You see, I—I am a woman worshipper. Light flooded the uncarpeted chamber, revealing the decayed state of the place. “YOU wouldn’t like to be independent?” he asked, abruptly. 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. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. “And yet I wonder whether the world ever held such another enigma in her sex. ‘Fiddle, Gerald.
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