“She was the High Priestess who turned me in Greece, before Rome. "Patience Kite has lured him to Enfield on a false scent after Blueskin. There he sat as before, with the heavy fetters on his limbs, and beside him sat his three companions, who had since expiated their offences on the gibbet. "I've counted ten coffins so far. 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. A sea voyage under sail will be the making of him. His own peculiar genius—a miracle key to the hidden things in men's souls—had given him this immediate and astonishing illumination. We’ve done nothing to deserve it.
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