Lady Trafford, supposed to be childless, broken in health and spirits, frail both in mind and body, is not likely to make another marriage. ‘But for now, I’m taking you home. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. And grasping the thick iron rod, she pushed with all her force against it, while Jack seconded her efforts from within. To—to find myself. And thus he was once more free, having effected one of the most wonderful escapes ever planned or accomplished. It’s artificially chance.
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