" "Hush!" replied Mrs. "Tell him that I—his adopted son, Thames Darrell— am detained here by Jonathan Wild. 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. A sense of impending disaster was upon him. He made it brief. Groping their way through one or two dark and mouldy-smelling vaults, the party ascended a flight of steps, which brought them to the hall.
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