‘That is good,’ she said with satisfaction, ‘for I was compelled on Saturday to abandon the chase. 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. " "That likeness is the chief cause of my misery," replied the widow, shuddering. Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. How she learned of her heritage I do not know, but you need not imagine that it is greed that drives her.
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