“At a boarding-house?” he gasped. Hear me then, now, before I take one step to establish my origin, or secure my rights. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. In the chapel she sang with an open-lunged gusto that silenced Ann Veronica altogether, and in the exercising-yard slouched round with carelessly dispersed feet. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. A momentary petrifaction, and terror had lent wings to her feet. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart.
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