But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation. Then the dagger’s point came in a whirling arc towards his face. From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. ‘To what do you go, mademoiselle? The life of a nun in a convent, in a country where nuns are unwelcome.
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