“Nothing was ever done,” Miss Brett asserted, “without a certain element of Faith. John. M. Would Gerald wish his friend to follow the man? He had hardly registered the decision that he had best do so, albeit with some reluctance, when his trained senses alerted him to an extraordinary circumstance. “Call me Annabel. She tiptoed to the stand and gathered up the manuscripts which she carried to a chair by the window. Better to remain silent. 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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