The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. Water soaked her through in five minutes. She was recalling the circumstances under which she had engaged herself to Manning, and trying to understand a curious development of the quality of this relationship. When were you last confessed, Sir Rowland?" he added abruptly. "First take the child," cried Darrell, holding up the infant, and clinging to the oar with a dying effort. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six.
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