“By-the-bye,” he said, presently, “your sister was married to old Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t she? I saw the notice in the papers. Ruth obeyed, not willingly, but because there was something hypnotic in the authoritative tone. She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness. Good-bye aunt. Another door was next opened, and, preceded by the ordinary, with the sacred volume in his hand, the prisoner entered the room. . Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. Jack did not advance to meet her. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters.
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