She came to herself, and then first knew that, like sleep, the
music had seized her unawares, and she had been understanding, or
at least enjoying, without knowing it. The man was approaching
her from his dark corner. His face was shining, but plainly he
did not intend more music, for his violin was already under his
arm. He made her a little awkward bow--not much more than a nod,
and turned to the door. He had it half open, and not yet could
Mary speak. For Letty, she was fast asleep.
From the top of the stair came the voice of Ann, screaming:
"Here's your hat, Joe. I knew you'd be going when you played
that. You'd have forgotten it, I know!"
Mary heard the hat come tumbling down the stair.
"Thank you, Ann," returned Joe. "Yes, I'm going. The ladies don't
care much for my music. Nobody does but myself. But, then, it's
good for me." The last two sentences were spoken in soliloquy,
but Mary heard them, for he stood with the handle of the door in
his hand. He closed it, picked up his hat, and went softly down
the stair.
The spell was broken, and Mary darted to the door. But, just as
she opened it, the outer door closed behind the strange musician,
and she had not even learned his name.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
A CHANGE.
As soon as Letty had strength enough to attend to her baby
without help, Mary, to the surprise of her mistress, and the
destruction of her theory concerning her stay in London,
presented herself at Durnmelling, found that she was more welcome
than looked for, and the same hour resumed her duties about
Hesper.
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