Never for a moment had violence come between these two since long ago he had, in spite of her mother’s protest in the background, carried her kicking and squalling to the nursery for some forgotten crime. “Anna,” she cried, “you must believe me. To win the contest meant you would be chosen to apprentice in magic as a priest under her tutelage. She hit the villain with it. He sat up in his chair as though the question had stung him. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate.
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