Chapter V

“And now you shall hear your own name called,” boomed the clergyman with enthusiasm, “and realize the beauty and importance of your own note in the music of life.”

And while Spinrobin trembled from head to toe Mr. Skale bore down upon him and laid a hand upon his shoulder.  He looked up into the clergyman’s luminous eyes.  His glance next wandered down the ridge of that masterful nose and lost itself among the flowing strands of the tangled beard.  At that moment it would hardly have surprised him to see the big visage disappear, and to hear the Sound, of which it was the visible form, slip into his ears with a roar.

But side by side with the vague terror of the unknown he was conscious also of a smaller and more personal pang.  For a man may envy other forms, yet keenly resent the possible loss or alteration of his own.  And he remembered the withered arm and the deafness.

“But,” he faltered, yet ashamed of his want of courage, “I don’t want to lose my present shape, or—­come back—­without—­”

“Have no fear,” exclaimed the other with decision.  “Miriam and myself have not been experimenting in vain these three weeks.  We have found your name.  We know it accurately.  For we are all one chord, and as I promised you, there is no risk.”  He stopped, lowering his voice; and, taking the secretary by the arm with a fatherly and possessive gesture, “Spinrobin,” he whispered solemnly, “you shall learn the value and splendor of your Self in the melody of the Universe—­that burst of divine music!  You shall understand how closely linked you are to myself and Mrs. Mawle, but, closest of all, to Miriam.  For Miriam herself shall call your name, and you shall hear!”

So little Miriam was to prove his executioner, or his redeemer.  That was somehow another matter.  The awe with which these experiments of Mr. Skale’s inspired him ebbed considerably as he turned and saw the appealing, wistful expression of his other examiner.  Brave as a lion he felt, yet timid as a hare; there was no idea of real resistance in him any longer.

“I’m ready, then,” he said faintly, and the girl came up softly to his side and sought his face with a frank innocence of gaze that made no attempt to hide her eagerness and joy.  She accepted the duty with delight, proudly conscious of its importance.

“I know thee by name and thou art mine,” she murmured, taking his hand.

“It makes me happy, yet afraid,” he replied in her ear, returning the caress; and at that moment the clergyman who had gone to fetch his violin, returned into the room with a suddenness that made them both start—­for the first time.  Very slightly, with the first sign of that modesty which comes with knowledge he had yet noticed in her, or felt conscious of in himself, she withdrew, a wonderful flush tinging her pale skin, then passing instantly away.