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’ ‘I do not care any more about the portrait,’ Melusine said, opening the door to the attic corridor that gave off onto the row of little rooms that served as private cells for the senior nuns. The warm September sun fell strongly on this part of the grounds, uninterrupted by trees, its light bouncing off the glass in the mansion’s walls. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. We have that gift. Wood, at Dollis Hill —" "Let me have one," said a carpenter, who was passing by at the moment,—"Mr. He'll mend, I hope.
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