It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. Come and see him, Lucia. ‘It does not matter, Jacques. Only your pa knew as how I were the one as saw to you at the wet-nurse’s cottage, and he got a-hold of me and made me bring him to you. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. And nothing to tell her where to begin. It was bad luck to go to Canongate. I too, Anna, have watched and read of your success with—I must confess it—some misgiving. Not if I read her aright. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. They were followed by Mr. Gianfrancesco ran from the room, tearing at his hair.
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