A tinge of admiration rose in his breast. 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. He had been for months without music of the character he loved—and he dared not play any of it! McClintock, after the music began, left the piano and sat in a corner just beyond the circle of light cast by the lamp. “I want to ask you a question,” she said abruptly. She had the dowry she needed for the lawyers were working to give her Remenham House. Her old nurse’s hands returned the pressure.
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