The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. ‘Merci,’ Melusine said, and smiled. 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. She thought gleefully of the dress she would get to wear for the Ball (Prom?) and could not wait to tell her foster family about how excited she was. "Take it," cried Wood, holding the infant towards her; "take it, and fly. The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild's door. In the next box hangs the rope by which he suffered.
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