“It is done, and I have got a right to my own manuscript; they cannot take that from me.” And she went into the sacristy, her manuscript in her hand.
The cool, sweet room seemed empty, and Veronica emerged from the shadow, almost a shadow. There were two windows, lattice panes, and these let the light fall upon the counter, along which the vestments were laid for the priest. The oak press was open, and it exhaled an odour of orris root and lavender, and Veronica, standing beside it, a bunch of keys at her girdle, once more reminded Evelyn of the mediæval virgin she had seen in the Rhenish churches.
“I have finished collecting your aunt’s papers.”
“And now you are going to leave us?”
There was a sob in the girl’s voice, and all Evelyn’s thoughts about her seemed to converge and to conce
