His science was a shared secret between them and she felt special to be trusted with them. If Ann Veronica could have put words to that song they would have been, “Hot-blooded marriage or none!” but she was far too indistinct in this matter to frame any words at all. The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support. They confronted each other, barely feet apart, neither apparently any longer aware of anyone else in the room. "At length I am my own master," murmured the knight, as his foot touched the strand.
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