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He spent a good deal more money and time than he could afford upon the little room at the top of the house, in producing new lapidary apparatus and new microscopic accessories and in rubbing down slices of rock to a transparent thinness and mounting them in a beautiful and dignified manner. 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. “I didn’t know you were half-Gypsy either. “Last time I saw you,” he reminded her, “you spoke, did you not, of obtaining some employment in London. ” She looked at him; his face, downcast and in profile, was handsome and strong. The chief influence was her awakening sense of the need of money. Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the well. “So is Mr. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad.
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