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 chapel was again crowded with visitors, and every eye—even that of Jonathan Wild who had come thither to deride him,—was fixed upon him. It was like pouring a strong acid over dulled metal. But to go courting a slave-girl, at the risk of physical hurt! A shudder of distaste wrinkled her shoulders. "You are alone?" said one of the spinsters—Prudence Jedson. When she saw Ann Veronica she stood for a moment as if entranced, and then advanced with outstretched hands. “I don’t care,” said Ann Veronica to the darkness; “I’ll fight it. Little did he know that she had begged her parents as a youngster to get her a language tutor. ” “No,” she cried, “I will not.
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