The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. Women, she had been taught, who exposed the flesh of their bodies under the eyes of man were in a special catagory of the damned. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. Wood could give him no further information respecting Sir Rowland Trenchard than what he had obtained from Kneebone; but begged him to defer the further consideration of the line of conduct he meant to pursue until the morrow, when he hoped to have a plan to lay before him, of which he would approve. Wood, however, made known his presence to the individual by laying his hand upon his shoulder.
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