Her finger-nails dug into her flesh. “You are Mademoiselle Pellissier?” he asked, without rising to his feet. His tongue was more ready, his wit more keen than usual. He threw up his hand, reeled for a moment on his feet, and collapsed upon the floor. [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Corporation. 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. Left alone, Jonathan lighted a lamp, and, opening the trap-door, descended the secret stairs. It was the beginning and the end of the transaction. “Yes! I must! The thing is becoming a torture to me. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. ‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. "But this need give you no uneasiness," pursued Jonathan; "Mrs.
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