Gerald watched her perambulations in silence, his heart wrung. The female’s words caught at his attention, and he no longer heard what the young Poussaint girl was saying to him. “It was a phase,” she said. “I suppose most people’s letters are queer. ’ ‘Oh,’ Gerald uttered, disappointed. . ‘Not from the nuns, no. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. .
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