‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. 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. They were now both in a state of unprecedented physical fitness. Down that on the right the young culprit was dragged—along that on the left a fainting woman was borne in the arms of several females. Do you hear me, Sir? Won't you stir!" "Not a step," replied Langley, gruffly.
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