The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also in order “to distract his mind. Martin said “Hi” to her in the halls every day now, a sure sign of trouble. "He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back.
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