When they reached her rooms she stepped lightly out upon the pavement. Another coach was then procured, in which the prisoner was placed. The agony on the sands now ceased to puzzle her. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. I would be the kidnapper, of course, but we would forge ransom notes and exchange monies so that it appeared you were taken by brigands or plotters against the Iovelli family. “I am afraid,” she answered, “that one’s friends can judge only of the externals, and the things which matter, the things inside are realized only by oneself— stop. ” She found it difficult to begin thinking, and indeed she was anything but clear what it was she had to think about.
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