“I’ve been thinking of you all night,” she answered. Closing the door, Jonathan next produced his lantern, and, hastening towards the window, undrew a bolt by which it was fastened. These fellows must be right,” he added thoughtfully, “and yet—there’s a mystery somewhere. 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. ILLUSTRATED WITH SCENES FROM THE PHOTOPLAY PRODUCED BY DISTINCTIVE PICTURES CORPORATION NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS THE RAGGED EDGE CHAPTER I The Master is inordinately fond of young fools. He had nothing more to say either to her or to Spurlock. A piece of old blanket was fastened across her shoulders, and she had no other clothing except a petticoat. “Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. Springing to his feet in an ecstasy of terror, he stumbled, and had well nigh realized his worst apprehensions. When he awoke, it was late in the day; but though he heard voices outside, and now and then caught a glimpse of a face peeping at him through the iron grating over the door, no one entered the prison, or held any communication with him. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. ‘Precisely,’ agreed Gerald. Jonathan nodded assent.
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