The ancient peace of this place
mocked these other scenes and places. He came into the long, unroofed
aisle, with its battered sides and floor of soft turf, broken only by some
memorial brasses over graves. He looked up and saw upon the walls the
carved figures of little grinning demons between complacent angels. The
association of these with his own thoughts stirred him to laughter--a low,
cold laugh, which shone on his white teeth.
Outside a few people were coming toward the abbey from both parties of
excursionists. Hagar and Mrs. Detlor were walking by themselves. Mrs.
Detlor was speaking almost breathlessly. "Yes, I recognized the writing.
She is nothing, then, to you, nor has ever been?"
"Nothing, on my honor. I did her a service once. She asks me to do
another, of which I am as yet ignorant. That is all. Here is her letter."
CHAPTER III.
NO OTHER WAY.
George Hagar was the first to move. He turned and looked at Mrs. Detlor.
His mind was full of the strangeness of the situation--this man and woman
meeting under such circumstances after twelve years, in which no lines of
their lives had ever crossed. But he saw, almost unconsciously, that she
had dropped his rose. He stooped, picked it up and gave it to her. With a
singular coolness--for, though pale, she showed no excitement--she quietly
arranged the flower at her throat, still looking at the figure on the
platform.
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