The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. Had she said the words aloud? He pulled her close and she nuzzled her head on his chest. “You’re—I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica. Gianfrancesco never suspected that I had my own reasons for wanting you for my wife. I suppose I believe in God. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields.
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