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 climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass. That would be myself, or if she lived, Mary’s daughter. On this fresh outburst of the storm, Wood threw himself instinctively into the bottom of the boat, and clasping the little orphan to his breast, endeavoured to prepare himself to meet his fate. CHAPTER XXXII. Which, if we are not all of us very careful indeed, will be stolen from Miss Charvill. Help! help!" But her cries were unheeded. " "Why, surely you can't be in earnest, Captain. But I believe that Mr.
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