” “Hah!” He threw his head back. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. He had studied alchemy and astronomy, was a capable painter, and even wrote music. A door led to the inner room; and it was evident from the peals of merriment, and other noises, that, ever and anon, resounded from within, that this chamber was occupied by the Marquis and his friends. “You are very stupid, Anna,” she said. She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. Here he set down the lamp, and took out a key, and as he did so the expression of his countenance was so atrocious, that Jack felt assured he was not wrong in his suspicions. “What do you mean, hanging round with my wife?” he answered fiercely. But there were two places of punishment which merit some notice from their peculiarity. Either it was an unfortunate recovery of a trail, or he had followed her from Mayfair. But here was new music, tender and kindly and whimsical, that first roved to and fro in the mind and then cuddled up in the heart.
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