“Twenty-two. From his wallet he brought forth a yellow letter. He has helped me out of scrapes though, no end of times. Well, I'll take myself off. A doubt as to your dinner to-morrow would make you miserable to-night. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. The signs of the shops were carried to incredible distances. . What would he come as? Presently she roused herself with a guilty start from the task of dressing and re-dressing Mr.
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