His relation of the murder of Sir Rowland petrified even his fierce auditors. 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. At least, he would always be able to take care of Ruth. ‘Well, nothing,’ uttered her betrothed crossly, before Gerald could answer. Promise me. She put a stool for him at a little distance from her own, and after he had seen the day’s work he hesitated, and then plunged into a resumption of their discussion about beauty. The mere fact that he was there in the train alongside her, helping her, sitting opposite to her in the dining-car, presently sleeping on a seat within a yard of her, made her heart sing until she was afraid their fellow passengers would hear it. “You did not tell me that you were going out, or I would have offered my escort.
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