The music throbbed into the warnings that preceded the king’s irruption. There was a moment’s breathless and disappointed silence. 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. . . " "So he is," returned Jack; "but there's no saying how long he may remain so. Quilt, meanwhile, came down, examined the door, and finding it unfastened, locked it with a bitter imprecation on his brother-janizary's carelessness. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple.
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