” Anna shook hands with Brendon—a young man also, but older and more selfpossessed than Sydney Courtlaw. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. She saw her discarded nun’s habit still on the floor and scooped it up. The eyes left him, searching beside the chair for her cane. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. Wood, carving for his friends, and pledging the carpenter, he had his hands full.
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