“Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. "Don't go, I beg of you!" she implored. There are, then, in this sorry world, people who can be disinterestedly kind!" The doctor laughed, gave Spurlock's shoulder a pat, and left the room. ‘What could either of us have done?’ To Gerald’s acute consternation, Melusine’s lip trembled suddenly, and her eyes filled. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice. But she was disturbed, mysteriously disturbed. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. CHAPTER XXX. .
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