She was flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black. You will survive, mark my words. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. He drew a chair to the side of the bed and sat down, terrified by the utter fallowness of his mind. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. And mind he doesn't stir out of your sight, on any pretence whatever, till I call.
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