"A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. “I’m sorry! Mary! Are you hurt?” “No. The man was my husband. She directed the little old woman and then made her way to van D. I need not counsel you to avoid those fatal courses which have placed you in such fearful jeopardy. 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. They came from every part, from the pit, the circle and the gallery, even from the stalls. And my wife won’t live with me for reasons that I think most women would consider sound. She stared at him and thought the words, “My husband, my husband.
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