The surgeon wrote on a slip of paper the name of the medicine he wanted, and gave it to the woman of the house to fetch it from his home.
“Oh, Heavens,” said Maud, “will they murder the child—can they dip their hands in its innocent blood?—mercy—mercy.”
“Maud,” said Sir Francis.
“Hark—hark,” she cried. “Surely I hear music. Is it the passage of the angel’s wings through the sunny air, from the bright gates of Heaven—or is it human melody—ah, yes—you love me—you love me. By the moon—stars—zephyrs. Well, sing again the strain—sing, sing.”
In a low mournful voice, she chanted, rather than sun the following words,—
A Happy Time—A Happy Time!
“A happy time—a happy time!
I saw a child so gay
Trip lightly o’er the shining mead,
And laugh the hours away.