‘But how did she meet such a person in a convent?’ ‘He was wounded and came there for sanctuary,’ Gerald explained, adding almost through his teeth. ‘Her own,’ Gerald replied. While waiting for his coming she had stated her present and future relations with him with what had seemed to her the most satisfactory lucidity and completeness. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. She came into the room. Next moment, she had shut the bookshelf panel upon him. They then entered the room, which was perfectly dark. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. ‘Inside, miss!’ ‘But what is it?’ ‘Quick! We need the major. While involved in this crowd, near Temple Bar, —where the thoroughfare was most dangerous from the masses of ruin that impeded it,—an individual, whose swarthy features recalled to the carpenter one of his tormentors of the previous night, collared him, and, with bitter imprecations accused him of stealing his child. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. Mrs.
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