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The hour for which, presumably, she had been created was drawing nigh. CHAPTER XXXI. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. "I shall behold the shameless hussy, face to face; and, if I find her as good-looking as she's represented, I don't know what I'll do in the end; but I'll begin by scratching her eyes out. "Inequality of rank can be no bar to our union," continued Kneebone. She went from period to period exactly as she would have read prose; so that sense and music were equally balanced.

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