CHAPTER XXVII. In all these weeks she had not once knelt to pray. She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. That wasn’t even the worst thing. He refused his food,—and even when better provisions were offered him, rejected them. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. I wrenched this off, and in an envelope addressed to me in faded ink, I found the locket and the pearls. Nigel, do you know that I have been very jealous?” He avoided the invitation of her eyes.
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