The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. The twists in his brain had suddenly straightened out; he was normal, wholly himself; and he knew now exactly what he had done. He drew her away from this thought. Spurling: "I blush for you, Sir! To call yourself a man, and interfere with the natural course of affection! Have you no feeling for the situation of those poor disconsolate creatures, about to be bereaved of all they hold dear? Is it nothing to part with a husband to the gallows? I've lost four in the same way, and know what it is. "It is your son.
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