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. His course had been observed by the watchman, who directed Wild which way to take. Melusine did not pause, but reached down to grasp the hilt of his sword and lift it. One thing—he could be thankful for that—the peak of his misfortunes had been reached; the world might come to an end now and not matter in the least. Smith's melody had subsided. Luckily, Sir James was so much engrossed by his own task, that both the remark and gesture escaped him.
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