What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. " "I'm not afraid, mother," said the little girl, smelling at the bouquet. I haven’t murdered any one, or broken the law in any way that I know of. “Dear John,” she whispered. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt.
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