Tell me all that happened, one sister-woman to another. But if I escape, my gratitude—" "Pshaw!" interrupted Jonathan, scornfully. Still he had a decent look, and decidedly the air of one well-to-do in the world. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. Men had tried that before, but never until now had they been quick enough. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind.
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