The fever came. The storm burst upon them in its fury. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. All this while he was arranging the medicines on the stand and jotting down his instructions on a chart sheet. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland. “We can be alone?” She inquired. I had never dreamed of such a friend as you.
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