“None, I thank you,” he answered. From the first I could see that neither believed my story. ” Annabel laughed derisively and took up her book. “What? She replied, still hazy. ” Lucy appeared and appraised him briefly, nonchalantly. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. ‘At last,’ he cried, ‘I have found you!’ He would listen to nothing. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. ‘Of course I see that,’ she said impatiently. Her steps slowed. And so bitterly did the carpenter reproach himself with his neglect, that he resolved, at all risks, to go back in search of it.
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