"I am your most unhappy son. ” Rhea whispered. . And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. That was the glorious if bewildering truth. "Come to me!" cried the poor maniac, who had crawled as far as the chain would permit her,—"come to me!" she cried, extending her thin arm towards him. 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. “I will take my chance. " Mechanically raising the potion to her lips, the poor creature swallowed it without hesitation. Nevertheless there came a residuum of expostulations.
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