But her heart kept on sinking. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun. ‘How disappointing,’ mourned Gerald. His vicious abusiveness vanished. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. All that I regret are the wasted years, and I am not sure that I regret them. “So she must have had you fairly young, right?” Lucy nodded again. As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. Who is the beautiful intruder? And why does she disguise herself as a nun? Why is she involved in an enterprise both foolhardy and dangerous? The girl’s accent suggests an émigré but Mademoiselle insists she is English.
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