In a few minutes more he had made a breach in the roof wide enough to allow him to pass through. It was better even than the hymn-singing. Kneebone, who did not appear in the slightest degree disconcerted by his cool reception, each sank carelessly into a chair, and made himself at home in a moment. When he came to a certain sentence in Brendon’s letter he stopped short and looked up at her. Kneebone said, just now. “Thank you—for coming,” he said. " "Dare not!" echoed the carpenter; "I don't understand you, Joan. Her thoughts were busy with the possibilities of this break in her journey. But let that verse tell my secret. "Leave him to me," he said.
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