" "Hold!" interposed Winifred, gravely. The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. ’ ‘But me orders, sir? Are we to—’ ‘Gad, but that’s her,’ interrupted Roding suddenly. The son of Prudence instead was obliged to take her back to the convent on Sunday to see Martha and tell her the good news, and to fetch her meagre belongings. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. Winifred's face had a thoroughly amiable look. Where even to be a Catholic, they say, is to be looked upon with scorn and disgust.
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