"It's exquisite!" he said vehemently. "Can't you see how much every one likes it?"
"Do you?" queried Jinnie, looking up at him.
"I love it, child; I love it.... Will you play again, please?"
A flame of joy suffused her as again she turned to the open-eyed crowd.
"Once," she informed them, "a big lion was hurt in the forest by lightning.... This--is--how he died."
She slowly raised the instrument, and sounded a vibrant, resonant, minor tone, measured, full and magnificent. Each listener sank back with a sigh.
Jinnie knew the mysteries of the forest as well as a singer knows his song, and she had not presented ten notes to the imagination of Theodore's friends before they were carried away from the dainty room in which they sat--away into a dense woodland where, for a few minutes, she demonstrated the witching wonders of it. Then she slipped the bow between her teeth and struck the violin strings with the backs of her fingers. The vibrations of impetuous harmony swept softly through the lighted room. Louder and louder was heard the awful fury of approaching thunder, while twinkling string-touches flashed forth the lightning between the sonorous peals.
Jinnie never knew how the fiddle was capable of expressing the cautious tread of the terrified king of beasts in his isolated kingdom, but her listeners beheld him steal cautiously from the underbrush. They saw him crouch in abject terror at the foot of a wide-spreading, gigantic tree, lashing his tail in elemental rage. Then another scintillating flash of lightning, and the beast caught it full in the face. The slender hand of the little player was poised above the strings for a single vibrating moment, during which she stood in a listening attitude. Then, with the sweep of three slender fingers, the lion's scream cut the air like a two-edged sword.
Death came on rapidly in deep, resounding roars, and the misery of the cringing, suffering brute was unfolded--told in heart-rending intonations, until at last he gave up his breath in one terror-stricken cry.
Jinnie dropped her hands suddenly. "He's dead," she said tremulously. "Poor, poor lion!"
She turned tear-wet eyes to Theodore King.
"Shall I play any more?" she asked, shyly.
The man shook his head, not permitting himself to speak.
"Miss Grandoken has given us a wonderful entertainment," said he to his friends; then turning to her, he held out his hand, "I want to thank you, Miss Grandoken."
Many people crowded around her, asking where and how she had learned such music.
Molly the Merry, the mystified expression still on her face, drew near.
Again Jinnie smiled at her, hoping the lovely lips would acknowledge their former acquaintanceship. But as another person, a man, stepped between her and the woman, Jinnie glanced up at him. He was very handsome, but involuntarily the girl shuddered. There was something in the curling of his lips that was cruel, and the whiteness of his teeth accentuated the impression. His eyes filled her with dread.