Darting quickly to the chest that contained the priest’s vestments, she leapt onto it and reached her arm down to scrabble behind it on the floor. The vestry was perhaps the only room in the place, except her allotted curtained off portion of the dormitory chamber that served for her cell—and she could not scandalise the nuns by having a man in there, be he never so much a servant—where Melusine could be sure of privacy. The wedding procession passed on, and the cynical rabble poured in behind. My name is Armytage—Lord Ernest Armytage. ‘I’ve eyes in my head, haven’t I?’ He grunted. Thus, all her interest in life began to centre upon the patient, who was apparently quite as anchorless as she was. Their heads touched again, their arms tightened. Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch. ‘Hang it all, Mrs Sindlesham is right! You are two of a kind.
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