“And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. After that night she made it a habit. The terrors and anxieties of the last few months seemed to have fallen from her, to have passed away like an ugly dream, dismissed with a shudder even from the memory. ‘It’s my belief she is a nun. ’ Gerald held out his hand, and she meekly gave the dagger up to him. " CHAPTER XIII.
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