That night a grave was dug in Willesden churchyard, next to that in which Mrs. ” “A—marriage certificate!” Annabel gasped. Amiable and good-looking. I did not even know where to write and thank you. By now the horses would be rested and he might go as swiftly back again. 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.
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