By this time, she had so far succeeded in calming herself, that she answered the greetings of the neighbours whom she encountered on her way to the sacred edifice—if sorrowfully, still composedly. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. ‘Sit down, won’t you?’ He crossed back to Roding and said low-voiced. Had he not said as much at Remenham House? She allowed him to march her through the chapel without resistance. Never again to be alone! To fit herself into this man's life as a hand into a glove; to use all her skill to force him into the position of depending upon her utterly; to be the spark to the divine fire! He should have his book, even if it had to be written with her heart's blood.
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