" "I think I remember reading something about your father in the papers," observed Wood. "Thanks," he said, holding out a thin white hand. 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. God! I have cheated myself into a belief that the boy perished! And now my worst fears are realized —he lives!" "As yet," returned Jonathan, with fearful emphasis. “Dear me, what a relief! If I had had any nerves that man would have trampled upon them long ago. He drew a little breath and stepped back.
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