“No, no! if you please, stay with me. The music; will you play again?”
“Yes, the music is ver goot; ver goot for te pain.”
“Oh, mamma! let us play, then.”
Both mother and daughter took up their instruments, and again commenced playing.
I listened to the sweet strains, watching the fair musicians a long while. My eyes at length became heavy, and the realities before me changed into the soft outlines of a dream.
My dream was broken by the abrupt cessation of the music. I thought I heard, through my sleep, the opening of a door. When I looked to the spot lately occupied by the musicians, I saw that they were gone. The bandolin had been thrown down upon the ottoman, where it lay, but “she” was not there.
I could not, from my position, see the whole of the apartment; but I knew that someone had entered at the outer door, I heard expressions of welcome and endearment, a rustling of dresses, the words “Papa!”
“My little Zoe”; the latter uttered in the voice of a man. Then followed some explanations in a lower tone, which I could not hear.
A few minutes elapsed, and I lay silent and listening. Presently there were footsteps in the hall. A boot, with its jingling rowels, struck upon the tiled floor. The footsteps entered the room, and approached the bed. I started, as I looked up. The Scalp-hunter was before me!