A third door opened on the shore
side of the bateau, but this was locked. Shut out from the view of
the lower end of the cabin by a Japanese screen were a small
dresser and a mirror. In the dim illumination that came from the
distant lamp David bent over the open sheet of music on the piano.
It was Mascagni's AVE MARIA.
His blood tingled. His brain was stirred by a new emotion, a
growing thing that made him uneasy and filled him with a strange
restlessness. He felt as though he had come suddenly to the edge
of a great danger; somewhere within him an intelligence seized
upon it and understood. Yet it was not physical enough for him to
fight. It was a danger which crept up and about him, something
which he could not see or touch and yet which made his heart beat
faster and the blood come into his face. It drew him, triumphed
over him, dragged his hand forth until his fingers closed upon a
lacy, crumpled bit of a handkerchief that lay on the edge of the
piano keys. It was the woman's handkerchief, and like a thief he
raised it slowly. It smelled faintly of crushed violets; it was as
if she were bending over him in his sickness again, and it was her
breath that came to him.
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