She read it over and over and then, as was common with her, she clasped
the cross that hung from her girdle--and opened her soul. She called it
prayer. Meredith became personally near her--the written words had
materialized her. With the clairvoyance that had been part of her
equipment in dealing with people and events of the past, Angela began
slowly to understand.

So actually was she possessed by reality that her face grew grim and
deadly pale. She was a woman of experience in the worldly sense, but she
was unyielding in her spiritual interpretation of moral codes. She felt
the full weight of the tragedy that had overwhelmed a girl of Meredith
Thornton's type. She had no inclination, nor was there time now, to
consider Thornton's side of this terrible condition. She must act for
Meredith and Meredith's child.

Folding the letter, she dropped it into her pocket and sent for Sister
Janice, the housekeeper.

Angela gave silent thanks for Janice's temperament.

Janice was so cheerful as often to depress others; so grateful that she
gloried in self-abnegation and had no curiosity outside a given command.

"The house must be got ready for visitors," Angela informed Janice. "Two
former pupils--and one of them is ill." When she said this Angela
paused. How did she know Meredith was ill?

"Shall I open the west wing?" asked Janice, alert as to her duties.