” “Bit starchy,” said Ann Veronica, and altered the key abruptly. 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. Sometimes the moon was totally eclipsed; at others, it shed a wan and ghastly glimmer over the masses rolling in the firmament. It was my destiny to have her. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her.
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