The Human Chord | Page 8

mouth of a cave, when, without
the smallest warning, he became suddenly conscious that something
attractive and utterly delicious had invaded the stream of his being. It
came from nowhere--inexplicably, and at first it took the form of a
naked sensation of delight, keen as a thrill of boyhood days. There
passed into him very swiftly something that satisfied. "I mean,
whatever it was," he says, "I couldn't have asked or wanted more of it.
It was all there, complete, supreme, sufficient." And the same instant he
saw close beside him, in the comparative gloom of the narrow corridor,
a vivid, vibrating picture of a girl's face, pale as marble, of flower-like
beauty, with dark voluminous hair and large grey eyes that met his own
from behind a wavering net of eyelashes. Down to the shoulders he saw
her.
Erect and motionless she stood against the wall to let him pass--this

slim young girl whose sudden and unexpected presence had so
electrified him. Her eyes followed him like those of a picture, but she
neither bowed nor curtseyed, and the only movement she made was the
slight turning of the head and eyes as he went by. It was extraordinarily
effective, this silent and delightful introduction, for swift as lightning,
and with lightning's terrific and incalculable surety of aim, she leapt
into his heart with the effect of a blinding and complete possession.
It was, of course, he realized, the niece--the fourth member of the
household, and the first clear thought to disentangle itself from the
resultant jumble of emotions was his instinctive wonder what her name
might be. How was this delightful apparition called? This was the
question that ran and danced in his blood. In another minute he felt sure
he would discover it. It must begin (he felt sure of that) with an M.
He did not pause, or alter his pace. He made no sign of recognition.
Their eyes swallowed each other for a brief moment as he passed--and
then he was pattering with quick, excited steps down the passage
beyond, and the girl was left out of sight in the shadows behind him.
He did not even turn back to look, for in some amazing sense she
seemed to move on beside him, as though some portion of her had
merged into his being. He carried her on with him. Some sweet and
marvelous interchange they had undergone together. He felt strangely
blessed, soothed inwardly, made complete, and more than twice on the
way down the name he knew must belong to her almost sprang up and
revealed itself--yet never quite. He knew it began with M, even with
Mir--but could get nothing more. The rest evaded him. He divined only
a portion of the name. He had seen only a portion of her form.
The first syllable, however, sang in him with an exquisitely sweet
authority. He was aware of some glorious new thing in the penetralia of
his little spirit, vibrating with happiness. Some portion of himself sang
with it. "For it really did vibrate," he said, "and no other word describes
it. It vibrated like music, like a string; as though when I passed her she
had taken a bow and drawn it across the strings of my inmost being to
make them sing...."
"Come," broke in the sonorous voice of the clergyman whom he found

standing in the hall; "I've been waiting for you."
It was said, not complainingly nor with any idea of fault-finding, but
rather--both tone and manner betrayed it--as a prelude to something of
importance about to follow. Somewhat impatiently Mr. Skale took his
companion by the arm and led him forwards; on the stone floor
Spinrobin's footsteps sounded light and dancing, like a child's. The
clergyman strode. At the dining room door he stopped, turning abruptly,
and at the same instant the figure of the young girl glided noiselessly
towards them from the mouth of the dark corridor where she had been
waiting.
Her entry, again, was curiously effective; like a beautiful thought in a
dream she moved into the hall, and into Spinrobin's life. Moreover, as
she came wholly into view in the light, he felt, as positively as though
he heard it uttered, that he knew her name complete. The first syllable
had come to him in the passageway when he saw her partly, and the
feeling of dread that "Mir--" might prove to be part of "Miranda,"
"Myrtle," or some other enormity, passed instantly. These would only
have been gross and cruel misnomers. Her right name--the only one
that described her soul--must end, as it began, with M. It flashed into
his mind, and at the same moment Mr. Skale picked it off his very lips.
"Miriam," he said in deep tones, rolling the name along