“Would you wait for me?” Manning was silent for a space. All about her, hither and yon, lay the enticing Unknown. 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. He did not quarrel with Rowland's profusion, for his own revenues were ample; but he did object to the large sums lavished by him in the service of a faction he was resolved not to support. Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. E.
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