“Just look that through, will you. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. 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. She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms. 219 “Some in Europe, a few down south, none here.
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