I don’t know. There's more than I undertook to bring. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. His manner, however, was as stern and haughty as ever, and his glances retained their accustomed fire. 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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