He must know she’ll be at a convent. The evenings were beginning to draw out, and it would not be dark for an hour. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. Forgive me. But of what avail is this? You have no execution, no finish. Impelled by a feeling, into which we shall not pause to inquire, the stranger started after them; but they were better mounted, and soon distanced him.
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