’ ‘The what, miss?’ asked Kimble, frowning. ” “I don’t believe it,” he answered hoarsely. She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. My sister was scarcely likely to make a mistake. Had he been trying to stop the grim descent, and had he dimly perceived that perhaps a fine deed would serve as the initial barrier? A drunken idea—a pearl in the midst of a rubbish heap. It was convenient for Father Saint-Simon, who could enter this way and prepare in the little room before going up the narrow stair to the chapel above where the nuns waited. The novel danger of the situation enthralled him.
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