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. He was, in fact, quite eager to go on living. “Idiot!” She raged inwardly while she walked along with that air of self-contained serenity that is proper to a young lady of nearly two-and-twenty under the eye of the world. Her voice shook, her eyes were very soft and melting. Wood fared still worse. “I believe,” he said slowly, “that I shall do best to throw myself upon your consideration and tell you the truth.
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