He uttered a short laugh. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. The man, who was just able to move, pointed towards Giltspur-street. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. “Do you want to ruin me? I shall walk back. ‘But how did she meet such a person in a convent?’ ‘He was wounded and came there for sanctuary,’ Gerald explained, adding almost through his teeth. The life with which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously. .
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