Water soaked her through in five minutes. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. Still, there certainly was something in the idea of a treaty. 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. It was a beautiful place that she had found, a round cave by a small stream. Hastily, he reached for the door.
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