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. As silent as she had remained about who had brought her home last night. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun. ” “I hope that you may,” Anna answered enigmatically. ’ Rather to his surprise, she obeyed this injunction as he led her up two flights of stairs to the first floor.
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