They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. He will be here in a moment or so, and you will then learn his determination. You shall tell me if I am wrong. It was a spring-tide at half ebb; and the current, which was running fast and furiously, bore him instantly away. "Can you pull him through?" was the anxious question. For the present the desire to fly was gone. A slender young man, wearing glasses, appeared from the shadow of the nearest van. 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.
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