Very slowly, very fearfully, she turned her head. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. When were you last confessed, Sir Rowland?" he added abruptly. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. You say that this gentleman was with you?” “I was,” Brendon answered, “most providentially. Some of your sex, I mean. He was struck disagreeably by Ramage’s air of gallant consideration and Ann Veronica’s self-possessed answers.
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