“Very much as usual,” said Ramage. 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. Sheppard heaved a deep sigh, and opened her eyes, which now looked larger, blacker, and more melancholy than ever. “This is Mr. ’ ‘And me,’ came the guttural response, ‘I will certainly murder you the very next time I am compelled to see your face.
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