“That sounds quite absurd,” she answered. Wild is sure to be up. It is I who took the burden of your misdeeds upon my shoulders that you might become Lady Ferringhall. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. 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. It had been part of her wedding trousseau, a gift from her family to his. He was asleep when Jonathan entered, and growled at being disturbed.
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