Nor power to command,
But thou should’st have a guileless heart,
An open, unstained hand.
So should thou happy be, my babe,
A thing of joy and light;
While others struggled for despair,
You’d wish but to be right.”
The song abruptly ceased, for the loud tones of men reached the ears of the singer, crying,—
“Murder!—Hunt him—secure the murderer! This way—this way!”
Those sounds roused Gray from his temporary inaction: he started forward as if he had received some sudden and irresistible shock.