Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. ‘Tell me, my boy. I suppose most of our daughters would marry organ-grinders if they had a chance—at that age. ” He did not appear to require any answer to his question. Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling.
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