What might it have been?’ Mrs Sindlesham shook her head helplessly. “Anna, you are the dearest, bravest sister in the world,” she cried. "It was the story of a man, so to speak, who had left his vitals in his native land and wandered strange paths emptily. He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages.
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