" "Iss, Massa Ireton," replied the black. ‘You are really not helping matters, my friend. " Ben judged correctly. It was common name, so I was thrown off the scent. She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. The doctor had not heard from his people. 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.
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