“I mean to go to prison directly the session is over,” said Miss Klegg. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. 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. Melusine started back, blinking. But it was extraordinary what seemingly irrelevant things could restore her to the thought of Capes again. “Who will you stop with?” “I shall go on my own. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had.
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