Sometimes a tiny frown drew his eyebrows
together. Sometimes she clenched and uncurled his warm hands.
Sometimes he sucked softly at nothing, with moist, reminiscent lips.
But on and on, over and over, rose and fell the quaint old song,
"My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream!"
It flooded the listening house, it spread a net of dreams about the
happy people and coaxed them back to childhood and a child's
protected sleep. It seemed a song that could not stop, that must
return on its simple refrain so long as there were arms to encircle
and breasts to lean upon.
Two men came softly up a smaller stair than the grand entrance
flight, and paused in amazement at sight of Caroline stretched, full
length, across the threshold. The older and smaller of the men had
in fact stepped on her, and confused and half awake she listened to
his apologies.
"Sh! sh!" he whispered excitedly, "not a vordt! not a vordt! Mein
Gott! but it is marvellous! A voice of velvet! Hey? A voice of the
heart. My friend, what is this?"
He peeped behind the drawn curtains, and withdrew a face of wonder.
"It is nothing but children--and they sleep!" he whispered. "Oh, but
listen, listen! And I offered her fifteen hundred dollars for two
hours only of that!"
The other man peeped behind the curtain in his turn, and seizing
Caroline by the arm tip-toed with her to a further room.
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