"Stop a minute," cried Jack, detaining his mistresses. 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 had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. Glancing around his prison, he began to think it possible he might effect an escape from it. His father and his four brothers had perished, leaving him to collect all of their spoils and various kingdoms. “Let me think,” said Ann Veronica.
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