"Or be punished for treason? Has your Majesty any other behest?"
"No; I shall even turn the leaves for you."
"The leaves of what, --memory? I'll play by rote."
He strolled over to the piano and sat down. He struck a few random chords, some soft, some florid, some harsh, some melting; he strung them together and then glided into a dreamy, melodious rhythm, that faded into a bird-like hallelujah, --swelling now into grandeur, then fainting into sobs, then rushing into an allegro so brilliantly bewildering that when the closing chords came like the pealing tones of an organ, Ruth drew a long sigh with the last lingering vibrations.
"What is that?" asked Levice, looking curiously at his nephew, who, turning on his music-chair, took up his cigar again.
"That," he replied, flecking an ash from his coat lappel, "has no name that I know of; some people call it 'The Soul.'"
A pained sensation shot through Ruth at his words, for he had plainly been improvising, and he must have felt what he had played.
"Here, Ruth, sing this," he continued, turning round and picking up a sheet of music.
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and he pulled up short, for, instinctively, he knew that
He saw that he had spoken to some purpose. The Hun blinked
‘Do you trust him?’ asked the lady, after a thoughtful
desolate magnificence, marble overgrown with ivy, gardens
At certain seasons they catch also, in “corrales,”
as the Julian haven, once thronged with the shipping of
bars, the double doors were opened, and a grey-headed slave
a half-deck, and—sails as yet being useless—four great
Was it, though, the ever beautiful blossoms of hollyhocks
When safe from being overheard, Basil recounted to his
man more common interests than the cultured guests of Bwana
its ancient temples and villas stretching along the shore