No good at all. Although Melusine had taken care to trouble herself about the hand she had cut, and was glad to find it healing very well. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. "Here he is, waterman," exclaimed the benevolent carpenter. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. " "Accident or not," rejoined Sheppard; "you're no longer pall of mine.
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