. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. He shrieked with agony, and clung with desperate tenacity to the roughened stones. 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. She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork. Mounting the door he had last opened, he placed his hands on the wall above, and quickly drew himself up.
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