Yon must be mine to-night. ’ ‘I am a very English man,’ Gerald said. ‘Think it’s worth getting some sort of light and following her down there?’ asked Roding. ‘Yes, do,’ approved Lucilla. About the Abbey and Abingdon Street stood the outer pickets and detachments of the police, their attention all directed westward to where the women in Caxton Hall, Westminster, hummed like an angry hive. Her linen gown was soft against the heavy skins. “No Christmas dinner,” she said, “or anything nice! One doesn’t even know what you are doing. He was detained. That is not reasonable. Feeling rather exhausted, it occurred to him that possibly some provisions might have been left by the constable; and, looking about, he perceived a pitcher of water and a small brown loaf on the floor. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. “Do you know,” she confessed, “I never thought of that?” He looked at her as though doubting even now whether she could possibly be in earnest.
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