The body of Sir Rowland was then laid on the large table. ‘I’m a soldier, missie. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. The thought made her exquisitely happy. Will you take it in to him?” The young man smiled in a superior manner. He had said so. Feigning an air of casualness, Lucy asked the obvious.
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