" "Be pacified, sweet soul," said Wood, looking meaningly at Thames; "you shall go, and I will accompany you. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them. Our ideal had fallen. Let us pass, Sir. But no; she must step warily. Nothing material occurred to Newgate, until the memorable year 1666, when it was utterly destroyed by the Great Fire. They were childless and servantless, and they had reduced simple living to the finest of fine arts. Wood lifted up his hands in mute despair. 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. There must be something behind the missioner's actions, something of which the girl knew nothing nor suspected. She resolved not to allow him or her hunger detract from the performance at hand, as it would be a special one, an evening to be remembered in the gray days to follow like a precious jewel. ” That phrase about dragging the truth through swamps of nonsense she remembered from Capes.
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