"I'm very sorry," she said in a deep, low voice. "I--don't," still she hesitated, then finally, with much effort she said: "I cannot take any more lessons from you."

Von Barwig looked at her as if he did not comprehend her meaning.

"Not to-day, no, but to-morrow?"

Helene shook her head.

"Ah, the next day!"

Again Helene shook her head. "No," she said in an almost inaudible voice. Von Barwig noted that her face was sad, that her tone was low and mournful and his voice faltered as he asked, with his usual smile, "The day after that, perhaps?"

"No, Herr Von Barwig. I cannot take any more lessons from you."

"Cannot take any more lessons," he repeated mechanically; then as he realised her meaning he tried to speak, but his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. There was a long pause, during which neither of them spoke.

"You wish me no more at all?" he asked finally.

"I am very sorry, I am very grateful; believe me I am, Herr Von Barwig, but--" she shook her head rapidly. She could not trust herself to speak.

"I--do--not--understand," he said, and his voice was almost inaudible, for his heart was beating so furiously that he could feel its palpitation. She could only shake her head in reply. Von Barwig suddenly found his voice, for he was desperate now.

"A moment ago we were here, good friends, and--" suddenly an idea occurred to him. "Some one has told you that I played at the Museum, the Dime Museum. Ah, is that Indeed so terrible? I do not play there from choice, believe me, dear--dear _Fraulein_! It is poverty."

"Yes, yes; I know, I know!" cried Helene. She was nearly frantic now.

"It is not your fault, but please, please, dear Herr Von Barwig, let us say no more! Good-bye," and she held out her hand, "good-bye! I hope better fortune may come to you."

"No better fortune can come if you--if you are not there," wailed Von Barwig. "You don't know--what I know; if you did you would realise that--" he paused. "I cannot stay away! It is simply impossible--I cannot!"

"You must," said Helene firmly. "Please go! Don't you understand that it is as hard for me as it is for you?"

"Why do you so punish me?" pleaded Von Barwig. "For what? What have I done?"

"I am not punishing you, Herr Von Barwig. I-- Don't ask me to explain! You must not call again. Please go; go! There, I've said it; I've said it!" cried Helene in despair, and she walked to the window to hide her emotion.

Von Barwig looked at her in silence.

"Very well," he said after a few moments and then he looked around for his hat, which he always brought into the room with him.

He realised that it was useless to try and move her and he turned to go. He reached the door and had partly opened it when he felt impelled to make one more effort.

"I leave the Museum," he said at the door. "I go there no more."

Helene shook her head. The old man came toward her.

"You must forgive me, Miss Helene, I must speak," he said in a low voice choked with emotion; his English was very broken now. "A moment ago I was thinking what shall be best for you, for your future, your happiness; and I said to myself: 'Don't say that which will perhaps hurt her prospects, her future, her marriage with Herr Beverly Cruger!'"

"I don't understand," said Helene in surprise. "What can you say, Herr Von Barwig, that will hurt my prospects or in any way affect my marriage with Mr. Cruger?"

"Ah, I don't know what I say," pleaded Von Barwig, who felt at that moment that for her sake he must not tell her who he was. "I don't know what I say! I am struck down; I cannot rise, I cannot think! Ah, don't discharge me, please don't discharge me!" wailed the old man pitifully. "Let me come here as I always do; don't send me away!"

Helene was silent; she felt that she could say no more.

"It is the first time in my life I have ever begged of a living soul,"

pleaded Von Barwig, "and now I beg, I beg that you will not send me away! You have made me so happy, so happy, and now--please don't discharge me, don't discharge me!" It was all he seemed able to say.

Helene was looking at him now, looking him full in the face while a great storm was surging in her mind. "I can't obey my father," she was saying to herself, I can't! It's too hard--too hard! The old man mistook her silence for the rejection of his prayer and slowly turned to go. The shrinking figure, the concentrated misery, the hopeless expression on his face, the tears in his eyes, the pathetic woebegone listlessness in his walk were too much for her; she could resist no longer.

"Herr Von Barwig," she cried, her voice ringing out in clear strong tones, "I don't believe it, I don't believe it!" He turned with a slight look of inquiry on his face and gazed at her through his tear-bedimmed eyes. "I don't believe that you ever did a dishonourable action in all your life," she cried. "My father is mistaken, mistaken!

I'm sure of it."

"Your father?" There was no hesitation in his voice now. "Your father," he repeated, his voice rising higher. "Ah!" and a flood of light came in upon him. "When you left me a few moments ago, you went to him, and then, on your return--you--you sent me away; is it not so?

Tell me," he demanded, "is it not so?"

Gone was the hopeless misery, gone were the shambling gait, the pathetic smile, the helplessness of resignation to overwhelming conditions. Gone, too, were the tears, the pleading look, and in their place stood Anton Von Barwig, erect and strong, his eyes glittering with fire, the fire of righteous indignation, his voice strong and clear. Helene looked at him in amazement. She could not understand the transformation.

"Your father!" repeated Von Barwig in a loud, stern voice. "So! the time has come! I think perhaps I see your father. It is time we met; a little explanation is due. Miss Stanton, I shall see--your--father."

"Yes, you shall see him!" said the girl. "I'll--I'll speak to him for you; I am sure you can explain."

"Yes, I can explain," said Von Barwig with a low, hard laugh. "Where is he?"

"In the library," replied Helene.

"Ah? Then I go there and see him," said Von Barwig in a decided tone.

This new mental att.i.tude of the music master amazed her. The little low, shambling figure was transformed into an overwhelming force.

"Perhaps I had better see him first," suggested Helene.

"No," said Von Barwig. "I see him." His tone was almost commanding.

Helene looked at him in astonishment. She was pleased; at least these were not signs of guilt on his part. She no longer hesitated.

"Perhaps you're right," she said. "Come, we'll see him together."

Von Barwig followed Helene through the corridors that led to the library. She paused a moment as she stood at the door and looked around at Von Barwig. There was a stern, cold, hard look in his face which was new to her. "He feels the injustice as I do," thought Helene, "and he is angry. Thank G.o.d, he will be able to clear himself!" She turned the handle of the door and went in. Von Barwig followed her. Stanton was sitting at a desk table, writing, as they entered.

"There has been a mistake, father," she said.

Stanton looked up and started as if he had been struck. He saw his daughter, and he saw the man he had wronged standing there in the doorway like an avenging Nemesis. He tried to speak, but could not.

"What's the matter, father?" cried Helene in alarm.

"Nothing--nothing!" replied Stanton incoherently. He was trembling in every limb.

"Helene," he said, forcing himself to speak, "I will have a word with Herr Von Barwig alone."

"I beg your pardon for coming in unannounced, but we wanted to see you, father," began Helene.

"Yes, yes; please excuse us now, Helene. I'll see him alone," said Stanton, speaking with great difficulty. "Alone!" he repeated sharply.