"It is your son. 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. It would have saved me much circumlocution, and you some suspense. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. She had need of a devoted cavalier and Jack had proved eminently valuable. . She leaped suddenly at a desperate resolution, and in one moment had made it into a new self. "Be still, and you'll receive no injury," returned Jackson.
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