"Why, Helen my girl!" cried the doctor, "how pale you are. What are you frightened at?"
"Do you not hear?" said the girl. "It is the cry of the owl; they say it is a sign of death in the house."
"Come, Helen," said Hardcase, "you must not be superstitious; those things are all nonsense."
"Oh, no, I can assure you——" began the girl, when Mr. Oldstone broke in.
"I say, Mr. Poet Laureate, look how your fair companion trembles at your side. Cannot you think of some lay that might cheer her spirits and dispel her fears? Just try."
"Well," answered he of the laurel crown, "talking about owls, I once kept a pet owl myself, that I captured one night in a nook under the arches of the Colosseum. He was a great favourite of mine, and used to perch on the top of my easel when I was at work, and watch every movement I made. I composed an ode to him. If you would like to hear it——"
"Oh, by all means," promptly answered Oldstone.
"In that case, Jack," said McGuilp, addressing our host, "you will oblige me by getting my mandoline. I mean that musical instrument that you will find in the corner of my room upstairs, just by way of accompaniment."
Jack Hearty left the room, and returned soon with the instrument.
"Ah, now we shall hear some music," said Oldstone rubbing his hands, and by this time Helen seemed to have forgotten her fears, and her eyes glistened in anticipation.