So, while she watched, distressed and bewildered by her tumbling thoughts, the packet, Canton bound, ruffled the placid waters of the Pearl River. "I don't know how it is," he added in a low voice to Thames, as they were left alone, "but I've a strange foreboding of ill. ’ ‘But I find it was extremely kind of him,’ protested Melusine, ‘and since it is that he is not any more under arrest—’ ‘No, he ain’t,’ interrupted Trodger in some dudgeon. She visualized him as in a policeman’s uniform and quite impassive. He told her something about music, the great world outside. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. “Shhh. A wide terrace then led to large iron gates,' over which were placed the two celebrated figures of Raving and Melancholy Madness, executed by the elder Cibber, and commemorated by Pope in the Dunciad, in the wellknown lines:— "Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne, And laughs to think Monroe would take her down, Where, o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand, Great Cibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand. ‘Please to sit, monsieur.
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