the cabinet."

"Your dolls? Yes, I look at them!" he said. He was glad of an opportunity to escape observation. After a while his mind became calm enough for him to be able to realise what he was thinking, and the urgent necessity for him to conceal from her his mad folly. Nineteen to-day, born in Leipsic, the daughter of the rich millionaire; yet, on the other hand, the image of his own lost Helene, born on the same day, at the same place and bearing the same name. It was all so consistent and yet so contradictory! What could it mean? Was it a phantasy of his brain, a dream? It seemed to him that he had once witnessed just such a scene as was taking place at that moment. Surely it had occurred before! He was now picking up first one doll, then another, but he did not see them----

"One, two, three; one, two, three;" he said pathetically, trying to control his thoughts. He realised that he was counting "up in the air," so to speak, but he was afraid of betraying himself. "If she suspected that I dared to think that she was my own Helene, she'd turn me from the house," he thought.

"I've kept all these old dolls since I was a little baby; even my little German doll is there," said Helene as she played on.

Von Barwig took up the dolls, one by one. "Your German doll?" he repeated.

"Yes, the one I had in Leipsic. It's a queer little sawdust affair, but I love it to pieces. It always reminds me of my mother. Do you know what I am playing?" but Von Barwig did not hear her.

"The little German doll," he repeated. "The one she had in Leipsic."

"I heard this at your house the night we first met," went on Helene, playing dreamily. "It's a beautiful melody; it has so much sentiment in it, so much pathos, but oh, isn't it sad," and she sighed deeply.

Was it illusion, too, that the ghost of his long-forgotten symphony should be played by the girl at the piano there, who so resembled his own lost loved one? Was it illusion that he should recognise that little doll, her doll, as the doll with which his own child, his own Helene, had played so long ago?

Von Barwig did not start as he picked up this mute evidence of the truth; he was almost prepared for it. It was as if he knew she was his own, and yet did not know it.

"That eye was never mended after all," he said in a pathetic, broken voice, and as he spoke the whole scene of years gone by came back to him. He saw once more his little girl pleading with him to mend the doll with the broken eye.

Von Barwig was quite calm now. He had grasped a certainty at last; he knew now that he did not dream. He looked over at the piano. The girl felt deeply the music that she was playing, for it responded to something in her own nature; and so interested was she at this moment that she almost forgot his presence. Tears filled his eyes as he gazed at her longingly, lovingly.

"Little heart! Ach, lieber Gott, my little Helene; my little baby!

How long, how long!" he murmured, smothering his emotion, but looking now at her, now at the little German doll clutched tightly in his hand.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I want you to come with us?"]

After a while a feeling of great peace came upon him. His mission was ended; he had found her at last. His longing heart had reached its haven.

"That's the doll my mother loved best," said Helene, without pausing in her playing. "She loved to play with that doll and me."

He, too, was thinking of her mother. Was it telepathy that she should think the very thought that was uppermost in his mind?

"There's a portrait of her in the next room," and she pointed to the door off the main room. "It was painted by an artist here in New York three years before she died."

Von Barwig dared not trust himself to speak. He silently opened the door and looked. "Elene, Elene!" he murmured in a low voice. He stood there some time gazing at the portrait of his dead wife, and his eyes were swimming with tears. "Yes, there she is," he said, his low, sad voice scarcely audible through the music. "Elene! Ach, Gott! dead, dead! Better so; better--so----"

He closed the door gently. As he did so a tear ran down his cheek and dropped on the little German doll. "I baptise it," he said with a smile, and then he sighed deeply.

The feeling of deep, unsatisfied longing died out of his heart and from that moment a sense of great freedom took possession of him. He looked over at his beloved Helene. She was still rhapsodising on the piano, utterly unconscious of the great struggle going on in the heart of her music master. What could he offer her? Should he ruin all her prospects? Had he a home fit for her to come to?

These thoughts surged through his mind as he looked at her. His first great impulse was to tell her who he was and take her to his heart, but with a supreme effort he controlled himself. He had so often pictured the scene of his first meeting with his child that it seemed almost as if he had been through this crisis before, but he had never dreamed that she would be occupying such a high station in life, never dreamed that to make his relationship known would ruin her prospects, and perhaps her happiness. This realisation gave him a perspective of the situation and he resolved for the sake of her future not to betray himself. He walked slowly to the piano, and stood behind her a few moments, then suddenly he lost control of himself and took her hands in his.

"What is it?" she said, in some surprise, but with no tinge of anger in her voice.

"You slurred," he faltered, not daring to look her in the face, for fear his great love would show itself.

"You mustn't slur--please," he murmured apologetically.

"Did I slur?" she asked. "Well, I a.s.sure you, it was unconscious. I didn't mean to do it."

"You are very happy here?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered, surprised at the irrelevancy of the question.

He was now stroking her hair with his gentle, loving hand.

"You have everything in the world, everything?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, scarcely conscious of his meaning.

"And you are happy?" he repeated.

"Why shouldn't I be?" she said. "I suppose I have everything to make me."

She stopped playing. This seemed to bring Von Barwig to a sense of his surroundings.

"Come," he said. "We must work! To the lesson! One, two, three; one, two, three."

He could not resist the impulse. He leaned over and again grasped her hands in his. She looked up at him, this time in utter surprise.

"You were slurring again, slurring again," he said, frightened at his lack of self-control.

"Was I, indeed?" said Helene. "Well, you'll have to punish me severely if this goes on."

"One, two, three; one, two, three," he counted. His voice was choked with emotion, and he could barely see for his tears.

"No, no; I could not punish you. I could not put one straw in your way--only--I want to meet your father. Yes," he said in a more decided tone, "I want to meet your father! One, two, three; one, two, three."

Whenever Von Barwig wanted to conceal his real feelings he counted.

"I've gone into the 4-4 exercise," commented Helene.

"Yes, yes! One, two, three, four," counted Von Barwig timidly. "One, two, three, four; yes, I want to meet him." Then he added almost savagely, "I must meet him!"

The lesson was interrupted by Denning.