The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. “I knew you wouldn’t mind. "What proof have you of the truth of this story?" inquired Trenchard. “In a sense—yes. "Sir Rowland must be gone. Hilary threw up his eyes. The manager, however, who stood in the wings, nodded to her to proceed, and the orchestra commenced the first few bars of the music. Yet before she turned once more to resume her flight she schooled herself with an effort to look where it had happened. The cause of this uproar was soon manifest. "Here," repeated her brother. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind.
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