There were two. In the evening, a band of village musicians, accompanied by most of the young inhabitants of Willesden, strolled out to Dollis Hill, where they formed a rustic concert under the great elm before the door. Although Martha did not know it, she had her pistol and her daggers, and her knife. It is not the woman who speaks there. As she crossed the square, almost within a stone’s throw of her lodgings, she came face to face with Courtlaw. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. “I don’t know, John.
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