” Anna shrugged her shoulders lightly. ” She looked at him for a moment with fire in her eyes. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. Her voice recalled him. What!— you know so little of that child? She ran away from you. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. 207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. Gerald’s voice came back to her, saying that she could not hope to outwit “a man who means business”.
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