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. "Ah! you are there, my dear young lady," said the widow, smiling faintly; "when I first waken, I'm always in dread of finding myself again in that horrible asylum. Do they, Bess?" "Certainly not," replied the young lady appealed to, "especially about their sons. “All right so far,” she said to herself. "Man, man! You're coming to life. “A thick-set, coarse-looking young man, Anna!” she exclaimed in a hoarse excited whisper.
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