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. Nothing could have been farther from Melusine’s mind. The hansom drove off. A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. “I had thought to go on to Kandersteg,” said Capes, “but this is a pleasant place. She opened her mouth and inhaled water.
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