’ ‘Was it?’ Her lips twitched. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. The advanced guard rode on to drive away any opposition, while the main body of the procession crossed the bridge, and slowly toiled up Holborn Hill. How she learned of her heritage I do not know, but you need not imagine that it is greed that drives her. Beyond was a field sloping steeply upwards, and at the top a small pine plantation. Who is the beautiful intruder? And why does she disguise herself as a nun? Why is she involved in an enterprise both foolhardy and dangerous? The girl’s accent suggests an émigré but Mademoiselle insists she is English.
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