Now it is—’ ‘What are you doing still here, missie, that’s what I’d like to know?’ demanded the man Trodger, sticking to his guns. Lucy collapsed to the floor in a sob. “How CAN I tell him?” whispered Miss Stanley. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. She climbed back into the window an hour before sunrise. Still, it was rather terrible to suspect that one had fallen from grace, but nevertheless the thing was possible.
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