The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. But Gerald kept to a casual note. It is the horse of the priest, you understand, and—and he does not know that I have borrowed it. ” “I will tell him,” Lady Lescelles said. “See you to-night, I suppose?” He sauntered off. She did not forge a note. CHAPTER IV The tourists returned to the Sha-mien at four o'clock. . . And now she was discovering that even Nature was something of a liar, with her mirages and her horizons. Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. "The poor young man!" she said.
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