He led her unerringly, pushing her down the narrow stairway that had been the servants’ access to the upper floors, and thence through a small door that led into the chapel. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death. " "On no account," rejoined Wood peremptorily. “What of her? Have you quarrelled with her?” The girl shook her head. He seemed to be.
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