It
is a grievous thing to say to one's beloved, 'I leave you.' I have
said it. I was young then. I am old now, but I have not forgotten."
I unfastened the chain from my neck. A half-coin swung from it as a
pendant.
"Place this in his hand. It is a sign. It has power to lay the evil
spirit which troubles this house," I told him gravely.
He seized upon it with an eager hand. "In the name of God!" said The
Jinnee, and fairly flew out of the room.
A minute later, his violin grasped in one hand, my chain in the
other, Nicholas Jelnik appeared. His appearance shocked me. The mask
was off; here was stark and naked misery.
"Nicholas!" I said, "Nicholas!"
"You should not have come!" he said roughly. "Why have you come? I
did not want you to see me--thus. Is it not enough for me to
suffer?" And he made an impatient, imploring gesture. His lips
quivered.
"Put aside the violin, Ariel," I said. "But keep the coin."
He stiffened, as if he braced himself for further blows. But he laid
aside the violin, and with a supreme effort of will got himself in
hand. That early training in self-control worked a miracle now. Here
was no longer the wild, white-lipped musician, but a pale, proud
young man who faced me with stately politeness.
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