“My dear sweet Lucia. ” His voice rose and fell amidst the music and the singing of Tristan and King Mark, like a voice heard in a badly connected telephone. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. “I hope you realize,” he went on, in a lower and less assured tone, “that I am in earnest—very much in earnest. It comes over the mountains, Anna, pink darkening into orange red, everywhere a wonderful cloud sea, scintillating with colour. Wood cut him short by stating his intention of crossing the river as soon as possible in order to avoid the storm.
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