"What poet was that?" "Stevenson. She made a curious movement toward her niece, then suddenly, convulsively, she dabbed down something lumpy on the table and turned to follow her brother. But he was at last persuaded that I mean you no harm, and that I might—just possibly, since I am both a gentleman and a major of militia—be able to be of more assistance to you than he himself. After that night she made it a habit. She felt the bedsprings coil as he moved from his seated position, entranced. He savored the last solo, the coda. ‘Gammon. While this was taking place, another and more serious interruption occurred. Only how had they missed him? Were they imbecile? Or perhaps the mists had concealed him from them.
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