Jordan had taken Gertrude home. He was very careful not to ask her any
questions that would cause her pain. On reaching the house he lighted a
lamp and helped her take off her cloak.
"How do you feel?" he asked in a kindly tone, "are you better?"
Gertrude turned to one side, and sat down on a chair.
"Well, we'll drink a cup of hot tea," continued the old man; "then my
child will go to bed, and to-morrow morning she will be all right again.
Yes?"
Gertrude got up. "Father," she sighed, and felt around for the tea table
as a means of support.
"Gertrude, what is the matter?" cried Jordan in dismay.
She moved the upper part of her body in her characteristic way--as
though it were limp and she were trying to drag it along with her--and a
faint smile came over her face. All of a sudden she burst out crying and
ran to her room. Jordan heard her bolt the door, looked anxiously before
him, waited a moment or two, and then crept up to her door on his
tiptoes.
He placed his hands under his chin and listened. Gertrude was crying. It
was an even and touching cry, not so much filled with grief as her sobs
generally were, and seemed to be expiratory rather than the reverse.
As Jordan let the lonely, unhappy, and impenetrable life of his daughter
pass by him in mental review, he became painfully aware of the fact that
this was the first time in her life that she had ever heard real music.
"Is it possible?" he asked. He tried to think of another time that would
make him disbelieve the accuracy of his unpleasant observation.
He said to himself: Her case is simple; the hitherto unknown sweetness
and power concealed in the ensemble playing of the violins, the euphony
of the orchestra, and the beauty of the melody with all its fateful
directness has made the same impression on her that the sunlight makes
on a person from whose eyes a cataract has just been removed. Her soul
has suffered from hunger; that is where the trouble lies. She has
struggled too fiercely with the incomprehensible and the intangible.
His instinct of love told him that the best thing to do was to let her
cry. It will do her good; it will relieve her soul. He pulled a chair up
to her door, sat down, and listened. When he could no longer hear her
crying, his heart grew easier.