SET TO MUSIC.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1266, 4 June 1896, Page 8

SET TO MUSIC.

(By ROBERT ALLAN.)

(Written for the New Zealand Mail J " Did you ever care for me V " I care for you now, Amber." Amber Vane looked back at her companion half seriously, her reddish hair in a halo about her heavy features. "Do you love me?" she wont on, her face emotionless. He did not answer. " Well?" she queried. "I did once," be answered evenly, hi 3 white eyelashes drawn down. She scoffed at him, " You did once ? - you love me still." Ho moved in his chair wearily. " 'You have that which binds me," ho said, "And that is" ? " Your art, Amber," he answered. He rose and looked at his watch ; the sullen moan of a rising sea came through the open window. " Are you going ?" she asked. " Yes !" he sdd. "Don't go, Jack," she said, a faint

pleading in her voice. " An engagement, Amber." She went to the piano, playing softly, her head bent low, her lip 3 smiling. "Good-bye '." he said. She did net answer ; a soft melody had given birth, low down ia tho bass—a faint air sobbing, murmuring—a touch of that art which bound his senses -and yet ho did not love her. Like a breath of sunset wind, her playing died away, leaving the hot blood in his face. Ho buttoned his coat angrily. She glanced at him out the side of her eyes. Slowly, majestically, she played the tirst bar of Beethoven's "Funeral March"—a rumbling measure—the return of a soul—the birth of a new life. ; ,He sat down again, his heart beating ; she played on softly in measured chords. Ho looksd at her, an awful yearning in his eyes ; she had forgotten him in her art. The roll of drums, the stamp of horses came slowly in upon their souls, louder, ever louder, the creaks of guncarriages, the rattle of arm«, the measured tread "of tho soldiers. Ever louder, a noble chord, a stately bar of octaves low .down in the bass, dying away softly, sadly ; tho wail of tho stricken mourners, whispering, vising, ever rising, with the rattlo of arms, of lumbering guns. Bar upon bar she played, and each beat struck upon his heart ; she playing, her head bent low, her thoughts bound in another life. Solemnly the booming of guns rang out ; sharply tho last volley rattled over the lifeless clay, softly, ever softly, tho spirit passed from the heart of tho silent mourners —in the wondrous hush lay the deep drawn pulsation of afflicated men. She sat with her hands upon the keys, a far away murmur in tho silence. Ho walked over to her unsteadily, a sob in his throat. Ho put his arms across her shoulders. " Amber ! " he whispered, " Ambor ! 1 love you ! I love you ! " She looked up at him as though half awakened.

" I love you," he repeated. "Mo! ft is my ait," she said bitterly, and he, looking at tho fast dying touch of tho soul within her eyes, knew only too well that she spoke truly. She road tha doubt in his face ; she rose quietly, tho old smile on her lip 3. "Good-bye ! " he said. " Good night," she answered, her voice emotionless, and he left her standing there, wondering why he could not love her as he loved her arc.