A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. Amid this varied throng,—varied in appearance, but alike in character,—one object alone, we have said, rivetted Mrs. He was tender with her as he had not been in years. Ramage looked at her for a long and discriminating interval without speaking. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object.
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