Angelina's distress over these mischances was pathetic. Stanley used his authority, and commanded Ann Veronica to come home, to which, of course, she said she wouldn’t; and then he warned her not to defy him, warned her very solemnly, and then commanded her again. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. The house was invisible from the road, and yet enormous once within view. 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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