"Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat. Mr. 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. Faugh!” She took up the last morsel of roll, and held it delicately between her long slim fingers. Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come. .
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