‘Who the devil is Leonardo?’ demanded Roding impatiently, asking the question that had leapt into the major’s mind. 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 was well for him that he had taken his place by Sheppard, as regard for the latter alone prevented the deadliest missiles being hurled at him. "Does your father doubt it? Speak! tell me!" Winifred made no answer. Guided by the glare of the forge, which threw a stream of ruddy light across the road, Jack soon found the place of which he was in search.
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