When she finished the room was very still. The big Englishman had no
words for such a moment. The music had swept him up to unexpected
heights of emotion. While Drusilla sang he had glimpsed for the first
time the meaning of democracy, he had seen, indeed, in a great and
lofty sense, for the first time--America.
Among the shadows a young man shrank in his seat. His vision was not
of Democracy, but of a freezing night--of a ragged old voice rising
from the blackness of a steep ravine--
"Oh, be swift, my soul--to answer--Him--
Be jubilant my feet--"
Why had Drusilla chosen that of all songs? Oh, why had she sung at all?
A maid came in to say that Mr. Drake was wanted at the telephone. The
message was from Dr. McKenzie. The General was much worse. It might
be well for Derry to come home.
So Derry, with a great sense of relief, got away from the frigid
Captain, and from the flaming Drusilla, and from Peggy with her flushed
air of apology, and went out into the stormy night. He had preferred
to walk, although his shoes were thin. "It isn't far," he had said
when Margaret expostulated, "and I'll send my car for Drusilla and
Captain Hewes.
Pages:
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117