The cavatina came to an end, the last notes--those wonderful
notes!--floating lingeringly like a human voice, and yet more exquisite
than any human voice. Falconer lowered his violin, the applause broke
out again as vehemently and enthusiastically as if the crowd below were
at an ordinary concert, and Drake made his way to the player. As he did
so, he stumbled over a violin case, the servants with a little cry--for
the stumble of an Earl of Angleford is a matter of importance--moved
apart, and Drake, putting out his hand as he recovered himself, touched
Mrs. Hawksley's arm.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "Ah! is it you, Mrs. Hawksley? You are so
pleasantly dark up here."
His eyes wandered from her face to that of the girl who had been
shrinking behind her, and he paused, as if smitten by some sudden
thought or memory. But Nell rose quickly and hid herself in the group,
and Drake went on to Falconer.
"Thank you again," he said. "I have never heard the cavatina--it was it,
wasn't it?--better played. I am the bearer of a message from the Duchess
of Cleavemere, Mr. Falconer. If you are not engaged, the duchess would
be very glad if you could play for her at Cleavemere Court on the ninth
of next month. I ask you at once and so unceremoniously, because her
grace is anxious to know. The ninth."
Falconer bowed.
"May I consider, my lord?" he began hesitatingly.
"Why, certainly," said Drake, in the frank, pleasant fashion which Nell
knew so well. "Will you send me word? Thanks. That is a fine violin you
have."
"It was my father's," said Falconer simply, and unconsciously pressing
the instrument closer to him, as if it were a living thing, a
well-beloved child.
He had often sold, pawned his belongings for bread, and as often had
forgotten his cold and hunger because his precious violin had remained
in his possession; that he had never pawned.
Drake nodded, as if he understood; then he looked round.
"Isn't there some supper going, Mrs. Hawksley?" he said pleasantly.
The old lady curtsied in stately fashion.
"Yes, my lord."
"Then it's high time Mr. Falconer--and the rest of us--were at it," he
said; and, with a smile and a nod, he left the gallery.
He would have taken Falconer with him to the supper in the banquet room
below, but he knew that, though none of the men or women there would
have remarked, or cared about, the old velvet jacket, the musician would
be conscious of it, and be embarrassed by it.