“So you’re the one my son has been talking about. The momentary alarm over, he threw a piece of-wash leather over a bureau, so as to deaden the sound, and instantly broke it open with a small crowbar. He, next cautiously tried the door, but found it fastened inside. Wood. ’ ‘That’s fortunate,’ murmured Lucilla. ’ ‘In a way she had been,’ said Prudence. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. And I’ll have that story off you as we journey back to town.
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