‘And I don’t mind telling you it goes agin’ the grain with me to let you go free and all, missie. ’ His face changed, all the humour and tenderness leaving it in an instant. Meantime, a change had taken place in the weather. ‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. It takes too many years to climb even a step in the social ladder. 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. Nor must it be imagined, that while he thus exercised his teeth, he neglected the flagon.
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