‘No, I do not go back. ” John took his hand away. 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. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. They turned the last corner, and almost immediately a man who had been standing there turned and struck Ennison a violent blow on the cheek.
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