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Updated: June 5, 2025
Nikkolay's wife, Dame Cecelia; Rovard Grauffis; Lady Lavina Karvall he must have slept a long time, for she was so much older than he remembered and her brother, Burt Sandrasan. And a woman with dark hair, in a white smock with a gold caduceus on her breast. Once, Duchess Flavia, and once Duke Angus himself. He asked where he was, not much caring. They told him, at the Ducal Palace.
But the first face he saw was Crane's. The Secret Service man stood within a yard. To him as to a rock of refuge Cecelia Brooke had flown, to his hand she was clinging like a frightened child, trying to speak, failing because she choked on sobs and gasps of horror.
That incident is one of those in my Secret Service work of which I am not entirely proud. Of course from my viewpoint Cecelia Coursan was not a woman, she was simply the paid agent of another government and it was a case of her wits against mine; at least with this sophistry I quieted my doubts. Three years later I found the same little woman in an obscure cafe in Antwerp.
Retrospective consideration of that voyage left little room for doubt that the designs of the German agents had been thoughtfully matured. They had been quiet enough between their first stroke in the dark and their last, between the burglary of Cecelia Brooke's stateroom the first night out and those murderous attacks on Bartholomew and Thackeray.
The picture of Ann, the first he painted, showed her as Saint Cecelia hearkening to music which sounds from Heaven in her ears. Two sweet angel babes floated on thin clouds above her head, singing hymns to a mandoline and viol.
Debrett, as Cecelia Anne teetered up and down on her heels and toes before him, read the list again, counted up the total expenditure and admitted that his ward had got remarkably good value for her money. "But what are all these 'tickets, my dear?" he asked her. "Eden Musee," answered Cecelia Anne. And the very thought of it drew her to her mother's knee.
"You can go and get dressed for dinner now. And to-morrow morning if I'm not using the wheel maybe I'll let you use it awhile." "Oh, fank you!" said Cecelia Anne who had never quite outgrown her babyhood's lisp, "and can I have the saddle lowered so's I can reach the pedals?" "Oh, I s'pose so," said Jimmie grudgingly. "Sometimes you act just like a girl.
I need not instruct you. Mind you flatter her beauty, though-extend on the kindness of the Judge, and be sure you get it in that it was me who betrayed her at the St. Cecelia. All right old boy, eh?" and shaking McArthur by the hand warmly, he takes his departure, bowing himself into the street. The old man says he will be all ready when she comes.
Now, Cecelia Anne, restored to her friends from a wonderland sort of dream, called going West with papa on the train and living with Aunt Elizabeth, was too full of narration and too excited by the envious regard of untraveled playmates to trouble overmuch about that scene in the long drawing-room which she had never clearly understood.
On week-days, when the church is empty, they seem to prefigure the two ideals of the religion which they serve the stern, self-conquering asceticism of a Saint Dominic, and the exquisite, radiant visions which Saint Cecelia saw when heavenly music was vouchsafed her.
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