” Annabel no longer attempted to conceal her emotion. “Good-bye, Miss Pellissier, and success to you,” he said. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. "Open my heart, Father of Mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways. Lucy pinned her hair off her neck and hoped it would make her to look decidedly older. They want some fun, and there isn't any. They send you every good wish. ” “Not in the least,” she assured him. " "As you will," said Jonathan, seating himself. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent.
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