'Look! See how it goes up to mother Mary.

She twists it round her distaff and spins it with her spindle.

See, marquis, see! Spout, horse, spout.' She lay silent again for a long time.

The old man sat holding her hand; her mother sat on the farther side of the bed, leaning against one of the foot-posts, and watching the white face of her darling with eyes in which love ruled distraction.

Dorothy sat in one of the window-seats, and listened to the music, which still came surging in, for still the fool blew the bellows, and the blind youth struck the keys.