Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. Cool and sunny, it seemed that God himself smiled upon that day, the sunbeams streaming through the magnificent arches dustily as the priest murmured in soporific Latin. At noon the doctor himself arrived. "And now to dispose of our dead. You're on the way to big things. She has been a dear. Why, he can scarcely be twenty. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation.
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