God help thee, De Arthenay! God speed and prosper thee, Rosin the
Beau!

But is not another name more fitting even than the fantastic one of
his adoption? Is not this Blondel, faithful, patient, undaunted,
wandering by tower and town, singing his song of love and hope and
undying loyalty under every window, till it shall one day fall like a
breath from heaven on the ear of the prisoner, sitting in darkness and
the shadow of death?




CHAPTER X.

DARKNESS.


"And how's our sweet little lady to-day? She's looking as pretty as a
picture, so it's a pleasure to look at her. How are you feeling,
dearie?"

It was a woman's voice that spoke, soft and wheedling, yet with a
certain unpleasant twang in it. She spoke to Melody, who sat still,
with folded hands, and head bowed as if in a dream.

"I am well, thank you," answered the child; and she was silent again.

The woman glanced over her shoulder at a man who had followed her into