“Now replace the stone, my child. "Because—because I'm always distrustful of a priest," rejoined Jonathan. 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. She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred. Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor.
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