Guided by the glare of the forge, which threw a stream of ruddy light across the road, Jack soon found the place of which he was in search. ‘Jarvis Remenham was your mother’s father. She laid her hand upon his arm. But on Sunday he had been obliged to attend to certain matters for the nuns. He must have been following her from room to room, silent in his stockinged feet. " With no little effort—for the right words had a way of tumbling back out of reach—he marshalled his phrases, and as he uttered them, closed his eyes to lessen the possibility of a break. .
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