was ineffably sympathetic I would not have you confound this quality
either with the sepulchral or the aspirated tone which usually is
made to do duty for sympathy, especially in contralto voices. Every
note was as distinct, as brilliantly resonant, as a cello in a
master's hand. So clear, so full the notes rang out that I could
plainly feel the chair vibrate beneath me.

"In the gloaming, O my darling!
When the lights are dim and low,
And the quiet shadows falling
Softly come and softly go.
When the winds are sobbing faintly
With a gentle unknown woe,
Will you think of me and love me
As you did once, long ago?

"In the gloaming, O my darling!
Think not bitterly of me,
Though I passed away in silence,
Left you lonely, set you free.
For my heart was crushed with longing.
What had been could never be:
It was best to leave you thus, dear,
Best for you and best--"


But the line was never finished. With a wild cry, more of fear than
of pain, Darrow sprang from his chair. "Gentlemen, I have been
stabbed!" was all he said, and fell back heavily into his seat. Gwen
was kneeling before him in an instant, even before I could assist