The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. She laughed a little bitterly. Some foul murder has been committed. Meet me. Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. “I am tired,” she said, “and I want to rest. The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer. “Don’t think so,” Drummond answered. He knew it to be St. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. There are no funerals among the poor, only burials.
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