“Let me hasten,” she said, “to reassure you. Wood will protect you," urged Mrs. Your life is like a funeral March. ” He intoned. Each morning his inquiry was properly answered: the patient was steadily improving, but none could say when he would be strong enough to proceed upon his journey. "This is your work," said the knight, sternly. ‘That,’ he said stonily, ‘is yet another point over which we fell out. 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.
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