It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. ’ Melusine turned, an irrepressible giggle escaping her lips as she thought of the Mother Abbess in the convent at Blaye. It was long and narrow, with a ceiling supported by huge uncovered rafters, and so low as scarcely to allow a tall man like himself to stand erect beneath it. Her recent attitude towards him was undoubtedly a pose. ’ The lad Kimble moved swiftly to the door and walked out of the room. Here was an instrument which might be of the greatest service to him in accomplishing his design.
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