Sabine Baring-Gould

“ Coppinger looked at it, with a curl of his lips; then handed it back to Mr. Menaida.
"Why is it here?"
"I brought it here to show it her. I am very proud of my son," said Uncle Zachie.
Coppinger was in an irritable mood, captious about trifles. Why did he ask questions about this little picture? Why look suspiciously at Judith as he did so—suspiciously and threateningly?
"Do you play on the piano? " asked Coppinger. "When the evil spirit was on Saul, David struck the harp and sent the spirit away. ”

“ In Coppinger's presence she felt nerved to stand on the defensive, and more, to attack. A threat in his whole bearing, in his manner of addressing her, roused every energy she possessed.
"I tell you," said he, harshly, "if any man had used the word you threw at me yesterday, I would have murdered him; I would have split his skull with the handle of my crop."
"You raised your hand to do it to me," said Judith.
"No!" he exclaimed, violently. "It is false; come here, and let me see if you have the courage, the fearlessness you affect. You women are past-masters of dissembling. Come here ”

“ Menaida, who hastily carried it into the adjoining room, where the sight of it might no longer irritate the Captain.
"What shall I play?—I mean, strum?" asked Judith, looking at Uncle Zachie. "Beethoven? No—Haydn. Here are his 'Seasons’. I can play 'Spring.'"
She had a light, but firm touch. Her father had been a man of great musical taste, and he had instructed her. But she had, moreover, the musical faculty in her, and she played with the spirit and with the understanding also. Wondrous is the power of music, passing that of fabled necromancy. ”

“ He paused, drew his thick brows together till they formed a band across his forehead. "I tell you that none has ever wronged me by a blade of grass or a flock of wool but has paid for it a thousand-fold. ”

“ It may do me good. Heaven knows it is not often I have the leisure, or the occasion, or am in the humor for music. I would hear what you can do."
Judith looked at Uncle Zachie.
"I cannot play," she said; "that is to say, I can play, but not now, and on this piano."
But Mr. Menaida interfered and urged her to play. He was afraid of Coppinger.
She seated herself on the music-stool and considered for a moment. The miniature was again on the stand. Coppinger put out his stick and thrust it off, and it would have fallen had not Judith caught it. She gave it to Mr. ”