It is the very moment he had intended to be standing by her side, to hold her arm in his, and to make her feel that the music which pealed in long cadences through the midnight, and streamed through the draped windows into the room, was the passionate entreaty of his heart, the irresistible pathos of the love he bore her.
Somehow Grace Plumer is troubled.

She fears the fascination she enjoys.
She dreads the assumption of power over her which she has observed in Abel.

She recoils from the cold blackness she has seen in his eyes.

She sees it at this moment again, in that glittering glance which slips across the room and holds her as she stands.

Involuntarily she leans upon Sligo Moultrie, as if clinging to him.
There is more music ?--a lighter, then a sadder and lingering strain.