Ireton and Langley had returned from a second unsuccessful search; Marvel had come thither to bid good-night to Mrs. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. "Hoddy, Hoddy!… No, no! This is my father!" warned Ruth. She drew a breath, and sighed it out. Her voice was weak and flat. She entered quietly and padded up to her shared bedroom. It was still so dark, that nothing could be distinguished except the heavy masses of timber by which the premises were surrounded; but as they advanced, lights were visible in some of the windows.
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