Mother? Suzanne Valade, her mother? With deliberation, he spoke. Only last night she saw me, and there was horror in her eyes. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. Because of the thought of love and companionship? No. Mind, I, Baptist Kettleby, say so. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes.
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