But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. The turning of the key startled her, but she did not see how she could make an objection. She has also been afflicted with occasional returns of her terrible malady. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. She felt the warm nearness of his. " "But Wild still lives," cried Wood.
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