Let him be sure. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked. There was every indication that she fled the island in company with a dissolute rogue. ” “Then there is also,” Anna remarked, “a Montague Hill who is very much alive. At every step he seemed to be haunted by the ghost of the past.
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