It was a pathetic cry wrung from a hungry heart.
The dressing-room door stood partly open, and as the full, sweet notes of the violin were carried to her ears, Eleanor gave a cry of rapture.
"Who is playing ?" she cried.

"I must see at once." She ran out of the room and into the wing, where she could command a full view of the stage, and looked upon her father for the first time.
She stood, statue like, until the last note died away.

Her eyes were full of tears, which she made no attempt to hide.

Then she turned to Anne, who had slipped quietly up and now stood beside her: "Anne," she said almost reverently, "he is a master.

His music overwhelms me.