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Thank you for the books. You seemed to me to be slipping and slipping, and your face was white. “What have you done?” 212 “It is your own fault, Lucia. ’ ‘What son?’ asked Roding. “Don’t!” she begged. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. A young lad—Roding took him for a footman, or a groom by the neat black garb—was halted some paces away from Valade, his hat in his hand as he made pretence of fanning himself. “Your name, I believe, is——” “Pellissier,” Anna answered. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. While this was taking place, another and more serious interruption occurred. Crossing several fields, newly mown, or filled with lines of tedded hay, she arrived, not without great exertion, at the summit of a hill. . We married, and for a time we were happy.
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