“I cannot but conclude,” he said, “that your errand involved the recital to my wife of some trouble in which you find yourself. ‘Even the nuns they say I am like a devil. They all stay!” “And you yourself?” Brendon laughed. ” “Well?” “Sir John came to me—that you know—and you can guess what I told him. This is altogether insupportable. Her eardrums were burning with the echoes of those hideous shouts. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. 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. "'The Man Who Could Not Go Home.
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